Burning Proof

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

MONDAY MORNING Detective Abby Hart filled her coffee cup as soon as the pot finished, then settled in at her desk and turned on the computer. She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, still a little foggy without caffeine. She'd participated in a beach volleyball tournament over the weekend. It'd been hard and tested her conditioning, but she and her beach partner had triumphed and taken home the trophy.

As she stretched and grimaced at the sore muscles that screamed, she was glad the office was quiet; she was first in and anticipating a court appearance later in the week. A reminder about her scheduled meeting with DA Drew in an hour popped up on her calendar. Homicide cases could take years to get to trial. When they did, she needed her head to be right back in the midst of the investigation as if it were fresh. She had several cases pending in various stages of the court process. The one Drew wanted to discuss was a gang shooting that occurred nearly a year ago. It was due to go to jury selection soon, so she planned to review all the pertinent details. A sharp pang of sadness sliced through her as she scanned the summary. She'd consulted on the gang shooting with her first partner in homicide, her mentor, Asa Foster. He was retired at the time, but still a great resource. His death a few months ago still stung.

Shoving the sadness aside, she looked at the rest of her to–do list. She also wanted to review her most pressing open homicide case, spending her day after the meeting with the DA going over the Adonna Joiner homicide details. She heard footsteps but didn't look up because it was bound to be just another office mate or her partner, Bill.

"Abby."

The sharp, clear voice demanded her attention. Lieutenant Jacoby strode toward her desk. Something was in the works. The LT wasn't usually in until later. He dropped a manila envelope in front of her. "Glad you're here early. Just got this regarding the Joiner case."

Abby reached for the envelope. "I planned on pulling that file and calling the lab for an update."

The brutal rape and murder of a ten-year-old girl was a study in firsts: the first case she and her new partner, Bill Roper, had caught on their first on-call shift. Together they'd hit it hard for forty-eight hours and gotten nowhere. Then frustration set in. For the months since, it was their priority case. Evidence had been collected from the victim's body, but there was no hit in CODIS, the national offender database. Abby and Bill had knocked on doors and collected voluntary DNA swabs from several persons of interest, only to be stymied by a backlog at the lab. She often called Clayton and Althea Joiner, the victim's parents, to touch base. In fact, she planned to pay them a visit tomorrow.

She looked at the envelope and realized that it was from the forensics lab. Her head snapped back and she stared at the lieutenant. "They got a match?" She undid the clasp and pulled the contents out, tense now and wide-awake.

"They did." He pointed. "Halfway down. They got a match from one of the samples we took to exclude."

Abby read the finding and was up out of her chair. "Unbelievable. It's Curtis. I had a feeling."

Javon Curtis, a single man, a loner living two doors away from the victim in a house he'd inherited from his mother, had been Abby's number one suspect. He had no prior record and cooperated completely, even willingly providing the buccal swab that just implicated him, but her gut had told her something was off about