Free Kiss of the Sun by R.K. Jackson Page A

on dirt behind them, and Somis looked in the rearview mirror. A dark sedan with tinted windows moved along the road behind them, slowed as it passed, then continued on, following the dirt road around the bend, toward the park exit. She turned and watched it, squinting. Had it been another Lexus? Or the same one?
    “Things have been happening over the past year that…” Somis took a puff on the Camel, stared off into the distance.
    “You were talking about a case,” Jarrell said. “You said there was a suspect who had a tattoo like the amulet.”
    And like Peavy’s drawing,
Martha thought. And her vision from the dream, that apocalyptic ring of fire…
    “Right,” Somis continued. “It should have been open-and-shut. An elderly couple were murdered during the night in their house in Smyrna. Both had their throats cut with a steak knife that was taken from the kitchen. The suspect was a skinhead, lots of tattoos and piercings. Someone on night patrol pulled this punk over for a bad taillight just five miles from the murder house. It was about three A.M. No one knew about the murder yet, so the stop was just pure dumb luck. The officer ran a check on his plates and found out he had an outstanding misdemeanor charge for disorderly conduct. So he took the punk in. The next morning, the slain couple was discovered, and there was DNA material on the knife that matched the suspect. Like I said, it should have been an open-and-shut conviction: home invasion, attempted burglary, murder. But two months later, the DA released him. The skinhead walked.”
    “How did he get off?” Jarrell asked.
    “The DA threw out our DNA evidence because it was contaminated. They said my team failed to follow proper procedures in processing the evidence, so the DNA on the knife could have been from other assets in the lab. It could have been from the skin cells we’d collected from the suspect’s car. But that was a lie. I was supervising the case, I’ve handled evidence like this for twenty years, and I know the correct procedures were followed. Someone tampered with the evidence and altered the lab report. It had to be someone on the inside.”
    “Why would someone do that?” Jarrell asked.
    “I’ve never figured it out. This guy was a punk, a common hoodlum with a criminal record. There were no family connections that I could turn up. I just couldn’t figure out why someone in our department would stick his neck out for a guy like that.” Somis tapped his cigarette into a flip-out ashtray in the dashboard. “So I was written up for this egregious mishandling of the evidence and put on administrative leave. But I wouldn’t make a mistake like that. I followed procedure.”
    “That doesn’t explain why you think we’re in danger,” Jarrell said. “What does this symbol represent?”
    “I’m not saying you’re in immediate danger. It’s just that I can’t guarantee your safety.” Somis twisted again in the bucket seat. “Listen, I’ve been quietly making observations for the past year. Other strange things have happened in the department ever since Jimmy Lawrence was appointed police commissioner. I’ve got an accordion folder full of material in my trunk. I’ve been recording irregularities. I think the symbol on this pendant might be an emblem. As I follow the trail, it keeps leading upward. I think there may be some powerful people connected to it, including Atlanta’s new police commissioner.”
    “Have you seen that symbol anywhere else besides the tattoo?” Jarrell asked.
    Somis took a long pull on the Camel, blew the smoke out the window, and placed his hands on the steering wheel. Martha noticed they were shaking a little. “The professor. The man who was killed last week. He had a website—”
    Somis glanced in the rearview mirror, then tossed his cigarette butt out the window. He started the ignition and put the car into gear. “Listen, I don’t have time to tell you any more, and I don’t think it