The vibe in the station changed a couple of hours later. Harlan got a call. They ignored Lena, but she watched their faces like a hawk. When they resumed the interview, Harlan looked annoyed; Sato looked surprised. “We found your prints,” Harlan said, turning back to Lena. “On the clasp and the ID pocket. Exactly where you said they’d be.”
He paused, sliding a new photo across. “But we also found this. A microscopic trace of red security dye near a hidden seam inside the lining.” Lena’s brow furrowed. “Security dye? Like from a bank bag?” Harlan nodded slowly. “And a blue synthetic fiber. It doesn’t match your coat, Lena. It’s high-denier nylon. The kind used in industrial courier bags.”
Lena felt the air rush back into her lungs. “The cyclist,” she breathed. “The red bag. It must have been lined with that blue fabric.” Harlan didn’t admit she was right, but he didn’t tell her to shut up, either. He looked at the purse in the evidence bag, then back at Lena. The “simple” case was starting to look like a puzzle with missing pieces.