Sticks and Stones Read online

  So far I’d read about “working a crime scene,” which was all about gathering evidence and how to understand it after you do. The book said you always have to be careful how you package evidence to make sure it’s protected before you give it to a lab to have them analyze it. I had to look up analyze. I thought I knew what it meant—and it turned out I was right—but I wanted to be sure.

  I also learned there are different crime scenes sometimes, like a primary scene and a secondary one. So if someone was killed in one location and then the body was buried somewhere else, the first place was called the “primary crime scene” and the other was the “secondary crime scene.”

  The book stressed it was very important to “preserve” a scene. I had to look up all these words. Now I know them all. You preserve a scene by wrapping police tape around it and being careful when you are inside that tape. I also learned that it can be tricky judging the borders of a scene because you have to make sure your “perimeter” held everything important.

  One of the most important things was making sure you documented everything. This was why my lab came with the Polaroid camera and also a thick pad of paper and even a little pencil. When you arrived at the scene, you sketched the location of major items on the pad. Then you did something called “walking the grid,” where you took one footstep at a time, photographing anything that looked like it might be a clue. All of that became evidence. There are two types of evidence: direct and circumstantial. I’d heard my mother use the word circumstantial a lot. Now I finally knew what it meant.

  Direct evidence is based on fact—eyewitness statements, confessions, stuff like that. Circumstantial evidence is evidence that infers (another word I looked up) what actually happened. It “hints” at something. Things like fingerprints are circumstantial on account of they infer that the person leaving them was there. It isn’t complete proof; it just gives an idea of what might’ve happened. The book said circumstantial evidence was usually better at telling what happened than direct evidence because eyewitnesses got things wrong a lot. They often identified the wrong person or remembered things in different ways than they actually happened.

  From down the hall, I heard someone knock at the door. I thought maybe it was Dewey coming over to do some crime work with me, but it turned out to be Jonathon—I could hear his muffled voice talking to Carry even from my room. So I went back to my book.

  It said you collected evidence while you walked the grid and it was important to handle the evidence with care. Fingerprints could be photographed and lifted (using items that came with my kit). Small hairs and other things could be found by using ultraviolet light, which was what the blue-beamed flashlight Dewey liked so much was for. Sometimes police even vacuumed areas and analyzed the contents of the vacuum later. My lab set didn’t come with a vacuum, so me and Dewey wouldn’t be doing any of that. Well, I guess we could borrow my mother’s vacuum if we really needed to.

  You had to carefully package evidence you took from a scene. Dry evidence was placed in small, folded papers. Plastic bags were also used. My lab set came with both. Wet evidence went in containers that weren’t airtight so it could dry. Sometimes, the book said, removing evidence without damaging it was near on impossible.

  I read about lots of different ways to analyze evidence. Sometimes you used different chemicals to check whether or not something was a bloodstain, or some sort of drug or something like that. You could compare evidence with things you knew about the suspect—that was called “linkage.” Finding a suspect’s blood at a crime scene “linked” him to it in some way.

  I turned down the corner of the page to save my spot, set down my book, and fell back, letting my head hit my pillow. My mind was swamped with information. It all seemed so complicated, but at the same time, it sure would be fun to play detective with Dewey. We could be like Sherlock Holmes and Watson.

  Dewey would be Watson.

  I heard Carry go into her room while Jonathon yelled something to her. A little while later, I heard her come back out.

  Lightning flashed outside my window, shimmering brightly on the walls of my bedroom. I braced myself and started counting. Before I even got to two, the thunder followed, sounding like a herd of cattle stampeding down a hill.

  The back door closed and I didn’t hear either Carry or Jonathon anymore. Getting off my bed, I walked through the kitchen and into the living room, but didn’t find anyone home. Then I saw a note on the fridge from Carry to my mother, saying she’d be back around six and that she and Jonathon had gone for dinner.

