Chapter 1161: There’s Only Ever One Truth

Finding Colonel Barnes and his daughter wasn’t difficult. As Jack had expected, the Navy officer had made no preparations for a proper escape. When the Fugitive Task Force helicopter arrived at the scene, Ryan Barnes was in a tense standoff on the interstate with highway patrol officers, wielding a MK22 pistol.

Fortunately, the FBI had already warned state and highway patrol not to use aggressive measures—no one wanted to imagine how badly this could have ended.

“Leave it to me,” Clay said, handing his weapon to Jubal. He raised both hands and slowly approached the vehicle where the father and daughter were. “It’s over, Commander. Put the weapon down—don’t make this worse.”

“Stay back! Stay back!” Jack called out from behind him, holding his badge high and waving at the officers using their cruisers as cover, urging them to stand down.

JJ ran toward a sheriff in a white cowboy hat, loudly identifying herself and signaling for the FBI to take over from here.

The atmosphere was too volatile. One wrong move and someone could’ve ended up dead.

“Don’t come any closer, soldier. I’ve got a gun,” Barnes stepped out of the car, groggy and unshaven, his pistol clutched tightly in his hand.

“Dad!” Rachel had already burst into tears in the front seat. She jumped out, ran around the car, and threw herself into his arms, gripping his jacket with all her might.

“Put down the gun, Colonel. Believe me, it’s the best choice you can make right now,” Jack said, taking a few cautious steps forward, barrel aimed down.

Though he deeply sympathized with Barnes’s situation, he couldn’t afford to be careless. Emotions aside, the man was trained and currently unstable. Tragedy always feels more distant when it happens to someone else.

“Choice?” Barnes gave a sorrowful smile. “I never had a choice. Even now, I don’t understand how things came to this.”

“Think of your daughter. She still needs you,” Clay said, taking another step forward.

“Daddy! Daddy, I’m scared!”

Her desperate sobbing seemed to jolt Barnes back to reality. He clenched his jaw, as though making a final decision, then gently pried her hands from his jacket, kissed her on the forehead, stepped back, fell to his knees, and tossed his sidearm away.

“Alright. It’s time I came clean.”

He looked at his daughter with tortured eyes. “I killed my wife.”

As Rachel screamed in anguish, Barnes’s voice cracked with guilt. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This is all my fault.”

Just as Clay began handcuffing Barnes, he was shocked to see Jack pull a cotton swab from his pocket, unwrap it, and quickly swab Rachel’s hand and arm before sealing the evidence into a bag.

“Keep an eye on her,” Jack said, handing the bewildered girl off to JJ with a look that said everything.

“No! Agent Tavola! Please!” Barnes, who had seemed resigned just moments ago, began struggling fiercely, nearly slipping from Clay’s grip.

“There’s only ever one truth,” Jack said coldly, echoing a certain pint-sized detective, and handed the evidence bag to Jubal as he helped Clay haul Barnes into a squad car.

——

“I don’t believe it.”

“That’s impossible—she’s only ten!”

“Are you sure you’re not making a mistake?”

Everyone in the conference room except Aubrey—who’d already started putting the pieces together—reacted with disbelief when Jack laid out his theory. Doubt rippled through the room.

Instead of arguing, Jack wordlessly dripped a diluted diphenylamine-sulfuric acid solution into a test tube. As the liquid turned blue with a gentle swirl, he held it up for them to see.

No need for more words. Facts spoke for themselves.

“Gunshot residue testing” is a proven method to detect traces of firing a weapon. Anyone who’s seen Death on the Nile might remember Hercule Poirot’s “paraffin test.” When a gun is fired, gases escape the muzzle, spraying unburned gunpowder and trace metal particles onto nearby surfaces.

These microscopic particles cling to skin and clothing, remaining there far longer than one might expect. Washing isn’t enough to remove them.

“This won’t hold up in court,” Clay said, though his voice wavered. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jack—it was just too horrific to accept.

A ten-year-old girl, shooting her own mother point-blank? For what motive? Even with Jack’s science, a judge or jury would never buy it.

“The defense could argue the residue transferred from her father—he’s a SEAL, after all.”

“That’s why I had JJ change her clothes,” Jack said, pointing at a bagged T-shirt in the evidence tray.

Gunshot residue doesn’t just land on the shooter’s hands. The force of the recoil spreads particles all over the torso. Depending on the gun’s make, it leaves different patterns: revolvers create a fan-shaped residue, while semi-automatics form a downward half-arc.

“But Colonel Barnes confessed,” Jubal interjected. “And Aubrey found clear evidence in Rachel’s medical files—she’s definitely been abused.”

Jubal placed the file on the table. The photos were harrowing: multiple arm fractures, scalp lacerations, at least two concussions.

“Exactly,” Jack said, tapping the timeline in the report. “Look at the dates. Every injury occurred when Colonel Barnes was deployed overseas—unable to return home.”

“So you’re saying the injuries were self-inflicted?” Jane gasped. This case was unlike anything she’d seen.

“Do you remember what George Bolton said about antisocial personalities?” Jack asked Aubrey.

“He said people like him will do absolutely anything to get what they want. Lie, manipulate, deceive—whatever it takes.”

Aubrey rubbed his arm, the idea of such darkness in someone so young sending chills down his spine.

Just then, the door burst open and Hannah strode in, face alight with triumph. “Jack, we found it—exactly where you said it would be.”

She stopped short, seeing the stunned faces in the room.

“Why do you all look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”