The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [104]
Two scenarios and neither showing much promise. Jesus, she thought. Quincy was either the most brilliant criminal the Bureau had ever faced, or one truly unlucky son of a bitch.
The fax line rang in the office. A moment later, a faint whir sounded as the machine picked up. Glenda went to retrieve the message, leaving Montgomery alone in the kitchen.
The preliminary report on the hard copy of the ad that had run in the National Prison Project Newsletter was coming over the wire. The report was four pages long. Glenda scanned each page as it came through.
Latent found five fingerprints on the typeset ad, all of which matched with various staff members of the National Prison Project Newsletter. Serology found no hairs and fibers, but some dust residue that, again, was traced to the National Prison Project Newsletter. To complete the evidence-less trifecta, the DNA unit had also been unable to recover any samples from the paper or envelope.
At least the Document Examination Unit had had some fun. Their findings comprised the last three pages of the report, and were a welcome change from N/A, N/A, inconclusive. The ink on the paper was traced to a standard black laser-print cartridge commonly used in HP printers. That narrowed it down to millions of possible printers. Never fear, they were able to trace the font and graphics of the typeset ad. The UNSUB had used PowerPoint. Oh, the magic of desktop publishing.
Glenda sighed. Investigating crimes had been so much easier when people had no other choice but to write notes by hand. How the hell were you supposed to analyze a computer font? Where were the hesitation marks or angrily slanted T’s in a typewritten ransom demand? And how the hell did you narrow the field when even serial killers were using Microsoft Office?
On the last page, she finally found some news. The paper was distinct. Not cheap grade white, but heavy-duty cream stationery, handmade with a watermark. According to the Document Examination Unit, the paper came from Britain where it was sold exclusively by a small store on Old Bond Street. Approximately two thousand boxes were sold worldwide each year. And it retailed for nearly one hundred dollars per twenty-five sheets.
Glenda set down the report. So, they had an UNSUB with computer access, PowerPoint savvy, and extremely expensive taste in stationery. Who in the world sent an ad to a prison newsletter on hundred-dollar stationery? It probably came in some kind of fancy gift box with pressed flowers and silk ribbons tied around the top. Maybe a gift. What a wife might give to a husband, or a boss to a colleague, or a daughter to a dad.
Glenda looked at Quincy’s desk. His beautiful, richly finished desk with the state-of-the-art fax machine, the fine leather chair. Everything perfectly matched, such as what a well-bred wife might select for her workaholic husband back when they were still married. . . .
She grabbed the first desk drawer. Ripped it open. Pens, pencil, a Louis Vuitton check holder. She tried the drawer beneath that, then the one beneath that. Finally, in the bottom drawer, the location of a man who didn’t write much, three boxes of stationery, all hardly touched.
She’d been wrong about the dried flowers and silk ribbons. The stationery came in a beautiful sandalwood box, tied with a leather thong. Geppetto’s Stationery, imported from Italy, beautiful to behold, and now down to nineteen sheets.
“Oh Quincy,” Glenda whispered, box in hand. “Oh Quincy, how could you?”
28
Portland, Oregon
When Rainie woke up, Quincy was gone. She glanced at the red-glowing alarm clock next to the bed. Seven A.M., making it ten eastern standard time. Quincy and Kimberly had probably been up for hours. She dragged a hand through her hair, caught her reflection in the mirror above the bureau and winced. She looked like she’d stuck her hand in a light socket. Then again, her mouth tasted like old socks.
Ah, another beautiful Saturday morning.