Free A Whisper in the Dark by Linda Castillo Page A

statement.”
    “No shit. Tech’ll type it. We’ll run DNA, see if we get a hit in the database, but it’s a long shot.”
    “Did the tech get latents off the book or knife?” Running prints through the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System (IAFIS) was routine.
    “Whoever handled that book and knife wore gloves.”
    “Pretty careful for a vandal, don’t you think?” But John figured both men knew they were not dealing with an ordinary vandal.
    Mitch looked over his shoulder toward where Julia sat at her desk, pretending to do paperwork. “So what’s up with Julia? How did you end up here?”
    John thought about Benjamin Wainwright and shook his head. “Long story. I’ll fill you in later.”
    “Looks like the little bookworm is all grown up.” Mitch grinned. “Last I recall, she had one hell of a crush on you.”
    John didn’t smile back. “Yeah, well, she’s older and wiser now.”
    “Someone hassling her?”
    “She’s been receiving threatening letters. Weird shit.”
    “Stalker?”
    “Yup.”
    “So you going to keep an eye on her, or what?”
    John frowned, not liking the insinuation in his brother’s voice. Not liking it even more that he’d somehow ended up in the middle of a situation he wanted no part of. “Something like that.”
    “Or maybe you’re worried she’ll put a crimp in your style. God forbid you might have to come back to the land of the living.”
    John shot his brother a warning look. “What I do is my business, bro.”
    “For chrissake, John, it’s been two months—”
    “I know how long it’s been.”
    “If you think drowning yourself in a bottle every night is going to help, you’re sorely—”
    “I killed a man, goddamn it,” John ground out.
    “It was an accident. You were cleared.”
    The radio strapped to Mitch’s hip crackled, saving John from having to respond. It wasn’t the first time they’d had the conversation. He hoped it was the last. The way John saw things, a good man was still dead and John still had the man’s blood on his hands.
    Mitch spoke into the radio clipped to his lapel. When he looked at John, his expression was all business. “I gotta run. I got a domestic over on Rampart.”
    “Thanks for getting the CSI out here. I know that took some doing.”
    “I’ll let you know if we get a hit on that DNA.” Mitch started for the door. “Good luck finding your stalker.”
    John watched his brother walk out the door, wishing like hell he’d never returned Benjamin Wainwright’s call.
     
It was nearly midnight by the time the CSI left. He’d bagged the book and knife, along with a sample of the blood and several fingerprint strips, to take back to the lab. John stared at the blood that remained on the counter, wishing the CSI had cleaned it up. But, of course, that wasn’t his job, so John had asked him to leave a pair of rubber gloves. Julia provided the bleach. He spent ten minutes scrubbing the counter.
    “I could have done that,” Julia said.
    Peeling off the gloves, John tossed them into the trash bag and tied it off. “Where do you put your trash?”
    “There’s a Dumpster in the alley.” She reached for the bag, but he frowned at her and carried it to the back of the shop. He opened the rear door to a narrow alley lined with scarred metal doors, garbage bags and an array of trash cans. A beat-up Dumpster with a broken lid stood just to the left of the door. John tossed the bag and walked back inside.
    He found Julia standing at her desk, looking exhausted and frazzled—and like she’d rather be anywhere but here with him.
    “Look, I know it’s late,” John said, “but I think now is probably a good time for you to tell me about this book you’ve written.”
    Her eyes skittered away and he got the feeling the book was the last thing she wanted to talk about. But why?
    “It’s a novel,” she said. “A love story.”
    “Love story?” He sighed, sensing