Now the criminalist and Ben waited for the results from the chromatograph. As they did, Rhyme asked, "What else do we have?" Nodding toward the clothes.

"Brown paint stains on Garrett's pants," Ben reported as he examined them. "Dark brown. Looks recent."

"Brown," Rhyme repeated, examining them. "What's the color of Garrett's parents' house?"

"I don't know," Ben began.

"I didn't expect you to be a storehouse of Tanner's Corner trivia," Rhyme grumbled. "I meant: Call them."

"Oh." Ben found the number in the case file and called. He spoke to someone for a moment then hung up. "That's one uncooperative son of a bitch… Garrett's foster dad. Anyway, their house is white and there's nothing painted dark brown on the property."

"So, it's probably the color of the place where he's got her."

The big man asked, "Is there a paint database somewhere we can compare it to?"

"Good idea," Rhyme responded. "But the answer's no. I have one in New York but that won't do us any good here. And the FBI database is automotive. But keep going. What's in the pockets, anything? Put on -"

But Ben was already pulling on the latex gloves. "This what you were going to say?"

"It was," Rhyme muttered.

Thom said, "He hates to be anticipated."

"Then I'll try to do it more," Ben said.

"Ah, here's something." Rhyme squinted at several small white objects the young man dug out of Garrett's pocket.

"What are they?"

Ben sniffed. "Cheese and bread."

"More food. Like the crackers and -"

Ben was laughing.

Rhyme frowned. "What's funny?"

"It's food – but it's not for Garrett."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you ever fished?" Ben asked.

"No, I've never fished," Rhyme grumbled. "If you want fish you buy it, you cook it, you eat it. What the hell does fishing have to do with cheese sandwiches?"

"They're not from sandwiches," Ben explained. "They're stinkballs. Bait for fishing. You wad up bread and cheese and let 'em get good and sour. Bottom feeders love 'em. Like catfish. The smellier the better."

Rhyme's eyebrow lifted. "Ah, now that's helpful."

Ben examined the cuffs. He brushed a small amount out onto a People magazine subscription card and then looked at it under the microscope. "Nothing much distinctive," he said. "Except little flecks of something. White."

"Let me see."

The zoologist carried the large Bausch & Lomb microscope over to Rhyme, who looked through the eyepieces. "Okay, good. They're paper fibers."

"They are?" Ben asked.

"It's obvious they're paper. What else would they be? Absorbent paper too. Don't have a clue what the source is, though. Now, that dirt is very interesting. Can you get some more? Out of the cuffs?"

"I'll try."

Ben cut the stitching securing the cuff and unfolded it. He brushed more dirt out onto the card.

"'Scope it," Rhyme ordered.

The zoologist prepared a slide and slipped it onto the stage of the compound microscope, which he again held rock-steady for Rhyme, who peered into the eyepieces. "There's a lot of clay. I mean, a lot.Feldspathic rock, probably granite. And – what's that? Oh, peat moss."

Impressed, Ben asked, "How d'you know all this?"

"I just do." Rhyme didn't have time to go into a discussion of how a criminalist must know as much about the physical world as he does about crime. He asked, "What else was in the cuffs? What's that?"Nodding toward something resting on the subscription card. "That little whitish-green thing?"

"It's from a plant," Ben said. "But that's not my expertise. I studied marine botany but it wasn't my favorite subject. I'm more into life forms that've got a chance to get away when you're collecting them. Seems more sporting."

Rhyme ordered, "Describe it."

Ben looked it over with a magnifying glass. "A reddish stalk and a dot of liquid on the end. It looks viscous. There's a white, bell-shaped flower attached to it… If I had to guess -"

"You do," Rhyme snapped. "And quickly."

"I'm pretty sure it's from a sundew."

"What the hell's that? Sounds like dish soap."

Ben said, "It's like a Venus flytrap. They eat insects. They're fascinating. When I was a kid we'd sit and watch 'em for hours. The way they eat is -"

"Fascinating,"Rhyme repeated sarcastically. "I'm not interested in their dining habits. Where're they found? That's what would be fascinating to me."

"Oh, all over the place here."

Rhyme scowled. "Useless. Shit. All right, run a sample of that dirt through the chromatograph after the cloth sample's done." He then looked at Garrett's T-shirt, which was lying, spread open, on a table. "What're those stains?"

There were several reddish blotches on the shirt. Ben studied them closely and shrugged, shook his head.

The criminalist's thin lips curved into a wry smile. "You game to taste it?"

Without hesitation Ben lifted the shirt and licked a small portion of the stain.

Rhyme called, "Good man."

Ben lifted an eyebrow. "I assumed that was standard procedure."

"No way in hell would I have done that," Rhyme responded.

"I don't believe that for a minute," Ben said. He licked it again. "Fruit juice, I'd guess. Can't tell what flavor."

"Okay, add that to the list, Thom." Rhyme nodded at the chromatograph. "Let's get the results from the scraps of pants cloth and then run the dirt from the cuffs."

Soon the machine had told them what trace substances were embedded in Garrett's clothes and what had been found in the dirt in his cuffs: sugar, more camphene, alcohol, kerosene and yeast. The kerosene was in significant amounts. Thom had added these to the list and the men examined the chart.

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE -

MILL

Brown Paint on Pants

Sundew Plant

Clay

Peat Moss

Fruit Juice

Paper Fibers

Stinkball Bait

Sugar

Camphene

Alcohol

Kerosene

Yeast

What did all this mean? Rhyme wondered. There were too many clues. He couldn't see any relationships among them. Was the sugar from the fruit juice or from a separate location the boy had been to? Had he bought the kerosene or had he just happened to hide in a gas station or barn where the owner stored it? Alcohol was found in more than three thousand common household and industrial products – from solvents to aftershave. The yeast had undoubtedly been picked up in the gristmill, where grain had been ground into flour.

After a few minutes Lincoln Rhyme's eyes flicked to another chart.

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE -

GARETT'S ROOM

Skunk Musk

Cut Pine Needles

Drawings of Insects

Pictures of Mary Beth and Family

Insect Books

Fishing Line

Money

Unknown Key

Kerosene

Ammonia

Nitrates

Camphene

Something that Sachs had mentioned when she was searching the boy's room came back to him.

"Ben, could you open that notebook there, Garrett's notebook? I want to look at it again."

"You want me to put it in the turning frame?"

"No, just thumb through it," Rhyme told him.

The boy's stilted drawings of the insects flipped past: a water boatman, a diving bell spider, a water strider.

He remembered that Sachs had told him that, except for the wasp jar – Garrett's safe – the insects in his collection were in jars containing water. "They're all aquatic."

Ben nodded. "Seem to be."

"He's attracted to water," Rhyme mused. He looked at Ben. "And that bait? You said it's for bottom feeders."