Chapter Three: The Comb

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Sunlight streams into the motel room, illuminating dust particles in the stale air. The glittery dust lands gently on Felicity's still head. She stares intently at the bullet hole in the wall.

"Of course it was premeditated," she continues. "She lured him into the motel, walking arm in arm. Almost immediately, she pulled out a gun with a silencer attached, and shot him. They weren't arguing. There wasn't a struggle. It wasn't self defense or a crime of passion. This was a cold-blooded, calculated execution."

"How do you know she had a silencer?" asks Hector skeptically.

"The barrel was too long not to have some kind of attachment. Besides, no one heard a shot, did they?"

"We're still conducting interviews," he replies, not giving an inch.

Felicity surveys the room, starting with the bathroom. The towels are neatly folded and still on the shelves. The tub and sink are both spotless and dry. The toilet paper is on the spool and the last square is folded into a triangle, as is the custom of most hotel maids. However, the soap, no longer in its package, is sitting inside the sink basin. She peeks into the wastebasket and finds the soap wrapper. She concludes that no one has bathed or used the bathroom since its last cleaning. Someone, however, has washed their hands.

"Have you or any of the processors sprayed the sink with luminol?" she asks, stepping out of the bathroom.

"No. Why?" asks Hector.

"It looks like someone used the sink. Possibly our suspect or victim," she says. Hector stares at her blankly, not moving. "Or perhaps one of your boys used it to wash the donut glaze off his fingers."

In reply, Hector actually smiles. "I'm going to need some luminol in here now," he shouts out the door. There is a muffled reply in response. "What do you mean you don't have it? Go get some from the van!" he hollered, disappearing around the corner.

"Maybe you shouldn't be such a jerk to him," suggests David.

"Me, a jerk? He doesn't even want us here."

"That's because we're encroaching on his turf, Fel. How would you feel if some hotshot showed up and tried to tell you how to do your job?"

"He's incompetent!" she says, pointing at the door. "I know how to do my job."

"It doesn't matter, Felicity! So, maybe he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but we need him. He's the one who has access to lab results. Do you honestly believe you can solve this case without any forensic assistance?"

"I've done it before," she replies, crossing her arms.

"Yes, and you probably can again," he says, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. "But this is a homicide case, so time is of the essence. We don't want anyone else getting hurt, do we?" She looks down, boring a hole in the carpet. "Do we, Felicity?"

Suddenly, Hector bursts through the door with a bottle of luminol in his hand and a camera around his neck. "Oh, am I interrupting something?" he asks with a devilish grin.

"Don't be an idiot," Felicity says, stepping away from her partner.

"Well, let's see if your hunch is correct," Hector says, pushing past them to the bathroom. All three crowd into the cramped room. "You do know how to use one of these, don't you?" he asks, handing David the camera. "Point it at the sink. We're going to need photographic evidence if this thing lights up."

"Don't you need a black light or something?" asks David.

"Nope. If there is blood present, the luminol will interact with it, causing a chemiluminescent reaction. Basically, it'll light up like a big, blue glow stick," Hector replies, closing the bathroom door.

"Cool," David whispers to Felicity.

David points the camera at the sink and Hector flicks off the light. There is a faint sound of spraying liquid. Seconds later, the sink lights up like a planetarium dome. Instantly, David takes a series of snapshots.

"I guess you were right," Hector says. "I thought she was wearing gloves," he says looking at Felicity.

"She was."

"So she washed her gloves? Or did she take them off to wash her hands?" asks David.

"If she took them off, there might be fingerprints. Did you find any?" she asks turning toward Hector.

"We haven't dusted in here yet."

"You mean to tell me you haven't finished processing the scene yet? You've been in here for hours!"

"This isn't something you rush through! This is painstaking, detail-oriented work. But how could I expect you to understand? You make your living by digging through people's trash and taking dirty photos! You don't know the first thing about solving an actual crime!"

"At least I know you should finish processing a crime scene before letting civilians in!"

"Get out!" he shouts.

With arms outstretched, Hector begins to herd the private eyes toward the exit. David's stony glare pierces Felicity's profile. She realizes her error too late. Before she moves an inch, she notices something. There's a small dip in the line between the comforter and the bed runner. Yes, there's a subtle lump near the top of the runner.

