racing out of her office.
Prusik took the elevator three floors down and passed her CASI identity card through the lab door’s magnetic reader. Eisen was stooped over a large stainless-steel examination table. He wore protective lenses over his eyeglasses.
“Christine.” Eisen gave her a big grin, carefully showcasing a large curved piece of glass between his gloved forefinger and thumb. “We’ve recovered a partial thumbprint.”
“From?”
“Remember we did a drift analysis for Betsy Ryan to locate the crime scene?”
Since the actual location of Ryan’s murder was never discovered, Prusik had acquiesced to Eisen’s using a math whiz friendto see whether a time and movement study could establish the corpse’s origination point, factoring in the current and local weather conditions, to help target the crime scene. But nothing had been discovered.
“I thought that was a no-go,” she said.
“Max, my guy who’s good with numbers, hadn’t calculated the late ice melt along the lakeshore this year. An unusual surface current changed the calculation, too, resulting in a sweep zone along the beachhead more than a mile farther back from our first check. Not far from the shore we found it—a patch of disturbed sand and this piece of smashed glass jar with a partial print.”
“You’re not telling me everything, Brian.” She leaned closer, studying the fragment. “A partial print is forensically questionable evidence at best.”
“OK, yes, you’re correct. But what you should be asking is how I can connect the broken glass with the murder.” Eisen beamed. “The inner surface of the jar, where I lifted the partial, is coated with the vic’s DNA.” Eisen beamed.
Prusik looked puzzled. “Are you certain?”
“Yeah, I know you’re thinking: Why the glass? What’s it doing there?” he said. “I don’t think he used it as a weapon, though. No DNA was recovered from along its broken edge, so it doesn’t appear to have been used to cut or tear through her flesh.”
Eisen held up the evidence along its edges so Prusik could see more easily. “And, yes, I do mean a ‘he.’ The width of the print falls within the normal range of an adult male.”
“That’s a public beach, Brian,” she reminded him. “It could have been picked up by a passerby.”
He nodded, already expecting the challenge. “Yeah, true. But the print was preserved in some sort of secretion—presumably the victim’s—while it was still impressionable, meaning at or near the time of her death. And another thing, the partial was protected from the elements on the inside of the jar.” Eisen removedthe protective lenses. “It was a very isolated spot, Christine. Low among the beach dunes, well out of sight of the waterfront or the park road. We never would have found it without refactoring the drift equation. An isolated place indeed,” Eisen underscored.
Christine’s heart started to gallop and her breathing became ragged. She sat down and gripped the chair arms. Another remote forest landscape came into her mind’s view—very isolated and very far from home—one filled with ear-deafening insects that were nowhere near Lake Michigan’s waterfront dunes. For a moment she thought she might pass out. Where was the damn antianxiety medicine when she needed it?
“Christine, is it something I said?” Eisen said half jokingly. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine, Brian. Fine.” Prusik stood up too quickly, fighting dizziness and an irrational impulse to run out of the lab. “Great work. Anything come up on the prints?”
“We’re running the partial print through AFIS right now,” Eisen said, referring to the Automated Fingerprint Identification System.
Prusik’s pinkie pulsed with pain. She hadn’t realized she’d been clenching her right hand, squeezing her small finger tightly the whole time. “Good work, Brian, really. Excellent. Please let me know what you find.” She strode through the laboratory door,
Prusik took the elevator three floors down and passed her CASI identity card through the lab door’s magnetic reader. Eisen was stooped over a large stainless-steel examination table. He wore protective lenses over his eyeglasses.
“Christine.” Eisen gave her a big grin, carefully showcasing a large curved piece of glass between his gloved forefinger and thumb. “We’ve recovered a partial thumbprint.”
“From?”
“Remember we did a drift analysis for Betsy Ryan to locate the crime scene?”
Since the actual location of Ryan’s murder was never discovered, Prusik had acquiesced to Eisen’s using a math whiz friendto see whether a time and movement study could establish the corpse’s origination point, factoring in the current and local weather conditions, to help target the crime scene. But nothing had been discovered.
“I thought that was a no-go,” she said.
“Max, my guy who’s good with numbers, hadn’t calculated the late ice melt along the lakeshore this year. An unusual surface current changed the calculation, too, resulting in a sweep zone along the beachhead more than a mile farther back from our first check. Not far from the shore we found it—a patch of disturbed sand and this piece of smashed glass jar with a partial print.”
“You’re not telling me everything, Brian.” She leaned closer, studying the fragment. “A partial print is forensically questionable evidence at best.”
“OK, yes, you’re correct. But what you should be asking is how I can connect the broken glass with the murder.” Eisen beamed. “The inner surface of the jar, where I lifted the partial, is coated with the vic’s DNA.” Eisen beamed.
Prusik looked puzzled. “Are you certain?”
“Yeah, I know you’re thinking: Why the glass? What’s it doing there?” he said. “I don’t think he used it as a weapon, though. No DNA was recovered from along its broken edge, so it doesn’t appear to have been used to cut or tear through her flesh.”
Eisen held up the evidence along its edges so Prusik could see more easily. “And, yes, I do mean a ‘he.’ The width of the print falls within the normal range of an adult male.”
“That’s a public beach, Brian,” she reminded him. “It could have been picked up by a passerby.”
He nodded, already expecting the challenge. “Yeah, true. But the print was preserved in some sort of secretion—presumably the victim’s—while it was still impressionable, meaning at or near the time of her death. And another thing, the partial was protected from the elements on the inside of the jar.” Eisen removedthe protective lenses. “It was a very isolated spot, Christine. Low among the beach dunes, well out of sight of the waterfront or the park road. We never would have found it without refactoring the drift equation. An isolated place indeed,” Eisen underscored.
Christine’s heart started to gallop and her breathing became ragged. She sat down and gripped the chair arms. Another remote forest landscape came into her mind’s view—very isolated and very far from home—one filled with ear-deafening insects that were nowhere near Lake Michigan’s waterfront dunes. For a moment she thought she might pass out. Where was the damn antianxiety medicine when she needed it?
“Christine, is it something I said?” Eisen said half jokingly. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine, Brian. Fine.” Prusik stood up too quickly, fighting dizziness and an irrational impulse to run out of the lab. “Great work. Anything come up on the prints?”
“We’re running the partial print through AFIS right now,” Eisen said, referring to the Automated Fingerprint Identification System.
Prusik’s pinkie pulsed with pain. She hadn’t realized she’d been clenching her right hand, squeezing her small finger tightly the whole time. “Good work, Brian, really. Excellent. Please let me know what you find.” She strode through the laboratory door,
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