Page 23 of You'll Be Sorry

“I’m the police chief…” she dragged out.

“Sorry.” Which, given the clipped tone, might be more like sorry, not sorry. Detective Adams continued: “One of our ongoing challenges has been centralizing all information from old cases. Given there are very few PDs big enough to handle major incidents, most investigations are joint. Resulting in the state collecting info, the local town gathering info, the ME’s office capturing info. A lot of the reports are duplicates, but as the guy whose job it is to pore over the files, I can tell you it’s not unusual to find that one department knows X, while another recorded Y, and a third mentioned Z. Once I put all those letters together…”

“You know how to get to Sesame Street?”

Another long pause. “Your father was Ian Grady? I see his legacy lives on.”

“Thank you!” Mandy said, and genuinely meant it.

“So, you’re taking a fresh look at a thirty-year-old case. According to the sign on my door, that’s what I’m here for. How can I help?”

“Well…I know most breaks in historic cases come from new interviews of previous persons involved. Loyalties may have changed, or life circumstances. Reviewing the Dixons’ disappearance, however, I don’t seeanyparties of interest—not suspects or witnesses, nor family, friends, anyone of significant importance in the Dixons’ lives. Actually, kinda startling.”

No reply.

“Which leaves us with physical evidence,” Mandy gamely soldiered on. “Not a lot at the scene, but what could be collected was pretty decent.”

“Quality not quantity,” Adams agreed.

Out with it then. “I think it’s worth rerunning the DNA. I know they did initial testing in ninety-eight, but compared to where the science has come since then…”

“We ran it again ten years ago.”

“And compared to where the science has come since then,” Mandy repeated. “Familial DNA, specific markers. Hell, I don’t understand the technology. I just know if we don’t have people to interrogate, then all the more reason to make the evidence do the talking. Given the sheer volume of blood on the floor of the great room, I’m guessing the state still has plenty of viable samples stored in their evidence locker?”

“Fair assumption.”

“And the state has designated funds for covering such testing costs,” Mandy hinted.

“Price not so much the issue as time frame. Most labs are backed up a solid three to six months. In this line of work, we can ask questions, but have to practice patience when it comes to answers.”

“Oh.” And she meant that seriously. As in Oh. She’d worked herself into being all Woman on a Mission, complete with a Fresh Head of Steam. Three to six months later…

Shit.

“I have another avenue to pursue,” she ventured.

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Detective Adams assured her, sarcasm free of charge.

“Regarding the mess of bloody footprints—”

“I’ve seen the photos.”

“Forensic podiatry. My father had gotten into it. Except—”

“The footprints fall into the middle ground of possibly male/female while the pattern makes no sense.”

“Exactly!” Mandy warmed back up again. “And where’s the source of the blood? Let alone so much blood, and does any of thecrisscrossing make sense? My father was working on a theory that maybe the bloody footprints were planted.”

“Planted?” For the first time, Detective Adams sounded intrigued.

“He was looking into modeling software. Could you separate out the layers to see first track A, crossed over with second track B, then determine top layer C.”

“And then you’d know how to get to Sesame Street?”

Mandy burst out laughing; she couldn’t help herself. “Okay, gotta ask. Sam Adams lager, or Samuel Adams founding father?”

“My parents refused to tell me.”