Free Trace of Doubt by Erica Orloff

letter was a scrap of her dress fabric. And then a few days later, I was followed to the shooting range and left a souvenir. I’m not sure who it belonged to—but it was human hair.”
    Mikey put down his fork and looked queasy.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have done this over dinner. I just wanted you two to know that the attention the Justice Foundation has maybe gotten has caught the eye of whoever killed her or a witness. And I’m going to figure out who he is. I even have a homicide detective willing to help.”
    “Well, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think Tommy Salami should take you to and from work for a while,” Dad said.
    “You know,” I told him, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Let’s discuss that some other time, okay? For now, is there anything either of you can think of, anything at all that you think I should know about that night?”
    Dad shook his head. “I wasn’t even around. I was on the docks meeting with some longshoremen about gambling receipts from their union when it happened.”
    Mikey sipped his beer. “I don’t like to think about it.”
    “I know. I don’t either,” I said.
    “That’s not true, Billie. Your entire career is about DNA and crimes. Everything about you has to do with her. It’s who you are—you think about it all the time.”
    It sounded almost like an accusation. “Mikey…I thought you would want to catch whoever it is. Why don’t you understand that?”
    “I do. I just hate thinking about it, that’s all. I barely remember that night. You say you remember a man in the house. I don’t. I remember going up to bed and her coming and tucking me in. And then next thing I remember is the cops giving me milk and feeding me cookies. Then the funeral and everything.”
    “You don’t remember her talking to someone in the house?”
    He shook his head. “The only weird thing I remember is she had on her pearls. I remember because I was playing with them when she bent over to kiss me good night. But she wasn’t dressed for pearls. Like why put on your best jewelry if you’re just vacuuming and stuff?”
    He had never mentioned this detail before. And I had no obvious answer. Had she donned the pearls for Daniel? For my father? For Andrew?
    I looked from my father to my brother and back again, and I felt very alone. I couldn’t tell them that as much as I wanted to solve my mother’s murder, I also wanted to find out if I was even a Quinn after all.

Chapter 11
    B en Sato took the CD-ROM I handed him. He smiled his enigmatic smile, gave a little bow and gestured to the booth he had reserved for us.
    “Nice place,” I murmured. “I’ve never been in here before.”
    “I like it because it’s quiet. And they play jazz.”
    “You like jazz?”
    He nodded, sitting down. “I like Charlie Parker. And Billie Holiday.”
    “A little melancholy,” I mused.
    “So am I,” he said.
    There was a moment of silence between us. I realized that I was going to have to get used to silences if I was going to work with him.
    “I brought my laptop,” he said, pulling out a Sony Vaio from the bench next to him and putting it on the table. He took the CD from its jewel case and after firing up the PC, popped it in.
    “You’re thorough.” He said it as a compliment.
    On the CD I had dozens and dozens of files, labeled clearly, such as, “Interview notes neighbor,” or “newspaper clippings.” I had scanned all of our newspapers from that time and made PDF files. I had interviewed and reinterviewed all the neighbors from that time. I had files with digital pictures of the house, as well as files with digital pictures of the woods where she was found.
    “I should have guessed. Criminalists are exacting.”
    I nodded.
    “You could have been a homicide detective.”
    “Not if I wanted to remain in the family. My father and brother wouldn’t be too pleased. I mean, it’s bad enough I work in a crime lab. It would be another