Chapter 2 - The Impossible Detail

Detective Miller’s pen froze over his clipboard.

He looked from Blair’s stone-cold face to Nolan, whose cheekbones suddenly drained of every drop of color.

"What did you say?" Miller asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Check the property records, Detective," Blair commanded, not taking her gaze off her husband. "Or better yet, send your officers back to the house right now to look for this phantom fireplace."

Nolan’s hands began to tremble. "I... I meant the heavy metal rod in the pantry! I was confused, Blair! I was terrified! It was dark!"

"The pantry holds canned vegetables and lightbulbs, Nolan," Blair said, pulling out her military tablet and sliding a digital floor plan of her mother's home across the desk. "You’ve visited that house twice a week for fifteen years. You know every square inch of it."

"Detective Miller," Blair turned to the investigator. "I want my mother released into medical custody immediately. And I want my husband’s clothing and footwear impounded as primary evidence under a suspected domestic assault investigation."

Nolan backed toward the wall. "This is insane! I’m the victim here! Look at my neck!"

"Those are defensive scratches," Blair said flatly. "The kind a seventy-one-year-old woman leaves when a six-foot-two man is pinning her to the floor."

Ten minutes later, inside the evidence room, two forensic technicians placed Nolan’s leather dress shoes under the high-intensity lamps.

Nolan sat in a side room, his hands gripping his knees as the reality of his slip-up began to press against his chest.

The lead forensic officer used a pair of fine stainless-steel tweezers to examine the deep tread on the right shoe.

Embedded deep within the rubber groove near the heel was a microscopic object that caught the fluorescent light.

A tiny, razor-sharp shard of green tinted glass.

"Detective," the technician called out, placing the fragment into a sterile glass dish. "This isn't window glass, and it isn't from a drinking mug."

"What is it?" Miller asked, leaning over the table.

"It’s high-grade optical lens glass," the technician noted, bringing up a magnified scan on the secondary monitor. "The kind used in specialized miniature surveillance hardware."

Blair stepped up to the glass dish, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the specific military-grade coating on the shard.