“Not from the scene,” Kia said. “Hair and fiber analysis at Martinez’s came back with Williams’s hair. Her fingerprints were there too, so she was definitely there. But so far nothing matching Ben. I’m not sure he was ever in that house.”

He thought about the numbers he’d seen on Martinez’s refrigerator. “I found a piece of paper on his refrigerator with some numbers on it. Two sets of three digits. Can’t figure out what they could go to. The crime guys didn’t find anything that needed a combination, so I’m not sure what they’re for, or if they’re important at all. Let me know if you can think of anything.”

On the far side of the roll-call room they exited a door into the detectives’ area. Someone had halfheartedly decorated the cubicles for Christmas: a few strings of red and silver tinsel, an artificial tree with a handful of gold baubles. In Nate’s cubicle was a large box, sealed in yellow tape.

“What’s that?” Kia asked.

Nate peered at the label. “It’s the files on Ben I requested from Seattle.” He slit the box open and began unpacking folder after folder.

“Holy shit.” Kia gaped at the files. She lifted one file and flicked through it. “Battery. Dealing. Possession. Dealing. Don’t people ever learn?”

“There are the baddies and the goodies in the world. I think Ben’s made too many bad choices to ever really change.” He handed her half the stack of folders. “Here, you start on those.”

Kia separated the files into neat piles on her desk, her movements quick, determined. Nate pulled a flip chart over and together they built a timeline for Ben. Once they’d finished, Nate read it out loud.

“So Ben first got busted for doing drugs when he was fourteen. Looks like his father hired a fancy lawyer and got the conviction dropped.”

Kia snorted. “Helps having a big-shot doctor for a dad.”

“He got caught joyriding, stealing, was arrested and released for fighting at school. Then his parents were killed in a car accident. Shortly after that, he got caught selling homemade MDMA to an undercover. Turned out he was using basic lab equipment and old chemistry manuals to make drugs in the woods behind his foster parents’ house. MDMA. Heroin. He got sent straight to juvie.”

“Christ. He was a teenage Walter White,” Kia said.

“Yeah, but when he got out he started doing drugs as well as selling them. He was in and out of jail, using and dealing. He ended up owing money to one of the Mexican gangs. He started selling oxy for them to pay off his debts but got caught with enough in his possession to be booked as dealing after someone tipped off the Seattle PD.”

Nate flipped through a few more pages. His mouth dropped open with a little pop.

Kia tilted her head at him. “What?”