  On the kitchen counter, I noticed my mother’s stack of files. A small portion were lying across the rest. I guessed those were the files my mother had already read. Walking over, I saw that on the very top was a yellow pad of lined paper with a pen lying across it. The pad was full of notes my mother had made.

  Making sure I knew exactly how the pile looked, I took the pen off the top and went through some of the folders, going past the top one about the Stickman killing that just happened so I could read them in order. That one must be last, I figured. After that, the next folder was full of a bunch of reports and notes about people with the last name of Stork.

  Then I went to the next page where my mother had written in big letters: Did my pa shoot an innocent man?

  I got an ache in my stomach when I read that. I didn’t rightly know what to make of it. She must mean my grandpa. I didn’t know much about the case she was on, only that it was about someone called the Stickman, a name I thought was kind of creepy. So, after double-checking that Carry wasn’t home, I dragged one of the chairs from the table over to the counter and started going through the top part of the file, skimming past anything that seemed too boring or didn’t make sense. I got confused. Everything was about this “Stickman,” but it was all from a long time ago, before my mother was a police officer. Most of the stuff was written by my Grandpa Joe.

  I didn’t understand. My mother’s case was new. Then I found a report by Officer Chris from just a couple of weeks ago, talking about the murder my mother was investigating right now. Sure enough, it mentioned the Stickman, too. Apparently, this case was linked to one my grandpa worked on.

  Now I felt excited, but still the ache in my stomach hadn’t gone away. What had my mother meant about Grandpa Joe shooting an innocent man?

  The next folder had notes written by my grandpa that sort of filled in the blanks for me. He had shot a man named Harry Stork after deciding he was the Stickman, only now, I knew, the Stickman had just killed a new person. So Harry Stork couldn’t have been the Stickman, right?

  With a deep breath, I thought over the fact that Harry Stork’s gun didn’t even have bullets in it. Even if he was guilty, there really wasn’t any reason for my grandpa to shoot him. There were five police officers against just one Harry Stork. Maybe I just didn’t understand things well enough.

  That thought made me decide I would read the whole stack, although it would take a while as I could only read it when I was home alone.

  For now, though, my head was already too full of facts from Understanding Forensics for me to add much more. Setting the files back exactly like I remembered them being before I started going through them, I carefully placed the pen on top of the pad and pushed the chair back to the table.

  Next time I got the chance, I would read more of the files. I figured it was important to find out for myself whether my grandpa had murdered someone innocent. Besides, I figured there might even be things my mother would miss. Sometimes she was like that. She needed me to help her out, although she’d never say that out loud.

  But I knew.

  Outside the kitchen window, the rain came down like marbles spilling from a jar. It had been like this at least a week, and I’d spent almost all that time holed up in my room reading. Dewey had come over a few times, but hadn’t stayed long. We were finding out the hard way there really wasn’t much to do together when the weather was so bad.

  So, despite all the ra
in, I decided to walk around the neighborhood by myself and see if maybe I could find some kind of forensic evidence lying around somewhere. I figured a little rain never hurt anyone, although that lightning might if it came back. Still, it wasn’t often that lightning struck folks, despite what Dewey might think about Newt Parker. As my uncle Henry was fond of saying, that was a bunch of hogwash.

  Going back to my room, I pulled my duffel bag from where I kept it in my drawers and packed it up with stuff from my forensics lab that I thought might come in handy. Then I put on my red rain slicker and my rubber boots and carried the duffel back out to the kitchen. Borrowing the pen from the top of my mom’s files, I added to Carry’s note, just saying that I was going for a walk and would be back at six, as well. Then I put the pen back where it was, careful to make sure it was the same as before.

  I checked my watch, a gift from my uncle Henry. It was a hair after five. That gave me near on an entire hour to hunt for evidence and I bet I’d find a lot. Then I could come back and read more of the book before actually analyzing whatever I discovered.

  CHAPTER 19

  “So the kids are gone for almost an hour,” Dan said when he and Leah returned home from a late Saturday lunch and found the kids’ notes beneath the daisy magnet on the fridge.

