“Hear the good news? We got a positive on the suspect’s fingerprints on the handle of the murder weapon.”

“I heard.” His voice was rough as sandpaper. The revelation had hit him like a sucker punch. Nausea swelled inside him. He couldn’t tell Quentin or Haley this terrible news. Didn’t know how he’d be able to face Darby, knowing he’d let her down. Couldn’t handle the thought of her going to prison.

He cleared his throat. “Do you have a copy of the report?”

Allan shook his head. “Not yet. Lab tech called to say she’d emailed the preliminary results to the detective. Said she’d fax the entire thing over when she had a moment.”

The fax machine chose that second to start receiving a message and Eban strode over to it and impatiently waited for it to finish spitting out paper before he pulled out the report. He placed it on a nearby desk where he and Allan stared down at the evidence that could take Darby away from him for years. He hadn’t even realized exactly how much she meant to him until he’d lost her, this time possibly forever.

His vision started to gray. He was in danger of passing out. He braced his hands on the desk to hold himself up.

“That’s odd.” Allan frowned thoughtfully at one sheet of paper.

Eban blinked. “What is?”

His communication skills had been obliterated by a grief he couldn’t reveal. He might have lost everything he hadn’t even realized he wanted.

Allan scratched his shaven head and pointed at the image. “I didn’t see the victim, but I did notice how tiny the suspect is.”

Eban frowned at the images. He wasn’t getting it.

“Look at her grip.” Allan demonstrated holding his right hand out thumb pointed up. “If I wrap my hand around a knife the way is indicated here, with the partial thumb print being found near the guard, then I’d be stabbing someone with an upward jab.”

Eban stared at the knife and then remembered the photos of the victim. He held out his cell with an image of the dead man. “Martin Carstairs was killed from above with a downward thrust.” Eban noticed another thing. “Plus, that’s her right handprint on the knife. I happen to know Darby O’Roarke is left-handed.”

Allan’s brows hiked and they exchanged a look.

Relief rose through Eban in a wave that rocked him. Darby hadn’t killed Martin, but someone had. And they’d set up Darby to take the fall.

Who the hell would do that? Who would try to terrorize this woman knowing what she’d already suffered? Someone vindictive and cruel. Someone as cold as ice.

There had to be evidence or a witness who could identify the real culprit. “Did you talk to the neighbors?”

“Not yet.”

Detective Torgerson came into the bullpen and took high-fives from the other patrol officers who’d obviously heard the news about the prints being found on the murder weapon. The department thought this sealed their case.