Obsession (Natchez Trace Park Rangers #2) - Patricia Bradley Page 0,44

attorney. His body said otherwise, and he quickly forced himself to relax. Emma was free to date anyone she wanted—Sam had no claims on her. The man wasn’t even Emma’s type, although Sam was certain his earlier assessment that the attorney was interested in Emma was correct.

Could Corey be her stalker? Not if her stalker and the person who operated the backhoe Thursday night were the same person. His hands hadn’t been callused enough for someone who worked a backhoe. Sam wondered if the man had ever gotten his hands dirty, much less dug up a grave.

Corey patted Emma’s shoulder. “I personally believe you would do a great job here, and for what it’s worth, I’ll pass that along to my client.”

Silence fell on the others as the attorney turned and walked to his Lexus. Once he’d backed up and pointed the car toward the Trace, Emma broke the silence.

“Are we ready to get to work?”

“You’re not going to meet him for dinner, are you?” Sam asked.

She tilted her head. “I may. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

So Emma was interested in Corey. Not what Sam expected. “What if he’s your stalker?”

“Corey Chandler? Not in a million years.”

Sam wasn’t so certain. And not because he didn’t care for the attorney or because he had success written all over him.

“What are you carrying?” Emma asked.

“Gel lifters.”

“For . . . ?” Nate asked.

He turned to the sheriff. “I want to see if I can find any latent footprints on the backhoe floor.”

“Don’t you think he put newspaper down again?”

“Maybe, but I thought I’d check. Any objections?”

At first Sam thought Nate was going to insist he wait for the crime scene techs, then he nodded. “My team was called to a homicide first thing this morning on the other side of the county. You know how to use the gel sheets?” he asked, nodding at the box.

“Yeah. And I have my camera to document anything I find. And a box to store any prints I make. It’ll hold two sheets, and I have more boxes in the SUV if I need them.”

“Are you telling me you can lift shoe prints off something like the floor of the backhoe?” Emma asked.

“It’s not the best place, but yeah, I can get a partial. You can watch if you’d like, unless you need to get to work on the pit.”

She glanced at the pit and then back at him. “How long will it take?”

“Not long.”

“This I’ve got to see. And I can’t do anything until Chris gets here with the camera, anyway.” She turned to Nate. “Is he with the crime scene techs?”

“Yes, but he radioed he was on his way. I’ll check to make sure,” he said and walked toward his vehicle.

Sam pulled on a pair of latex gloves before he dusted the handle on the cab. It was clean, but he hadn’t expected any fingerprints because he figured the man probably wore gloves.

He opened the cab door. His heart sank. The gray plastic mat covering the backhoe floor looked clean. Holding his flashlight at a low angle, he looked for prints. Nada.

Probably wouldn’t be anything on the step either. And it had a pattern in the steel. Not a good place to find prints. Holding the flashlight so that the light cut across the step at a ten-degree angle, he caught his breath. There were several prints, but one stood out. “Do you see it?”

She squatted even with the step. “Shoe prints! How did you do that?”

“Ever had the sun come in through a window at a low angle and expose all your dust? Same principle. The clearest one should be the last one made. Hold the light, and I’ll get photos.”

She took the flashlight and shined it where he pointed.

“Can you hold the light at a lower angle?” When the print became visible, he said, “Right there.”

Sam laid a numbered chip beside the footprint and photographed it, then photographed it with a ruler to show the scale. After peeling the back off the quick-gel sheet, he carefully pressed it against the footprint and used the heel of his hand to smooth the sheet against the step.

“How long do you have to let it set?” Emma asked.

“This should be long enough.” He peeled the gel sheet off and shined his flashlight against it. Perfect. “It doesn’t look like the same shoe print we found in the pit,” he said.

“Do you think there were two of them digging last night?”

“Maybe. I’d wondered

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