Page 24 of Colton's Second Chance
A weak winter sun peeked through the clouds as Eli rushed to his Jeep. At 3:30 in the afternoon, the sun was already low in the sky, approaching sunset. The long nights and cold winds from the bay added a gloom to the season that wouldn’t release its hold until spring.
Traffic was light, and he made his way home in record time. His mind taunted him with all manner of disaster as he drove—from plumbing backups at her hostel to a hostile visit from her aunt to the Fiancée Killer having detected her work on the case and tracked her down.
By the time he arrived at his house, she was already in his driveway. His heart drummed double time as he climbed out and rushed to her. Taking her by both arms, he drew her against his chest, thankful she seemed physically unharmed. She grunted as he hugged her, and he tried not to let her odd response to his embrace bug him. Was all physical contact between them off the table? He’d thought they were reconnecting at least as friends.
A large messenger bag slid from her shoulder, and she backed away from him and grabbed the strap before the bag could hit the ground.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” she said, avoiding his eyes. She seemed unhurried, stiff as they moved inside.
“Of course I came. You said there was an emergency.”
Noelle wrinkled her nose, and he noticed dark smudges like bruises under her eyes. “No, I didn’t. I said it was important.”
“But you sounded—” He rubbed his temple and tried again. “Just…tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’d rather show you.” She crooked a finger and strolled to his kitchen table. She opened the messenger bag and pulled out her laptop and a few paper files. He offered her a drink while she set up her makeshift desk, but she declined. She woke her laptop and clicked through a series of screens with charts, maps, spreadsheets and graphs. “I’ve spent the last three days inputting all the information in the files you gave me on the Fiancée Killer crime scenes and the condition of the women’s bodies.”
“Okay. And?”
“And it doesn’t add up.”
He flashed a wry grin. “I could have told you that. If it added up, we’d have found our killer and arrested him by now.”
She shook her head and angled a stern look at him. “What I mean is, the information in the files is…wrong.”
Chapter 8
Irritation plucked at Eli as he absorbed Noelle’s assessment. “Oh really? And you’re basing this on all of your personal experience in criminal investigations.”
She lifted a calming hand. “Don’t get testy.”
“Those files are based on expert witness testimony, missing person reports, the latest investigative technology and—”
“Eli! Listen to me.” She scowled and grabbed his sleeve to quiet him. “I’m not questioning your expertise or skills as an investigator. But somewhere along the way, some data got…” She hesitated, clearly looking for a word that wouldn’t set him off.
“Got what?”
She groaned. “Let me just show you.” She opened a spreadsheet and pointed to the screen. “This is the file where I input all the data from your case files. You can double-check it, but I’ve gone over it three times to make sure I didn’t input anything incorrectly.” She closed that screen and opened another program. “In this file, I have all the data Scott Montgomery included. His report details information on the relevant parameters and contributing conditions that factored into his determination of how, where and when the victims were killed. His determinations were based on degree of decomposition, evidence of insect, bacteria and wildlife damage, temperature, environmental conditions such as sun or shade at the crime scene, soil or rock, moisture—”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with the things that go into his forensic analysis.”
“Right. Well, so that is all here…” she pointed to the screen “…as well as dates and locations gathered through interviews with the victims’ families about when they went missing, where they were last seen…” She glanced up at him, and his face must have reflected impatience, because she waved a hand, saying, “Et cetera.”
Eli saw that her explanation could take a while, so he dragged a chair over to sit beside her. She scooted aside, so he had a better view of her screen. “I researched how forensic data is compiled and the rates of decomposition. There are calculators for that sort of thing available online and through professional journals. Did you know that?”
“Are you saying the average layman could do the job we’re paying Scott Montgomery to do?” Eli asked wryly.
“No. I’m not. In fact, I called experts in Seattle, both at our alma mater and the Seattle medical examiner’s office, for explanations of some of the process. I also asked them to look at the data and results I got to see if my conclusions were sound.”
Eli shifted uneasily on the hard chair. “And what conclusions did you come to?”
She took a breath, nibbling her bottom lip nervously. “Well, I wanted to be absolutely sure I had the data that could be easily verified correct first.”
Her extensive preamble told him she was building up to a bombshell and wanted to buoy the veracity of her findings. Eli could feel his body drawing tighter, coiling as if bracing for an attack.
“I used official weather bureau historical records regarding daily temperature, humidity and rainfall and compared it to what your guy used to make his calculations.” She paused and gave him a disconcerted glance. “Eli, when I ran the numbers,Scott Montgomery’s data was consistently off by more than ten percent.”
“What?” Eli shot her a dubious look. “You’re sure?”
