Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

of a DNA analysis.” He blinked a few times as he straightened. “I remember you said that you found a couple blood smears when you sprayed the place with Luminol, but I thought there wasn’t any usable DNA in either of them.”

Bailey shook her head and scrolled down to the text at the bottom of the document. “We didn’t think there was at first, but we collected samples just in case. One of them was from an AB negative blood type. Since the victim is O positive, we knew it wasn’t his blood. Could’ve been from a guard with a cut or bloody nose. Who knows? After we ruled that out, we took a closer look at the second smear, and we found some blood that had seeped into a seam in the metal shelf.”

“That is good news.” Joseph rubbed the stubble on the side of his face. “And the analysis? Did it match Carlo Enrico’s DNA?”

“It did,” Bailey said. “We put a rush on it, and I got the results back this morning. So, we know that someone with Carlo Enrico’s blood on their hands was in that supply room. Which brings me to the fingerprints.”

As Joseph and Amelia exchanged knowing glances, Bailey opened a new window. A mugshot-style photo of a man with a bushy beard and an unruly mop of rust-colored hair filled the screen. The inmate’s gray eyes were open so wide, Joseph was surprised they hadn’t rolled out of his skull.

Rather than squint at the text beside the image, Joseph stuffed a hand in his pocket as he waited for the forensic tech to read out the details. He’d have to remember to visit the damn eye doctor. The FBI preferred its agents to be able to read print from more than six inches away.

“We dusted for prints along that door, as well as in the supply room itself. Other than the door, we paid the most attention to the area near where we found the blood smear.” Bailey tapped a key to enlarge the image and accompanying text. “All the guards’ prints were on file with the Bureau of Prisons, so we ruled them out first. Then, we took the handful of prints we had left and ran them. All but one belonged to maintenance staff that worked at the prison to fix plumbing, electrical, that sort of thing.”

Amelia brushed a piece of dark hair from her forehead. “Waylon Erbach. I can’t quite see it from here, but what’s he in for?”

“A few things. I’ll send you his file when we’re done. Erbach is awaiting trial for the production and trafficking of methamphetamine, and he’s also suspected of murdering a rival drug dealer. His rap sheet is longer than half the lab reports I type up, and he’s got a history of getting in fights since he was in grade school.”

Joseph let out a slow breath. “Sounds like the type of guy you’d hire to kill someone you wanted dead.”

As Amelia’s gaze shifted to him, she nodded. “It does. Even if evidence against Erbach was found, it’s pretty easy to make up a motive for someone with a history of violence. It makes it easy for the CO who hired him to hide.”

Joseph rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, what do you say, Storm? We’ve got those two guards to look into, but do you think it’s time to pay a visit to Waylon?”

“I think we ought to.” She dropped a hand to rest on her hip. “Not that a meth manufacturing repeat-offender is going to want to talk to a couple Feds, but we ought to give it the ole college try.”

With a smirk, Joseph pushed away from the desk. “That’s the spirit. Thanks again, Mrs. Howison. We really appreciate all you and your team’s hard work.”

Bailey smiled proudly. “It’s my pleasure, Agents. Like I said, I’m glad I could finally be the bearer of good news for a change.”

Good news for the investigation, but Joseph wasn’t so sure the news was good for him, personally or otherwise. He didn’t want to tell the Leóne family that one of the corrections officers in their pocket was about to be exposed, but at the same time, Brian Kolthoff’s words still echoed in his head.

Senator Stan Young was the conductor of this train, and the Leónes were his long-time ally. If Joseph wanted to stay on the Senator’s good side—and he knew damn well he never wanted to be on Stan’s shit list—then he had to swallow his distaste and look out for the Leónes when he was able.

Unlike the previous investigation, reaching out to one of his Leóne contacts regarding the CO was low risk.

If the guard disappeared, no one at the Bureau would have to stretch their imagination to deduce that he’d split town.

Resting both hands atop a wooden table, Natasha leaned forward to peer through the one-way glass. Floyd had gone to grab coffee from a nearby gas station so they could prepare for their third interview with Gabriel Badoni.

Since Natasha and Floyd had arrested Badoni on a Friday, the man had been stuffed in holding until his arraignment on yesterday morning. The prosecutor had sought remand, and his request had been granted. Gabriel would be locked up in Cook County Jail until his trial.

On the other side of the glass, Badoni shifted in his rickety wooden chair as the woman to his side spoke in tones so hushed, Natasha couldn’t make out word one. As soon as she and Floyd had finished reading Gabriel his Miranda rights, his first and only comment had been to ask for a lawyer. Otherwise, any attempts at engaging the man in dialogue had been as fruitful as discussing politics with a block of granite.

According to the lawyer—a woman from one of the most prestigious criminal defense firms in the city—Gabriel had been at home with his wife on the night of Ian Strausbaugh’s murder. Though his wife had backed up the statement, the