"Wait! What's that?" she asks, pointing at it.

"What's what?" Hector asks, stopping.

"There's something under the bed runner!"

"The what?"

"The blanket at the foot of the bed!"

Hector steps over to it and examines the spot. With gloved hand, he gingerly peels back the runner by the bulge. "It's a comb!" He holds it into the light. "And there's a long red hair stuck between the teeth!" he exclaims, smiling ear to ear. "Grab one of the guys outside and tell him to bring me an evidence bag," he commands without looking a way from the crimson jewel. "What are the odds?"

David obediently yanks the door open and pulls in a blue jumpsuit-clad geek. The rookie's face lights up like a kid on the first day of summer. Fumbling nervously with the bag, he approaches Hector. Rookie stretches the open bag toward him with bowed head and bent knees. Quite ceremoniously, Hectors lowers the precious cargo into its plastic holding cell.

"Thanks, Ricky," Hector says, nodding once. At that Ricky whisks it away to be examined by a lab tech. "Good eye, Felicity," he says. "Even though we would have found it in a couple hours, anyway."

"You couldn't find your nose with both hands, Hector," she says, rolling her eyes.

He chuckles and crosses his arms haughtily. "You know, I'm so happy right now that nothing you say can ruffle my feathers. This looks like it'll be an open and shut case after all. We've got a picture of the suspect, no matter how grainy it may be," he says, looking at Felicity.

"It's not grainy!" she snaps indignantly.

"It doesn't matter. We can't see her anyway. Her face is blocked by her hair," Hector says. David looks at her sympathetically. "But, from the photo, we should be able to approximate her height and weight. The Chinese tattoo Mr. Jameson noticed is visible in the picture. We'll call in a translator and figure out what it means. Identifying marks are always helpful. Plus we have an abundance of DNA in this room," he says, gesturing to the stained floor. "If it's in the system, we'll be able to find the victim. Equally important, we found a sample of red hair that undoubtedly belongs to our suspect. As we continue processing the room, there's no telling what else we'll find. Plus, we have witnesses that saw our suspect and victim together. Follow-up interviews will yield even more results."

Interviews. A light bulb turns on in Felicity's head. Who would be an ideal person to interview? The person in the next room. Who haven't we seen yet? Jim Gallagher. She hasn't seen him since he closed the curtains last night. He wasn't interviewed in the parking lot this morning. Where is he?

Felicity's face goes pale and her knees give out. Stumbling, she reaches out and steadies herself on the television.

"Don't touch anything!" screams Hector.

"Are you okay?" asks David, rushing over.

"Jim Gallagher," she says. David's eyes bulge, catching the import of her words.

A rush of adrenaline seizes Felicity and sends her flying out the door. With David on her heels, she sprints to the next room over. She pounds on the door with her gloved hands.

"Jim, Jim!" she screams, panting. She waits with her ear against the door.

"Maybe he left," David suggests with a hand on her shoulder.

"No. I've been here all night. I would've seen him leave," she says, eyebrows scrunching.

David takes over knocking and screaming at the door. Felicity cups her hands and peers through the window. The curtains are still closed. She backs up into the railing and slides down into a sitting position. Removing the surgeon's mask from her face, she gasps for air.

"Go downstairs and get the key!" Hector shouts at an officer.

"The key, sir?"

"Never mind! Call the paramedics!" he screams over his shoulder, running down the walkway.

David ceases pounding on the door and starts ramming it with his shoulder. The door doesn't budge.

"Stop, David!" Felicity says, rising and holding him back. "These doors are built too strong to be kicked down. You'll only hurt yourself."

The ground shakes a bit, and the private eyes look up to see Hector barreling down the walkway. He nearly knocks them over as he comes to halt. He plunges the door key into the electric card reader and the green light blinks thrice. He yanks the door open, exposing a pitch black room.

The air is humid and stale. To the right, there seems to be a single shining star in the dark void. From it, a bright, eerie beam extends through the darkness and rests on the far left wall. The light switches on, and there, face down on the floor, is the body of Jim Gallagher with a bullet hole in his back.



Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed chapter three! The next chapter covers the fallout of the discovery of Jim's body.

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