Free Dying for Justice by L. J. Sellers

letter and his trip to the prison. When he mentioned the physical abuse, Parker registered disgust, something he’d never seen on her expressionless face.
    “I didn’t think that kind of thing happened in Eugene.”
    “It can happen anywhere, especially to people who are vulnerable.”
    “What now? Do you want to see the evidence?”
    “I have to.”
    “Let’s go.”
    Downstairs, they entered a locked storage room and Parker flipped on the overhead fluorescents. Rows of metal shelves came into view. They were stuffed with clear plastic bags and white tubs like the kind used to transport mail. Jackson was glad he didn’t have to search alone.
    “I started at the crime lab in February of 2000,” Parker said, heading left and checking the dates on the end of the shelves. “I may have worked the case with a senior technician.”
    Jackson visualized Parker in his parents’ living room, searching his mother’s outer clothing for trace evidence. He hoped she’d been as thorough back then as she was now.
    “Here’s 2000.” Parker turned down the row and headed toward the back wall. As they reached an area marked September , Jackson gave Parker the case number and they both started looking at labels.
    It took twenty minutes to find the right box. Jackson recognized his mother’s floral blouse though the clear plastic. He could almost smell the summery fabric softener she’d used on her clothes. A separate bag held a familiar white sweater. Dark brown stains blotted the collar, making Jackson wince.
    Other than two sets of clothing, the contents were disappointingly sparse for a crime scene with two bodies.
    “Let’s take it upstairs.” Parker grabbed the plastic crate before Jackson could. It occurred to him that she realized how strange and difficult this process was for him. He hoped to get past the emotional reactions and start thinking analytically.
    Upstairs, Parker suggested they use the lab, where they could lay out everything on a large table in the middle of the room. Joe Berloni, a short man with the face and torso of a boxer, was operating the superglue dryer when they entered. He soon came over to check out what they were doing.
    “What case is this?” Joe asked, as Parker unloaded a collection of smaller plastic bags onto the table.
    “Double homicide in 2000,” Jackson said, not wanting to get the gossip train going.
    “New evidence has come up?” Joe was still curious and Jackson didn’t blame him.
    “A new witness came forward so I’m looking at everything.”
    “Let me know if I can help.” Joe picked up a bag with three spent bullets.
    “The ballistics report says these are .22 slugs,” Jackson said. “Anything unusual about them?”
    Joe held the bag close to his face. “Unfortunately, no.”
    If he found a suspect and the suspect owned a gun, they could compare its fired bullets to these, but otherwise, the slugs meant little. Jackson reached for an evidence bag with a strand of hair. It was short and dark blond. Both of his parents had salt-and-pepper hair by the time they were fifty.
    Nothing in the file indicated Vargas’ DNA had been found at the scene. Had this trace evidence been processed or compared to known felons? “I want to run a new DNA analysis on all of the trace evidence, with a priority on this hair,” Jackson said. “While we’re waiting for it to come back, I’d like to check CODIS for a match with the DNA work that was already done. The perpetrator might be in the system now, even if he wasn’t then.”
    “It really isn’t necessary to repeat the DNA analysis,” Parker said. “But I’ll check everything with CODIS again.”
    “The investigators were sloppy because they thought they had the right perp. I’d like to start from scratch and make sure everything is done correctly.”
    Parker blinked. “I can’t ask the state lab to prioritize it, so this could take a week.”
    “That’s okay.”
    Jackson examined the last three evidence bags: a