The Boom Room by Rick Blechta Page A

didn’t make sense. Then there were the smudges on the handle. What if they got there because someone was holding the knife with two fingers and then wiped off those fingerprints, leaving Clark’s alone on the rest of the handle?”
    â€œYou couldn’t stab someone with just two fingers on a knife. It takes some force.”
    â€œPrecisely. And that led me to consider another knife and a different murderer.”
    The tech delicately pulled the knife from the magnet’s grip. He placed it on a piece of plastic, then used a small screwdriver to press the blade release button.
    â€œNormally I would wait until we got back to the lab to do this. You deserve to see it though, Pratt.” He pulled a magnifying glass from his toolbox. “Yep. There’s blood on this blade, although it’s been wiped or I’m a rookie.”
    McDonnell and Pratt both leaned forward to look. Gordon declined.
    â€œSo, Pratt,” the skipper asked, “who’s the guilty party?”
    â€œThat I can’t tell you yet, but I have a few theories.”
    â€œWell, get right to work on it. Gordon will be glad to help you, I’m sure.”
    McDonnell winked at Pratt as he turned and headed for the door.
    Gordon was clearly beside himself with fury but knew enough to keep his mouth shut.
    â€œWhat do we do now, all-knowing one?” he asked Pratt.
    Pratt ignored him and spoke to the tech.
    â€œWe need to get this knife identified ASAP. And make sure you dust that speaker magnet too. Space was tight back there. It’s likely the person who put it there left some good prints. How soon can you get us prints and photos?”
    â€œGive me your email address. I can download the photos to my laptop and email them right to you. Prints will take a bit longer, but I’ll make sure you have them by day’s end.”
    Would wonders never cease? Pratt got the feeling the two techs were rubbing it in Gordon’s face. Flash had a bad name with the support crews.
    Pratt’s problem was that he had a few likely suspects, but nothing solid to go on yet. He needed to speak to Ellis—pronto.

    â€œIs this Detective Pratt?” the voice on the other end of the line asked.
    Ellis willed his heartbeat to remain slow as he held his cell phone to his ear. “No, it isn’t. This is his partner.” He then added to the fib with an outright lie, since he’d put his number on the police bulletin instead of Pratt’s. “He must have left his phone behind again. What can I do for you?”
    â€œI’m responding to a bulletin he put out last night. Could you ask him to give me a call?”
    â€œNo problem. Can you ID the person in our two photos?”
    â€œShort answer—yes. Long answer—I only tell Pratt. Just get him to call me, son. Okay?”
    Ellis quickly scribbled down the details. Then he hit the Speed-dial key for Pratt. Hopefully, Pratt would pick up when his phone rang, for a change.
    Ellis had spent the past few hours tailing The Boom Room’s manager around town. Right now he was sitting in his car across the street from a trendy bar. Thomson had arrived and immediately made a phone call.
    Thomson had just been served a pint of beer. Then Margerie Lewis arrived, dressed in jeans and a silk shirt. Ellis could see them clearly since their table was front and center in a large window. Pratt was correct. Margerie was definitely not your typical grieving widow as she chatted, gestured and smiled.
    So far so good. Ellis snapped several photos. He was sort of enjoying playing private eye.
    Why hadn’t Pratt called back yet? He was bad about remembering to recharge his phone, so it might be out of juice. Or he might be involved in something that couldn’t be interrupted. Ellis sighed. He just had to be patient.
    While the Widow Lewis had only a glass of white wine, Thomson was chowing down on a burger and fries. Both leaned across the table at