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Detective Gibbs. 
    “Got the finger prints back from the lab. I think you’ll find the results rather interesting,” Gibbs said.

CHAPTER 7
    “THERE WERE TWO sets of fingerprints on that wrench,” Gibbs said.
    I gulped. “Really?”
    “One of them belonged to Jake.”
    There was a long moment of silence. “And the other set of prints?” I asked, nervously. My heart was beating so loud I was sure Gibbs could hear it on the other end of the line.
    “As yet unknown. They didn’t match anything in our database.”
    I sighed. “Oh, well, that’s too bad.”
    “I know you have a fondness for the guy, but I think he’s guilty.” 
    “What does he say?” I asked.
    “Jake says he’s innocent, just like everybody else who gets arrested says.”
    “Does he have an alibi?”
    “He says about 9:30pm he escorted Isabella to her apartment. She was upset. They talked for about half an hour. He went back to his apartment around 10pm.”
    “Did he say what Isabella talked about?” I asked.
    “He said it was a private conversation. That’s all he would say,” Gibbs said. “Look, he’s a convicted felon, with a record of assault. I think he got into an argument with the old lady. He got a little hot under the collar. Bashed her over the head without putting too much thought into it.”
    “It just doesn’t sound like Jake.”
    “You never really know somebody,” Gibbs sighed. “Medical examiner said the fatal blow was struck by a left-hander, judging by the angle of the lacerations. Your boy, Jake, is a lefty. There’s enough evidence for the grand jury to indict him. Sorry, kid. But he’s going down for this. I’ve got officers over there now searching the apartment.”
    “But there’s nothing in Jake’s apartment,” I blurted out. “I mean, do you think there’s really something in there?”
    “That’s why we search. I’m on my way over there now.”
    I hung up with Detective Gibbs and raced down to Jake’s apartment. The door was open, and two officers were rummaging through the place. I peered in through the doorway. The wood was splintered where the officers had kicked in the deadbolt. 
    “Excuse me ma’am, this is official police business. Can you please step outside!” one of the officers said.
     I waited in the lobby for Gibbs to arrive. By the time he got there, the officers had turned over every inch of Jake’s apartment. One of the officers emerged from the apartment with a pair of bloody coveralls. My eyes grew wide at the sight. The officer handed them to Detective Gibbs.
    “Put these into evidence,” Gibbs said, handing the coveralls back. 
    I searched every inch of his apartment last night. I’m absolutely positive that those coveralls weren’t in there. But I couldn’t exactly come out and say that I had broken into his apartment and searched.
    “How do you know those are Jake’s?” I asked.
    “They were found in his apartment, whose else would they be?” Gibbs asked.
    “It’s possible somebody could have planted those.”
    “You watch too much television,” Gibbs said. “Remember what I said?  The simplest explanation is often the correct one.”
    “I’m just saying, someone could have snuck in during the night and planted the evidence. It is possible.”
    “Possible. But improbable,” Gibbs said. “Look, if you want to be a good detective, you’re going to have to let go of any bias you may have. Good police work is about being objective and looking at the facts.”
    “But Jake’s door was unlocked. Anyone could’ve gotten in there.”
    “How do you know it was unlocked?”
    “I’m just assuming,” I stammered. “He probably didn’t have time to lock the door when your officers pulled him out of his apartment.”
     “Well, your assumption is wrong. When my officers got here the door was locked. They had to get a key from Elliott.”
    I didn’t lock the door when I left the apartment last night. I left it exactly as I found it. Someone had