Brass in Pocket Read Online Free PDF

pinpointing fingerprints, fluids, or fibers.
    It was during this process that Riley found the tube. “Greg,” she said. “Take a look at this.”
    Greg had been in the back, on his hands and knees examining the passenger area. When Riley spoke, he turned around, put his hands on the seat backs, and leaned forward. Riley trained her ALS inside the air vent above the instrument panel, moving it slowly back and forth so he could see what had caught her attention. “You see that?”
    â€œThere’s something in there.”
    â€œNot just something,” she said. “I think it’s a hose or a tube of some kind.”
    Greg moved up front for a closer look. “You could be right. What do you think it’s connected to?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” she said. “But it doesn’t belong there. You can see the sides of the ventilation tube, and it’s not part of that.” If she had already found the murder weapon, maybe this night would be easier than she had feared. She wasn’t used to Gil Grissom being out of town, and since Warrick Brown hadn’t been replaced yet, Gil’s absence left the night shift crew especially shorthanded. “We’ve got to find the other end.”
    Greg stuck his head out of the plane and called to the uniformed cop remaining outside, whose name,they had learned, was Morston. “Can you get Jamal Easton back out here? He’s an airplane mechanic, and I think we can use him.”
    â€œNo problem,” the cop said. He hurried off toward the airport office.
    Riley and Greg continued their routine while they waited for the mechanic, collecting fibers and fingerprints and whatever else turned up. The airplane appeared to have been maintained regularly, cleaned thoroughly inside and out, but there was a trash receptacle on board with some cough drop and gum wrappers inside it. The wadded-up chewing gum, like everything else they found, was collected in evidence bags.
    The uniformed officer returned shortly with Jamal Easton. Riley showed him the hose she had found, through the vent. “Can you find the other end of this thing?” she asked. She already had a hunch where it might lead, but her expertise at identifying aircraft—familiar ones, anyway—didn’t extend to tearing them apart. “Without touching anything you don’t absolutely have to.”
    â€œI can do that,” Jamal said. He gestured toward her gloved hands. “You need me to put on some gloves or something?”
    His hands were huge, the kind that could palm a basketball. She suspected latex gloves might just split if he tried to put them on. But Greg took a pair from his kit and handed them over, and Jamal’s hands reminded her of the resilience of that particular petroleum product.
    Gloved up, Jamal opened the canopy. “I’ll try to be careful,” he said. Riley watched closely and mademental notes of any place he touched, in case she needed to explain why evidence had been smudged or otherwise obscured. Hands at his sides, Jamal peered at the engine, moving his head around to get different angles on it. Several times he asked for flashlights to be beamed inside, pointing to what he needed to have illuminated. “There you go,” he said after a few minutes.
    â€œWhat is it?” Riley asked.
    â€œLight,” he said. Riley pointed her mini Maglite where he directed. “That thing right there?” he said. “Thing that looks like a muffler? That’s the engine exhaust collector.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThe muffler.”
    He hadn’t cracked a smile. She was beginning to like this guy. “And that thing sticking into it—”
    â€œThrough a crudely punched hole. That’s right. That’s the end of your tube.”
    â€œCarbon monoxide,” Greg said at her shoulder. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d gotten out of the