Ink and Blood
“Look at my wrist,” I said suddenly, lifting my left arm.
Ruiz followed the line of skin to a small, intricate tattoo—a looping serpent coiled around a single lavender sprig.
“That’s the same symbol we found in the missing woman’s journal,” Daniels snarled, his voice rising.
“I didn’t write any journal,” I replied, the words feeling like a shield.
“Then why does the symbol match?” Ruiz pressed, his tone sharper now.
I swallowed, the memory of a scarred notebook surfacing from a childhood I tried to forget.
“Because I have a sister,” I said, the words spilling out. “She kept that journal. I carried her bracelet—this tattoo—ever since she disappeared.”
Daniels stared, jaw clenched, then barked, “Search the car.”
Ruiz moved to the door, his boots clacking on the concrete floor, and gestured for me to step outside.
The hallway smelled of oil and damp carpet as we walked to the parking lot, the station’s flickering neon casting long shadows.
I fumbled with the car door, the lock whining as I opened it.
Officer Ruiz crouched, his flashlight cutting a thin beam across the passenger seat.
“There’s something here,” he murmured, pulling back a panel hidden beneath the floor mat.
Inside lay a small, folded cloth, darkened with rust‑red stains.
I gasped, the scent of iron flooding my nostrils, mingling with the faint perfume of lavender that seemed to cling to the fabric.
“What is this?” Daniels demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Before I could answer, the station lights flickered, sputtered, and died, plunging everything into black.
A blood‑curdling scream ripped through the darkness, echoing from the interrogation room.
At the same moment, a metallic clink rang out—the sound of handcuffs snapping shut on the officers’ wrists.
DNA and Lavender
Officer Daniels barked into his radio, “Backup at 3‑B, we’ve got a contamination issue.”
The forensic tech slipped on a white lab coat, her badge glinting under the flickering fluorescent light.
She lifted the blood‑stained cloth with tweezers, holding it up to the harsh bulb. “First thing, I’ll run a quick PCR. Can you stand by, officers?”
Ruiz shifted his weight, eyes never leaving the fabric. “We’ve never seen anything like this in a routine stop.”
The tech swabbed the cloth, placing it into a portable analyzer. A low whir filled the cramped room, punctuated by the distant hum of the air‑conditioning.
“Result in three minutes,” she whispered, as the machine chirped. The silence was thick, the smell of stale coffee mingling with the metallic tang of the blood.
When the screen flashed, she exhaled sharply. “DNA matches two profiles: one is yours, Victoria, and the other belongs to the missing woman from the farmhouse case.”
She leaned closer, nostrils flaring. “And there’s a faint scent of lavender… seems fresh, like perfume.”
Victoria’s breath caught. “That’s my mother’s perfume. She always wore lavender oil.”
Daniels’ jaw tightened. “We need to verify the source. Bring in the supervisor.”
