“Evidence, Mel. Let’s look it over.”

Rhyme was referring to what had been collected in the trash can near DeLeon Williams’s house.

“Friction ridges?”

The first items Cooper examined for fingerprints were the plastic bags-the one holding the evidence 522 had presumably intended to plant and the bags inside, containing some still-wet blood and a bloody paper towel. But there were no prints on the plastic-a disappointment, since it preserves them so well. (Often they’re visible, not latent, and can be observed without any special chemicals or lighting.) Cooper did find indications that the UNSUB had touched the bags with cotton gloves-the sort experienced criminals prefer to latex gloves, which retain the perp’s prints inside the fingers very efficiently.

Using various sprays and alternative light sources, Mel Cooper examined the rest of the items and found no prints on these either.

Rhyme realized that this case, like the others he suspected 522 was behind, was different from most in that it presented two categories of evidence. First, false evidence that the killer intended to plant to implicate DeLeon Williams; he’d undoubtedly made sure that none of this would lead back to himself personally. Second, real evidence that he’d left accidentally and that could very well lead to his home-such as the tobacco and the doll’s hair.

The bloody paper towel and wet blood were in the first category, intended to be left. Similarly the duct tape, meant to be slipped into Williams’s garage or car, would undoubtedly match strips used to gag or bind Myra Weinburg. But it would have been kept carefully protected from 522’s dwelling so it didn’t pick up any trace.

The size-13 Sure-Track running shoe probably wasn’t going to be stashed at Williams’s house but it was still “planted” evidence in the sense that 522 had undoubtedly used it to leave a print of a shoe similar to one of Williams’s. Mel Cooper tested the shoe anyway and found some trace: beer on the tread. According to the database of fermented beverage ingredients, created for the NYPD by Rhyme years ago, it was most likely Miller brand. That could be in either category-planted or real. They’d have to see what Pulaski recovered from the Myra Weinburg crime scene to know for sure.

The bag also contained a computer printout of Myra’s photo, probably included to suggest Williams had been stalking her online; it was therefore meant to be planted as well. Still, Rhyme had Cooper check it carefully but a ninhydrin test revealed no fingerprints. Microscopic and chemical analyses revealed generic, untraceable paper, printed with Hewlett-Packard laser toner, also untraceable beyond the brand name.

But they did make a discovery that might prove helpful. Rhyme and Cooper found something embedded in the paper: traces of Stachybotrys Chartarum mold. This was the infamous “sick building” mold. Since the amounts found in the paper were so small, it was unlikely that 522 meant it to be planted. More likely it came from the killer’s residence or place of work. The presence of this mold, which was found indoors almost exclusively, meant that at least part of his home or workplace would be dark and humid. Mold can’t grow in a dry location.

The Post-it note, also probably not intended to be planted, was a 3M brand, not the cheaper generic but still impossible to source. Cooper had found no trace in the note other than a few more spores of the mold, which at least told them that the Post-it’s source probably was 522. The ink was from a disposable pen sold in countless stores around the country.

And that was it for the evidence, though as Cooper was jotting the results, a tech from the outside lab Rhyme used for expedited medical analysis called and reported that the preliminary test confirmed the blood found in the bags was that of Myra Weinburg.

Sellitto took a phone call, had a brief conversation then hung up. “Zip…The DEA traced the call about Amelia to a pay phone. Nobody saw the caller. And nobody on the expressway saw anyone running. The canvass at the two closest subway stations didn’t turn up anything suspicious around the time he got away.”

“Well, he’s not going to do anything suspicious, now, is he? What did the canvassers think? An escaping murderer would jump a turnstile or strip his clothes off and change into a superhero outfit?”

“Just telling you what they said, Linc.”

Grimacing, he asked Thom to write the results of the search up on the whiteboard.

STREET NEAR DELEON WILLIAMS’S HOUSE

· Three plastic bags, ZipLoc freezer style, one-gallon

· One right size-13 Sure-Track running shoe, dried beer in tread (probably Miller brand), no wear marks. No other discernible trace. Bought to leave imprint at scene of crime?

· Paper towel with blood in plastic bag. Preliminary test confirms it’s the victim’s

· 2 ccs blood in plastic bag. Preliminary test confirms it’s the victim’s

· Post-it with address of the Henderson House Residence, Room 672, occupied by Robert Jorgensen. Note and pen untraceable. Paper untraceable. Evidence of Stachybotrys Chartarum mold in paper

· Picture of victim, apparently computer printout, color. Hewlett-Packard printer ink. Otherwise untraceable. Paper untraceable. Evidence of Stachybotrys Chartarum mold in paper

· Duct tape, Home Depot house brand, not traceable to particular location.

· No friction-ridge prints

The doorbell rang and Ron Pulaski walked briskly into the room, carrying two milk crates containing plastic bags, evidence from the scene where Myra Weinburg had been killed.

Rhyme noted immediately that his expression had changed. His face was still. Pulaski often cringed or seemed perplexed or occasionally looked proud-he even blushed-but now his eyes seemed hollow, not at all like the determined gaze of earlier. He glanced at Rhyme with a nod, walked sullenly to the examination tables, handed off the evidence to Cooper and gave him the chain-of-custody cards, which the tech signed.

The rookie stepped back, looking over the whiteboard chart Thom had created. Hands in his jeans pockets, Hawaiian shirt untucked, he wasn’t seeing a single word.

“You all right, Pulaski?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t look all right,” Sellitto said.

“Naw, it’s nothing.”

But that wasn’t true. Something about running his first solo homicide scene had upset him.

Finally he said, “She was just lying there, faceup, staring at the ceiling. It’s like she was alive and looking for something. Frowning, kind of curious. I guess I expected her to be covered up.”

“Yeah, well, you know we don’t do that,” Sellitto muttered.

Pulaski looked out the window. “The thing is…okay, it’s crazy. It’s just she looked a little like Jenny.” His wife. “Kind of weird.”

Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs were similar in many ways when it came to their work. They felt you needed to summon empathy in searching crime scenes, which allowed you to feel what the perp, and the victim, experienced. This helped to better understand the scene and find evidence you otherwise might not.

Those who had this skill, as harrowing as its consequences might be, were masters at walking the grid.

But Rhyme and Sachs differed in one important aspect. Sachs believed it was important never to become numb to the horror of crime. You needed to feel it every time you went to a scene, and afterward. If you didn’t, she said, your heart grew hard, you moved closer to the darkness within the people you pursued. Rhyme, on the other hand, felt you should be as dispassionate as possible. Only by coldly putting aside the tragedy could you be the best police officer you could-and more efficiently stop future tragedies from occurring. (“It’s not a human being anymore,” he’d lectured his new recruits. “It’s a source of evidence. And a damn good one.”)