  Leah checked the time. “Well, more like fifty minutes.”

  “Close enough,” Dan said. “Any idea what we could spend that fifty minutes doin’? I’m hopin’ it’s got nothin’ to do with your sofa.”

  For a moment, Leah felt bad having relegated Dan to the living room, but she didn’t feel at all comfortable putting him any closer to her room around the kids. She knew the sofa wasn’t comfortable—her uncle Hank complained about it every time he came down. He didn’t stop coming, though.

  She and Dan were standing in Leah’s bedroom. “Well, Mr. Detective,” Leah said. “Can you come up with some way to fill the time, just the two of us?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I might be able to.” He smiled.

  Leah pulled her shirt out from where it had been tucked into her pants all day and undid the buttons. Removing it, she tossed it onto the pile of clothes at the foot of her bed that had been growing ever since laundry day.

  “Caroline stole my dirty laundry bin,” she explained.

  “I couldn’t care less,” Dan said, taking in Leah standing there wearing her pants and bra. “I’m just admiring the scenery.”

  Leah took off her pants and added them to the pile. Reaching both arms behind her, she stretched backward. “My back’s been killing me all day. It’s all the walking we’ve been doing. If I see the inside of one more correctional institution, it will be one too many.” She gave Dan a sly look. “Don’t suppose you’d mind giving me a little massage?”

  “Don’t suppose I would,” Dan said, still smiling.

  She lay facedown on her bed wearing nothing but her bra, panties, and socks. “There’s some lotion in the top drawer of my dresser,” she said.

  Rain pitter-pattered against her bedroom window. Her drapes were closed but they glowed with a pale light from outside from the west.

  Dan got the lotion and began rubbing it into her back. He concentrated between her shoulder blades and on that spot right at the bottom of her vertebrae that always felt tight. Slowly, his hands started lingering more often around her sides below her bra and the area just above her panties.

  Reaching around, Leah undid her bra, letting the straps spill open onto the bed.

  “Thanks,” Dan said. “That’ll make things easier.”

  Leah smiled. “Let’s not throw the word easy around.”

  His hands now came around and cupped the bottoms of her breasts.

  Leah let out a small moan.

  “Back feeling any better?” he asked.

  “Mmm.”

  She turned over, leaving her bra on the bed behind her, displaying her petite breasts. “So,” she asked. “What about the front?”

  “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Dan pulled off his T-shirt and got out of his jeans in record time. He even took off his socks. Sitting down on the edge of the bed beside where Leah lay, he gently rubbed her tummy until once again he was lingering higher and lower. This time he didn’t stop and soon he had one hand on her breasts and the other down the front of her panties.

  Leah reached down and stroked him through his boxers, surprised to find him already hard. “Wow, you’re the easy one,” she said.

  “That’s what all the girls say.”

  “Why don’t I get rid of these . . .” Leah tossed her bra on top of the other clothes. Then she did the same with her panties.

  Dan took off his boxers. “If I throw these in that same pile, will they become miraculously clean in the next few days?”

  “They should.” She smiled.

  With that, he embraced her, letting her pull him down on top of her. Their lovemaking was all things, sensual, lustful, and passionate. Slow and fast. Back and forth. Dan knew what he was doing when it came to women, and this made Leah feel both good and bad. She felt good because . . . well, it all felt good. But she also wondered how many women he had practiced on to get this good . . .

  Their lips met, open and wet, and his tongue found hers while they continued their rhythm.

  After thirty minutes or so, her heart beating strong from two climaxes almost right on top of each other, Leah fell back into Dan’s arms as a bead of sweat ran from under her hair, down the side of her face, and onto him. Turning over, he wrapped her in a hug and she felt his heart, too. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “You know,” he said, catching his breath, “even with this rain, it’s almost too hot for this. Either that, or I’m out of shape.”

