But all he said to Sara was “Okay. Here’s what we have. A lock of John Thiroux’s hair, courtesy of Mrs. Jane Gallier. One fingerprint in the sketch of Anne Donovan’s arm. Blood flakes from the knife found at the crime scene, as well as blood found on the absinthe spoon lying on the floor. That’s it. That’s all we’ve got. And maybe, if we’re incredibly lucky, we can trace Anne Donovan’s child on down to a descendent, though that’s probably wishful thinking. And even if we could find a descendent, who is to say they’ll agree to give us a sample?”

Sara made a face. “I suppose a lot of people would find it disturbing to be approached with something like this.”

It was possible he might offend someone, but Gabriel thought it was time he set aside irrational feelings and aggressively pursued every angle he could. “Dealing with the dead is disturbing to the living.”

He was leaning against his desk, feet crossed, arms over his chest, and he watched Sara, took great pleasure in seeing her fingers pull her ponytail over her shoulder and absently stroke the ends of her hair. Her orange tank top clung to her breasts and Gabriel remembered the way she had felt, pressed against him, every curve of her body clinging to his. It was a good thing the timing had been so incredibly inappropriate, because he was becoming more and more tempted.

“It almost seems as if everything is disturbing to the living.” Sara’s eyes went a little wider and she asked him, voice low, “What do you think is out there? Where do you think the dead go?”

“To heaven.” He could say that without hesitation. He had seen it, lived it, felt it. He had never wanted to leave, had wanted to spend eternity in his palace of light, where visitors found answers, where he felt generous and wise. Then he had come down to earth and had been overwhelmed by suffering and despaired of his ineffectiveness, until he had found his palace again in the bottom of a bottle.

“I hope so,” Sara said quietly. “I hope so.”

But before he could respond, she straightened. “So. Anyway. So we have John Thiroux’s DNA and possibly Anne Donovan’s. We have blood from the weapon and blood that was on the absinthe spoon, which was found on the floor. Presumably both will be Anne’s blood, but possibly the murderer’s. The fingerprint is useless unless we can find prints for John or Anne, and for the same finger that touched the sketch, which is highly unlikely.”

They had John’s fingerprints since they were his own, and he now knew they didn’t match, but Gabriel couldn’t exactly reveal that little fact to her.

“Where are the samples? Have you submitted them to the lab? How did you get them anyway?”