Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

as I asked him.
    I told him to take me east. Then north. Then east again. When I told him to take us north some more, he stopped me.
    “You’re taking us outside the tape,” he said.
    I opened my eyes. We were almost touching the yellow tape. “So?”
    Morris shrugged. “Just saying it’s time to duck.”
    We ducked under the tape. It didn’t take long after that. Morris snapped on a pair of latex gloves and squatted down to retrieve a small square of black cloth. He stood and held it up to the fading light. The smell of rubbing alcohol was so strong I had to tuck my nose into my collar. My eyes started watering again.
    Morris looked at me with more personal than professional curiosity this time, then brought his attention back to the square of cloth. “Microfiber cloth. Used on camera lenses and the like.”
    Nose still in my collar, I said: “That would explain the alcohol.”
    “Huh?”
    I pulled my nose free. “ That would explain the smell of alcohol . Clean the lens with the isopropyl and then dry it with the microfiber.”
    Morris lowered the cloth and looked at me. “So what are we saying here? Someone snapped a picture of our guy in action?”
    “Doubtful,” I said. “You think someone who happens upon a murder in the woods is going to stop and clean his or her lens first?”
    “Maybe it was one of the teens who found him.”
    “No—they told us about the body. No reason to lie about catching it on film.”
    “There is if they were snapping pictures instead of trying to help the guy.”
    I took the file from Morris. I found the information I wanted and spoke with my eyes on the page. “Teens were heading north when they found the body. After coming clean, their statements were unanimous in that they headed back south to phone it in.” I lifted my head and gestured to the cloth in Morris’ hand. “We found that farther north, beyond the crime scene.”
    “ You found it.”
    “You don’t have to try anymore; I’m already on board.”
    Morris smirked.
    “So what do we have then?” I asked.
    Morris held the dark square of cloth up to the fading light again. “Looks relatively new. Odds are slim it’s been out here a while. Think you would have smelled the rubbing alcohol if it had?”
    “No idea.”
    “Then we have a piece of microfiber cloth soaked in isopropyl alcohol about—” He turned back to the crime scene to gauge distance. “Five yards north of the crime scene.” He glanced at me. “It could belong to our guy.”
    “Maybe.”
    “He could have used it for wiping down prints—the shovel handle, the cuffs, the victim…”
    “Nah—our guy’s too careful. To go without gloves and hope to clean up after would be foolish. Besides, microfiber cloths are pretty solid at removing prints without the aid of a cleanser. An isopropyl mixture would likely be used for something delicate, like a lens.”
    “Okay, a lens it is. Let’s play.”
    “Go.”
    “Option A,” Morris began. “The cloth is days old and belongs to a shutterbug who was taking a walk through the woods, snapping up nature or whatever. He dropped the cloth and never noticed.”
    “Very likely. Option B?”
    “Some other shutterbug is in the woods, except he’s clicking away last night . He stops to clean his lens with an isopropyl alcohol-based cleanser and a microfiber cloth, but then he sees something. Something that spooks him. Our guy and his victim.”
    I joined in now. “He jams his gear into his camera bag and hightails it out of there, keen on not being victim number two in the hole.”
    Morris: “But as he jams his gear into his bag, he drops the microfiber cloth. It’s dark, the cloth is dark, and he doesn’t notice. And even if he did, he doesn’t give a shit—the cloth is cheap, his life is not.”
    “But did he get a picture before he bolted?” I asked. “And if so, is he planning on telling anyone?”
    A brief pause.
    “Something irks me about Option B,” Morris eventually