A Dream of Death (Detective Lincoln Munroe, Book 1) by Harrison Drake

Author:Harrison Drake [Drake, Harrison]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2012-02-13T16:00:00+00:00

—18—

We spent the rest of that day trying to disassociate from reality. Kara was searching her own house, ducking under crime scene tape and showing her badge to the officer guarding the front door just to get in. It could not have been easy for her, her quiet existence thrown into chaos. She had called Grant, the boyfriend I had instantly become jealous of, to tell him what had happened and to let him know that he’d have to find another place to stay during the day before heading back into work that night.

Grant had not taken the news of Kara’s near death well. He had not turned into the white knight riding to her rescue, and offered little in the way of compassion or sympathy.

I recognized the symptoms. He had shut down. The fight or flight response is one of the most basic systems wired into us, no amount of civilization can erase millions of years of instinct. Grant had chosen to flee. Kara took it well, even seemed relieved that she would be alone and wouldn’t have to describe her ordeal or keep saying that she was fine.

My call to Kat was short and sweet. I apologized for running out in the night and not having called her but that I somehow knew Kara was in trouble. I told her about the killer, about how he’d tried to kill Kara but had gotten away. I left out the part about me being stabbed—no need to worry her.

We searched Kara’s house, seized the rope and took a blood sample from the wall, then raced down the 401 to Toronto. We arrived at the Centre for Forensics Science in the heart of the city and moved through with purpose, delivering the evidence and seeking DNA results as fast as possible.

The possibility that our suspect had no criminal record scared me. If his DNA was not already on file we would still have little to go on. I was not a pleasant person by this time, demanding that the blood be tested against all known offenders and if no result was found it was to be tested against offenders with eleven of thirteen matching alleles—a familial search. That could be enough to link the killer by direct lineage to another offender, a son or daughter if he had one. The rope was to be swabbed and tested for DNA as well then compared to samples obtained from the victims.

These were all complex, involved processes and, unlike on television, could not be done within minutes. I would have the results by tomorrow they told me—twenty-four hours was the fastest turnaround time regardless of my telling the scientists to take over the DNA lab and forgo all other cases.

A bruise was forming on Kara’s neck, and the rope in a plastic evidence bag was a perfect match and a constant reminder. She had been happy to get it out of the car and out of her mind.

Technically, I had driven to Toronto against

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