Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [636]
“And in English that would be…” Pakula prodded her.
“Aliphatic petroleum distillate is like a Stoddard solvent found in a lot of household cleaning products. The combination with the ammonia would most likely make it a common metal polish of some sort.”
“So our killer has a fetish for cleaning his knives,” Carmichael said. “No wonder he didn’t just toss it afterward.”
“Or if the weapon is, indeed, a dagger or letter opener as I suspect,” Stofko offered, “it may be valuable to him. Perhaps sentimentally, if not financially.”
“Anything else new?” Pakula asked Medina.
“The canine hairs found on the back of his shirt were from a Pekingese.”
“Holy crap!” Pakula said. “You can tell that?”
“In this particular case I can.” Medina smiled at him.
“I already checked,” Carmichael offered. “O’Sullivan didn’t have a dog.”
“Any chance the dog hairs were already on the floor?” Pakula asked.
“Anything’s possible,” Medina said. “But there weren’t any on the floor around him. Just his shirt. And just the back of his shirt.”
“That makes sense. Martha thinks the killer came up from behind,” Pakula said, waiting for her to nod in agreement. “The dog hairs could have been on the killer’s shirt and transferred to the victim. Locard’s Principle,” Pakula continued, leaving it for everyone to fill in the blank. Maggie looked around the table as each of them seemed to agree in some way with a nod of the head or a wave of the hand. They all knew and expected that there would definitely be some transfer of debris, just as Locard had predicted.
“So we just need to look for a guy who has a fascination with knives and Pekingese dogs,” Carmichael said, picking up her own profile. “Should be a piece of cake. What the hell does a Pekingese look like?”
“Small, long-haired, no nose,” Medina offered.
“You looked at the other two cases,” Pakula addressed Medina. “Either mention dog hair?”
“No, but they could have easily missed it, especially since both were outdoors. Minneapolis’s M.E. notes some ammonia residue in the wound. Could be the metal polish.” Medina flipped the pages in front of her. “Columbia guys told me they found bread crusts, not crumbs, in Kincaid’s shirt pocket.”
“You’re kidding,” Pakula said.
“What’s with the bread crumbs?” Maggie asked, speaking for the first time since the meeting started.
“Crusts,” Medina corrected her. “It might not mean anything. He was at an outdoor picnic. He may have put some bread or something in his own pocket. It’s just that I found bread crumbs all over the front of O’Sullivan’s shirt, too.”
“Dog hair on the back of his shirt and bread crumbs on the front?” Maggie wondered if the monsignor was a sloppy eater. Maybe his housekeeper owned the Pekingese. None of these things made much of an impression on her, except to note that Terese Medina was very good at her job.
Almost as if she sensed Maggie’s skepticism, Martha Stofko looked at her and said, “O’Sullivan’s stomach contents didn’t include any bread. Looked pretty much like meat loaf and mashed potatoes.”
“Yum,” Pakula said and drew a few laughs. Then he turned to Carmichael. “So what goodies do you have in that pile?”
“I might just have us a suspect,” Carmichael told him, pausing to finish a mouthful of peanut M&M’s. “Remember our friend, Father Tony Gallagher? Seemed a bit…evasive, but oh so polite.”
Carmichael reminded Maggie of a stand-up comic, her statements short punch lines all delivered with a poker face and an even tone. The pile was for show. She didn’t refer to it or to notes. She didn’t need to.
“I did some checking just because he kinda pissed me off. About seven years ago he was an associate pastor for a short time in Chicago at Saint Stephen of the Martyr. Just so happened he was replacing none other than a Father Gerald Kincaid who was being reassigned.”
“That’s interesting,” Pakula said and sipped what Maggie thought had to be his third cup of coffee, not counting the airport brew.
“It