“It’s already a big stink. There’s a protest in her neighborhood.” I take a close look at the large window, the screen draped in torn brown paper propped against a countertop.
I can see black smudges left from fingerprint powder, also the tube of polyvinyl siloxane used for making dental impressions, and there are several cameras nearby. I imagine Faye’s been swamped ever since the evidence was brought in, taking photographs and making casts in red orthodontic wax of any defects that need to be magnified.
“I’ve been making comparisons,” she says. “And there’s no question someone tried to pry open her window.”
“Comparisons?” I puzzle. “Comparing the tool marks to what? I wasn’t aware there was a suspect.”
“The tools the investigators brought in for me to examine are from Dana Diletti’s own house I’m sorry to say because I’m a fan,” Faye explains as I look at the screen, the window still in its white-painted frame.
On a paper-covered countertop are a variety of tools including screwdrivers, a hammer and a pry bar, all tagged as evidence.
“I can tell you already that one of the screwdrivers looks like it might have been used,” Faye lets me know. “In fact, I’m pretty close to calling it a match.”
Opening files on the computer display synced to her comparison microscope, she shows me images of defects on the flat steel blade that were transferred to the window’s bent metal latch.
“This screwdriver definitely was found inside her house?” I ask, and Dana Diletti’s got real trouble on her hands.
“That’s the story,” Faye says. “Not that it’s up to me but it’s looking like she intended to give the appearance that someone was out to get her. In other words, she staged everything, and talk about fake news.”
“If that’s what happened, she’s going to find she’s created quite a problem for herself.” I think of the helicopters hovering overhead while Benton and I were stuck in traffic. “Falsifying reports and evidence are criminal offenses.” Then I bring up the real reason for my impromptu visit. “I’ve been consulted about another matter that I can address only in generalities, and I could use your help, Faye.”
“What’s going on?”
“The case involves two victims shot in a confined area, and the fragmented projectiles recovered from their bodies aren’t something one sees very often,” I begin to describe.
I apologize that I can’t share most details or any images. I’ve just come from a confidential discussion, and don’t have such things in my possession, I explain somewhat truthfully. But I’d like Faye’s expert opinion about a type of ammunition the average person doesn’t know about.
“I’ve not come across Glaser Safety Slugs in a long time, and I believe that’s what we’re dealing with,” I let her know. “But I have to be sure before I pass that along to the parties involved.” I imagine her surprise if she knew this included the president of the United States.
“It’s tougher without photographs,” she says with a sigh.
“I don’t need them to describe what I saw on a live video feed as the scene was being worked.”
“I can understand Glasers being used in tight quarters, that makes sense,” she says, having no clue that we’re talking about a spacecraft.
“Yes,” I agree. “The sort of ammunition you’d pick for self-defense if you anticipate having to shoot someone inside an apartment, a vehicle. You want to disable or kill but not have the pellet or projectile exit the body or ricochet, hurting someone else, causing other damage.”
“Correct. Which is why Glasers were created. To deal with skyjackers back in the day.”
“And there’s no new round out there that might be similar?”
“Not that I know of,” she says, scrolling through images of fragmented ammunition. “But picking something that uncommon requires forethought. Whoever we’re talking about was very deliberate about arming himself.”
Astronauts aren’t known to carry weapons into orbit, the exception being the Russians based on what I’ve learned during various Doomsday Commission briefings. Cosmonauts used to pack a particularly nasty triple-barreled “survival” pistol that includes a machete. That’s not what was used in this case, not even close.
But I can’t mention any of this to Faye. She may find out from the news what’s happened three hundred miles above the planet but she won’t hear it from me.