Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

were standing beside Butch Bedford, taking turns looking through his microscope at the partial that had been found on the cartridge casing retrieved from Kirk’s kitchen. They were comparing the casing print to a print of Jackie Harmon’s right index finger.
    “Looks like a match to me,” Butch said. “If I could put this on a projector, you’d see an island, a bifurcation, and a spur—three pretty strong identification points, especially since this is a partial. Remember, though, it’s just a preliminary analysis, on this small microscope, and my confidence level isn’t better than about eighty percent. It should go to the county forensic lab, where they’ve got a comparison microscope. Or Austin, where they’ve got some pretty sophisticated equipment. Might take a little longer, but—”
    “Let’s start with the county,” Bartlett said. “You’ve already found three points, they may find a couple more. If the DA wants another lab to look at it, we can send it to Austin.” He turned to Sheila. He was grinning broadly, his dark eyes alight. “With everything else we’ve got, I think we’ve just about wrapped this one up, Chief.”
    “Don’t get too cocky,” Sheila cautioned. But she was grinning, too. “Congratulations, guys.” She high-fived him, then Butch.
    “Oh, and there’s something else, Chief,” Butch said. “Before you brought this in, I was about to pick up the phone to tell you that I got a match on that set of prints Clarke brought in earlier this morning. Jason Hatch. The match was left middle finger and right index finger, on the computer belonging to George Timms.”
    “Hey, Butch, that’s great!” Bartlett exclaimed.
    “Good work,” Sheila said. “What’s your confidence level?”
    “About ninety percent on that one,” Butch said. Sheila smiled at the pride in his voice. He was going to be an asset to the department.
    Bartlett’s phone gave three digital pings and he flipped it open.“Bartlett,” he said shortly, and listened. “Thanks, Doc. Be right there.” To Sheila, he said, “Palmer’s conscious. He’s still in ICU, but the doctor says we can talk to him now. What’s more, he’s asking to talk to
us
.”
    “Well, that’s a switch,” Sheila said. She added, “But before we leave, let’s get Annetta to draw up a search warrant for Hatch’s house. Specify the computer and other documents. He may have kept records of his victims.”
    Bartlett was thoughtful. “Yeah. I’ll put Matheson on the search with her. No telling where that could go. We might uncover something we don’t know about.”
    T HE Adams County Hospital, on the far west side of town, was housed in a two-story red-brick main building, built in the early 1940s and set back from the street on a circle drive lined with large live oaks. Off to the right was the one-story Obermann wing constructed a couple of decades later with a gift from a noted town doctor. To the left was a new two-story wing, which housed the Intensive Care Unit. Today, it was under the careful eye of the charge nurse, Helen Berger, who led them to Palmer’s cubicle.
    “I know it’s important for both of you to talk to him,” she said quietly, “but don’t stay any longer than ten minutes. And try not to upset him. He’s been a little panicky.” She frowned a little. “The doctor has told him that he’ll recover, but he’s convinced that he’s going to die. Don’t be surprised if he tells you that.”
    “Thanks,” Sheila said, stepping back to let Bartlett go ahead.
    Helen smiled. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since you and the sheriff got married, Chief. Just want to say congratulations and best wishes to both of you. You probably don’t know this, but I went to high school withBlackie.” She blushed. “Actually, I was sweet on him when I was sixteen or so. He’s such a great guy.”
    “He is that,” Sheila said, with a little chuckle. She wasn’t surprised by what Helen said. She had met other women who, at one time or another, had been sweet on Blackie. He was generally oblivious to the fact, but he had quite a few admirers.
    “I was just so sorry when he decided not to run for sheriff again,” Helen went on. “Some of the other nurses were saying the same thing. We need guys like him. Not to say that Sheriff Chambers isn’t doing a good job,” she added hastily. “I’m sure he is—or he will be, once he gets settled. It’s just that with Blackie there, well, we all knew