Loving Diana by Kate Bridges

Author:Kate Bridges
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781989198278
Publisher: Cabin Lake Publishing

Three days later, Diana still remained at the back of his mind while Mitch worked, ate and slept. He verged on the edge of exhaustion, thinking about her. Standing in the jailhouse, Mitch removed items from his fingerprinting kit and lined them on the desk. The old guard watched him along with the two horse thieves behind bars, equally wary. Mitch walked to the door and propped it open. Late September sunshine lit his work. When he sat down, he adjusted the glass magnifier over the sample fingerprint he’d taken from Owen Norris, wondering if he’d ever see Diana again.

Today was her first day at the optometrist’s office.

He didn’t blame her for looking out for herself and doing what was best for her family. In the past he’d done it, too. He’d pushed aside other people—women—in his own bid to do what was right for himself. But the shameful thing, the selfish thing and what grated most, he admitted as he looked at the ink spirals and whorls, was that no one had ever pushed him aside before.

“Whaddya see, sir?” Standing by the rifle case, Moses scratched his white beard.

Mitch fine-tuned the microscope and peered at the sample. “I believe we have a match.”

“Matchin’ up our fingers to the smudges we left on a dinner plate don’t prove nothin’.” Behind bars, Owen rubbed his hands. Remnants of India ink used an hour ago stained his fingers.

His partner, Paul, muttered protests.

“Correct, Owen, it doesn’t prove anything in your trial. I’m testing your prints as an example to prove Galton’s theory of identification.”

“You keep talkin’ about that scientist like he was standin’ in the next room. He lives across an ocean so his opinion doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

“Let me see the microscope,” said Moses, coming closer. Mitch stepped aside and let the old-timer look. “I don’t see how you can make sense of all the squiggles.”

“If you look at this chart, the way Galton’s classified all ten fingers, you can see this single furrow bifurcating—”

“Black magic,” whispered Moses, withdrawing from the room. He stepped outside. Mitch heard him speaking to two men outdoors. “Yup, he says he’s done it.”

The commander walked in, right on time for their meeting, puffing on a strong cigar and followed by his clerk. “All right, Inspector, let’s see what you’ve cooked up.”

“With all due respect, sir,” said Mitch, adjusting the focus as the commander peered through the lens, “I didn’t concoct it. I’m following the directions.”

“So you said. But what makes Galton an expert? How does he know that fingerprints don’t change over time?”

“He submits an interesting piece of evidence. Fingerprints from another fellow who took samples of his own two fingers, one made in 1860, the other in 1888. Over this interval of twenty-eight years, the fingerprints didn’t change, sir.”

The commander sat back and exhaled cigar smoke, filling the small room with the pleasant scent of tobacco.

The commander took his time. “But you told me, according to your papers, that Galton also says, among other things, that he can tell how smart a man is simply by looking at his fingerprints.

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