flaunted the liquor laws and if it didn’t have a late license, by rights The Gate House should have served last drinks at 12.30 and closed its doors shortly thereafter.
But Paddy’s concern had given her an edge. “Sure I won’t report you, but I will need to take this.”
“No problem - it’s all yours.”
Outside, she picked up the phone and called Chris.
“Did you know the Gate House doesn’t have a late license?” she said without preamble when he picked up.
“You’re joking,” he sounded suitably muted.
“So Annabel couldn't have left the pub at two am like she said. Not when the place closed its doors over an hour before.”
She told him about the till receipt and the bar owner’s assertion that he hadn’t let his patrons stay any longer past one am, and had let them out the back door.
So it was unlikely they’d see Annabel leaving on CCTV.
“Shit. OK, I’ll talk to Flanagan, see if we can bring her in for more questioning.”
“Great, and Chris?”
“What?” he asked tersely, obviously kicking himself for taking the wife at her word.
“Leave your white steed outside this time.”
25
B ack at the lab , there was some more news.
“Gary’s isolated a print on the worktop near the knife block that doesn't check out,” Lucy told her.
“You’re kidding me,” She headed straight to Gary’s work station where he was examining the print in question.
“It’s kinda weird,” he said, “which is how I missed it before. At first I thought it was smudged, but looking at it, I can see that the splotch is actually part of it …”
“Show me.”
He stepped back and Reilly lowered her eye to the viewfinder. The print did indeed look smudged along the side at first sight, but now she saw that there was a more definitive circular shape along the edge of the tip that appeared as a black spot.
“Callus,” she told him.
“That’s what I thought. You’ve seen something like it before?”
She nodded, excited by the find. If this belonged to the perp it gave them some very individualized information.
“And in other, possibly related news - we just got back a print hit on the cigarette butt," he told her.
She couldn't believe it. This day kept on getting better and better.
“Really?"
“Yes. Guy called Richard O’Donnell, twenty-two years old, just finished a year-long larceny stint and not long out on probation."
“You’re kidding me. So it was a burglary."
"Presumably," he said. "I have his offender information here."
“Does it happen to say anything about calluses on his fingers? Or his shoe size?” she added, thinking about those boot impressions in the lane way behind the garden.
“Not that I can see. Oh and we identified the tread on those too,” Lucy said, obviously following her train of thought. “Doc Martens, size eleven.”
“This is brilliant work, guys,” Reilly scanned through the report and took a note of the offender’s last known address. “I’ll pass it on to the detectives, so they can go and pick this guy up.”
“Ah hold on boss,” Gary warned, and she paused, waiting.
Always a catch.
“I’ve run comparisons, and there are no definitive similarities between the partial on the cigarette butt and any prints found inside the house.”
“Including the callused one?”
“Yes, so tell Batman and Robin to hold their horses; we can't match the smoker with the doer just yet."
Without connecting prints on the cigarette to those found in the house, the detectives didn't have enough cause to bring in Richard O’Donnell.
Yet.
The cigarette butt could have blown in on the wind, or even been dropped in the garden by a passing bird - Reilly could list in her head the various arguments spurious or otherwise, any defense solicitor worth his salt would use if they tried to pin this on the guy without being able to definitively put him in the Morrison kitchen.
Still, the fact that the cigarette had led to a known thief was more than
But Paddy’s concern had given her an edge. “Sure I won’t report you, but I will need to take this.”
“No problem - it’s all yours.”
Outside, she picked up the phone and called Chris.
“Did you know the Gate House doesn’t have a late license?” she said without preamble when he picked up.
“You’re joking,” he sounded suitably muted.
“So Annabel couldn't have left the pub at two am like she said. Not when the place closed its doors over an hour before.”
She told him about the till receipt and the bar owner’s assertion that he hadn’t let his patrons stay any longer past one am, and had let them out the back door.
So it was unlikely they’d see Annabel leaving on CCTV.
“Shit. OK, I’ll talk to Flanagan, see if we can bring her in for more questioning.”
“Great, and Chris?”
“What?” he asked tersely, obviously kicking himself for taking the wife at her word.
“Leave your white steed outside this time.”
25
B ack at the lab , there was some more news.
“Gary’s isolated a print on the worktop near the knife block that doesn't check out,” Lucy told her.
“You’re kidding me,” She headed straight to Gary’s work station where he was examining the print in question.
“It’s kinda weird,” he said, “which is how I missed it before. At first I thought it was smudged, but looking at it, I can see that the splotch is actually part of it …”
“Show me.”
He stepped back and Reilly lowered her eye to the viewfinder. The print did indeed look smudged along the side at first sight, but now she saw that there was a more definitive circular shape along the edge of the tip that appeared as a black spot.
“Callus,” she told him.
“That’s what I thought. You’ve seen something like it before?”
She nodded, excited by the find. If this belonged to the perp it gave them some very individualized information.
“And in other, possibly related news - we just got back a print hit on the cigarette butt," he told her.
She couldn't believe it. This day kept on getting better and better.
“Really?"
“Yes. Guy called Richard O’Donnell, twenty-two years old, just finished a year-long larceny stint and not long out on probation."
“You’re kidding me. So it was a burglary."
"Presumably," he said. "I have his offender information here."
“Does it happen to say anything about calluses on his fingers? Or his shoe size?” she added, thinking about those boot impressions in the lane way behind the garden.
“Not that I can see. Oh and we identified the tread on those too,” Lucy said, obviously following her train of thought. “Doc Martens, size eleven.”
“This is brilliant work, guys,” Reilly scanned through the report and took a note of the offender’s last known address. “I’ll pass it on to the detectives, so they can go and pick this guy up.”
“Ah hold on boss,” Gary warned, and she paused, waiting.
Always a catch.
“I’ve run comparisons, and there are no definitive similarities between the partial on the cigarette butt and any prints found inside the house.”
“Including the callused one?”
“Yes, so tell Batman and Robin to hold their horses; we can't match the smoker with the doer just yet."
Without connecting prints on the cigarette to those found in the house, the detectives didn't have enough cause to bring in Richard O’Donnell.
Yet.
The cigarette butt could have blown in on the wind, or even been dropped in the garden by a passing bird - Reilly could list in her head the various arguments spurious or otherwise, any defense solicitor worth his salt would use if they tried to pin this on the guy without being able to definitively put him in the Morrison kitchen.
Still, the fact that the cigarette had led to a known thief was more than
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