  “I think it’s the heat,” Leah replied. “You’re in pretty good shape from where I’m lying.”

  They stayed like that, entangled and naked, another ten minutes, talking about everything they could think of that had nothing to do with the Stickman. Then they both fell silent and content. Leah had needed this. Badly. The sex and its afterglow was probably the best forty-five minutes Leah could remember having had for way too long. Her thoughts meandered through all this until from outside she heard the sound of a car door close.

  “Shit!” she said. “That’s Jonathon and Caroline. Quick! Get dressed!” She turned over and glanced at the digital clock beside her bed. The green readout said 6:04. They were pretty near right on time.

  In no time flat, they were both back in clothes and out in the hallway just as Carry came in through the back door and pulled off her boots. Leah remembered something and glanced back into her bedroom through the open door. Sure enough, Dan’s boxers were in a ball at the top of the pile of clothes.

  Dan noticed her looking. “Commando,” he whispered. “They teach us all about it in basic training.”

  Leah smiled. “You’re such an idiot. But I s’pose I must like idiots.” They shared a brief kiss just as Caroline came walking into the kitchen.

  “Ick,” she said. “Do you guys gotta do that while I’m home?”

  “Hey,” Leah said. “I put up with you and Jonathon. That’s even weirder.”

  “How’s that?” Caroline asked.

  “You’re my daughter.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re my mother. It’s just so . . .” Caroline looked at Dan. “Sorry, but it’s really kinda gross.”

  Dan put his arm around Leah and pulled her to him, tightly. “You don’t have to look,” he said.

  “No, but it’s hard not to,” Caroline said. “It’s kind of like trying not to look at a train wreck.”

  Leah narrowed her eyes. “Caroline Josephine, you just watch that you don’t cross a line.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m goin’ to go watch some television.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Even with my red rain slicker, the weather sucked. It wasn’t the usual warm rain we got in the summertime in Alabama. This had a cold bite to it and a wind that made sure whichever way
I turned, the rain’s teeth snapped at my face. I decided the best place to look for evidence would be a crime scene. But since I didn’t have one, I figured I’d make one up.

  That required a bit of thought. I walked aimlessly down my street, thinking hard on it. Finally, I decided what to do and headed down Hunter Road all the way to Mr. Harrison’s Five-and-Dime. There usually wasn’t a lot of customers there on weekdays, so I had an idea. I just didn’t know if Mr. Harrison would go for it.

  Normally, this walk was a nice one, but today’s weather made it wet and dreary. By the time I got there, I really wished I’d brought my bike. My clothes were pretty much drenched right through my slicker. It turned out to not be very good at doing what it was designed for. Maybe Dewey could invent a better one. I’d have to ask him about that.

  Just before I came to Mr. Harrison’s, a very wet and dreary and grumpy-looking tabby cat crossed the sidewalk in front of me before scurrying across the road. Funny, I thought, how cats hate the rain just as much as me. You could tell by its face.

  I went inside the store.

  “Don’t tell me you walked all the way down here for gummies in this deluge?” Mr. Harrison asked with a big smile. I had no idea what deluge meant, but I liked Mr. Harrison. He always gave me and Dewey extra candy when we came in.

  “Actually, no gummies today. I have a . . . weird sorta question.” Outside, a seagull landed on the sidewalk. I was trying to figure out how far that seagull was from any sea. He had a pretty long flight home.

  Mr. Harrison slapped his hands on his desk. “Well, my boy, tell me your question and I shall see if I can answer.”

  The words tumbled from my lips. “Well, see, my mom got me this forensics kit for learning ’bout solving crimes and stuff usin’ forensic analysis, and I want to try it out, but I don’t have any evidence to try it out on. I was wonderin’ if we might fake a robbery at your store and then see what kind of evidence I’m left with and, if you don’t mind, maybe I might be able to take that evidence home with me so I can analyze it?” I realized I hadn’t taken a breath in a while and took one now.