“I’m sure that’s true. And frankly, Kate, I’m not sure any of what I’m about to tell you is important in terms of the case, but I wanted you to know the lab work revealed some interesting details about this particular substance.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s not the type of wax or oil that’s normally used for an archery-related bolt. The substance is, in fact, a mix of water, glycerin, propylene glycol, cellulose gum, tetrahydroxypropyl—”
“Doc, my eyes are glazing over. What is that?”
“It’s an intimate lubricant.”
I’m no prude, but I’m so dumbstruck that for a moment I’m not sure how to respond. “You mean for sex?”
“Exactly. Water based. Safe for latex and polyurethane condoms.”
“Seems like an unusual ingredient to use for a crossbow bolt.” Even as I say the words something sparks in the back of my mind.
“I’ve no idea if it’s relevant in any way,” he tells me, “but I thought you should know. I’ll put it in the final report.”
“I appreciate the phone call.” I’m about to hang up when he speaks.
“Chief?”
“Doc?”
A brief hesitation and then, “See you at the wedding.”
My heart jigs in my chest and I feel a big, dumb smile spread across my face. “See you there.”
I’m still smiling when I hang up and turn back to the file. Even as I begin to page through—just one more time—the doc’s words play in the backwaters of my mind.
… intimate lubricant.
Water based.
Safe for latex and polyurethane condoms.
At some point in the course of this investigation, I happened upon “personal lubricant.” I’ve seen it or heard someone talking about it. But where?
The questions scratch at the back of my brain as I page through the file. Dozens of reports and forms I’ve seen a hundred times before stare back at me. I open the subfolder containing the photos. The crime scene. Autopsy photos. Aden Karn’s body. The final photo I come to is the one I took of the box in Karn’s bedroom closet. Inside, I see the sex toys—and a tube of intimate lubricant. A ting sounds as my brain makes the connection. At the time, I’d considered it a personal item with no connection to the case. Now, I’m not so sure.
Personal lubricant is not such an unusual item to have. Human beings are sexual creatures. But for the very same substance to be found on a murder victim and the two bolts that killed him is too much of a coincidence. I think about Karn’s relationship with Fisher, and I try to imagine how Fisher might’ve gotten his hands on that tube. Even if he did, how did it get back to Karn’s bedroom closet?
Likely, some of the young men who spent time at the gas station brought women there and engaged in sex. I think about Emily Byler and Paige Rossberger and I realize there were probably a slew of other women whose names I’ll never know. That’s not to mention the sex doll. Did Karn take his box of sex toys and lubricant to the gas station for a night of sex? Did the tube of lubricant get passed around? Did Fisher find it, realize it would make a decent wax for his bolts, and take it? But if that’s the case, how did the tube find its way back to the box in Karn’s closet? The questions take me full circle.
Of course, there could be two containers of personal lubricant floating around. But when we searched the gas station, no one mentioned finding lubricant. Not that my officers were specifically looking for it. Regardless, it’s probably a good idea to obtain another search warrant for the gas station and have another look. While I’m dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s, I should probably swing by Karn’s former residence and pick up the tube in the box, if only to check for fingerprints.
“Jodie?” I call out.
The dispatcher comes to my office door. “Yeah, Chief?”
“Who’s on duty this evening?”
“Mona.”
“Give her a call and ask her to meet me over at Wayne Graber’s place, will you?”
“Right now?”
“Yep.”
Jodie shows at the doorway of my office, looking worried. “I hope I’m not overstepping, Chief, but aren’t you supposed to go home? I mean, you’re getting married … aren’t you?”
I smile. “Just a quick stop on my way home. Tell Mona it’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Roger that.” She swipes her forehead with drama, feigning relief. “See you at the wedding, Chief.”
* * *
I call Rasmussen on my way to Wayne Graber’s place and recap my conversation with Doc Coblentz.
“Sex lube?” he says. “Seriously?”
“I don’t know if it’s the same tube. But if Fisher used the lubricant I found in Karn’s closet for the bolt that killed Karn, his prints should be on the tube,” I say.
“Even if he did use the lube for the bolt, how did that tube end up back in Karn’s closet?”
“I don’t know, Mike. I haven’t worked that out yet.” I consider a moment. “Maybe the tube got passed around during a night of sex at the gas station. After Karn was killed, maybe Fisher went into Karn’s place and got rid of it, thinking it would never become an issue.”
“Why didn’t he just throw it away?” Rasmussen sighs. “Look, Kate, I know you’re not completely on board with Fisher, but—”
“If we find his prints on that tube, Mike, I’m in.” I pause. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Since you’re about to get married…”
I smile. “Will you send a deputy out to the gas station to see if there’s a tube of personal lubricant there perchance? Make sure we’re okay on the date of the warrant.”
“You got it.” He clears his throat. “I’ll see you at the wedding.”
* * *
The late-afternoon sun shimmers like gold dust on the field corn as I make the turn into the driveway of the house where Karn had lived. Wayne Graber’s muscle car is parked just off the garage portico. Mona’s vehicle is nowhere in sight, telling me she hasn’t yet arrived.
I bend my head to my lapel mike as I exit the Explorer. “Ten-twenty-three,” I say, letting Jodie know I’ve arrived on scene.
“Roger that, Chief.”
“Mona,” I say, “what’s your ETA?”
“I’m on Hogpath heading your way,” she tells me. “ETA eight minutes.”
“Copy that.” I enter the garage portico, go directly to the door, and knock. A black cat slinks around the side of a garbage can and rubs against my leg. I’m kneeling to pet the cat when the door swings open. I look up to see Wayne Graber standing at the door, looking at me.
“I see Kitty Bell has you charmed,” he says by way of greeting.
I straighten. “She’s friendly.”
“Especially if she thinks you’re going to feed her.” He bends to the cat, picks it up, and rubs its scruff. “Hey, girl.” He’s still wearing his work clothes. Flannel shirt and trousers. Scuffed boots. Budweiser in hand. Cap pulled over his hair.
“I heard about Vernon Fisher,” he says. “Can’t hardly believe it.”