Chapter 7 - The Lab Analysis
Forty-eight hours later, in the basement of the State Forensic Science Laboratory, Kane stood beside Dr. Aris Thorne and a senior forensic metallurgist named Dr. Rebecca Lin.
Mounted on the central stage of an optical emission spectrometer was the extracted two-inch metallic sliver that had severed my mobility.
"Take a look through the magnification monitor, Marcus," Dr. Lin said, adjusting the focus dials.
The screen displayed a magnified image of the fractured edge. To an untrained eye, it looked like a jagged mountain range. To Kane, briefed by my diagrams, the pattern was chillingly obvious: microscopic, rhythmic striations radiating outward from a razor-straight, unnatural groove.
"That groove wasn't worn down by time," Dr. Lin stated flatly, pointing a stylus at the monitor. "That is an artificial kerf mark created by a diamond-tipped micro-scribe, approximately forty microns deep. It was cut at precisely a thirty-degree angle relative to the grain flow of the steel."
"And the metal itself?" Kane asked.
"It’s not antique," Lin said, pulling up the spectral analysis graphs. "Look at the chemical composition. High nickel, chromium, and a distinct trace of vanadium. This is ASTM A228 music wire spring steel, manufactured within the last two years. It's the exact alloy used in high-performance mechanical actuators and precision weapon triggers."
"Could this have been bought at a fabric store or an antique restoration outlet?" Kane pressed.
"Not a chance in hell," Lin snorted. "This particular batch has an idiosyncratic metallurgical fingerprint. See that 0.04 percent molybdenum contamination? That specific melt was produced exclusively by a specialty industrial supplier in New Jersey called Apex Precision Alloys."
Kane pulled out his phone. "Can you trace the retail purchaser?"
"I already ran the invoice records for the past six months through a subpoena," Lin replied, a grim smile touching her lips. "Apex Precision doesn't sell to the general public. They sell to commercial accounts. But three weeks before the wedding, an order for six customized, heat-treated flat spring plates was picked up in person. Paid in cash, but ordered under a corporate tax ID."
"Whose ID?" Kane growled.
"Vance Heritage Restorations LLC," Lin said. "A dummy shell company registered to Harper Vance's Manhattan residential address."
May you like
Dr. Thorne crossed his arms, looking sickened. "She didn't just break her sister's back. She machined the bullet, calibrated the trigger pull, and loaded the gun."
***
