“Checked fingerprint samples of the homeowners-from the medicine cabinet and things in the bedside table.”

“So you weren’t fudging. You really did read my book.” Rhyme had devoted a number of paragraphs in his forensic text to the importance of collecting control prints at crime scenes and where to best find them.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m so pleased. Did I make any royalties?”

“I borrowed my brother’s.” Pulaski’s twin was a cop down at the Sixth Precinct in Greenwich Village.

“Let’s hope he paid for it.”

Most of the prints found in the loft were the couples’-which they determined from the samples. The others were probably from visitors but it wasn’t impossible that 522 had been careless. Cooper scanned all of them into the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System. The results would be available soon.

“Okay, tell me, Pulaski, what was your impression of the scene?”

The question seemed to throw him. “Impression?”

“Those are the trees.” Rhyme lowered his eyes toward the evidence bags. “What did you think of the forest?”

The young officer thought. “Well, I did have a thought. It’s stupid, though.”

“You know I’ll be the first one to say if you’ve come up with a stupid theory, rookie.”

“It’s just, when I first got there my impression was that the struggle seemed off.”

“How do you mean?”

“See, her bike was chained to a lamppost outside the loft. Like she’d parked it, not thinking anything was wrong.”

“So he didn’t just grab her on the street.”

“Right. And to get into the loft you went through a gate and then down a long corridor to the front door. It was real narrow and it was packed with things the couple stored outside-jars and cans, sports things, some stuff to be recycled, tools for their garden. But nothing was disturbed.” He tapped another photo. “But look inside-that’s where the struggle began. The table and the vases. Right by the front door.” His voice went soft again. “Looks like she fought real hard.”

Rhyme nodded. “All right. So Five Twenty-Two lures her to the loft, smooth-talking her. She locks up the bike, walks down the corridor and they go into the loft. She stops in the entryway, sees he’s lying and tries to get out.”

He considered this. “So he must’ve known enough about Myra to put her at ease, and make her feel that she could trust him… Sure, think about it: He’s got all this information-about who people are, what people buy, when they’re on vacation, whether they have alarms, where they’re going to be… Not bad, rookie. Now we know something concrete about him.”

Pulaski struggled to keep a smile off his face.

Cooper’s computer dinged. He read the screen. “No hits on the prints. Zero.”

Rhyme shrugged, not surprised. “I’m interested in this idea-that he knows so much. Somebody give DeLeon Williams a call. Was Five Twenty-Two right about all the evidence?”

Sellitto’s brief conversation revealed that, yes, Williams wore size-13 Sure-Track shoes, he regularly bought Trojan-Enz brand condoms, he had forty-pound fishing line, he drank Miller beer and he’d recently been to Home Depot for duct tape and hemp rope to use as a tie-down.

Looking at the evidence chart of the earlier rape, Rhyme noted that the condoms used by 522 in that crime were Durex. The killer had used those because Joseph Knightly bought that brand.

On the speakerphone he asked Williams, “Is one of your shoes missing?”

“No.”

Sellitto said, “So he bought a pair. Same type, same size as you’ve got. How’d he know that? Have you seen anybody on your property recently, maybe in your garage, going through your car or trash? Or have you had a break-in recently?”

“No, we sure haven’t. I’m out of work and here most days taking care of the house. I’d know. And it’s not the best neighborhood in the world; we’ve got an alarm. We always put it on.”

Rhyme thanked him and they disconnected.

He stretched his head back and gazed at the chart, as he dictated to Thom what to write.

MYRA WEINBURG CRIME SCENE

· COD: Strangulation. Awaiting final M.E. report

· No mutilation or arranging of body but ring fingernail, left hand, was cut short. Possible trophy. Premortem most likely

· Condom lubricant, from Trojan-Enz

· Unopened condoms (2), Trojan-Enz

· No used condoms, or body fluids

· Traces of Miller beer on floor (source other than crime scene)

· Fishing line, 40-pound monofilament, generic brand

· Four-foot length of brown hemp rope (MW)

· Duct tape on mouth

· Tobacco flake, old, from unidentified brand

· Footprint, Sure-Track man’s running shoe, size 13

· No fingerprints

Rhyme asked, “Our boy called nine-one-one, right? To report the Dodge?”

“Yeah,” Sellitto confirmed.

“Find out about the call. What he said, what his voice sounded like.”

The detective added, “The earlier cases too-your cousin’s and the coin theft and earlier rape.”

“Good, sure. I didn’t think about that.”

Sellitto got in touch with central dispatch. Nine-one-one calls are recorded and kept for varying periods of time. He requested the information. Ten minutes later he received a callback. The 911 reports from Arthur’s case and today’s murder were still in the system, the dispatch supervisor reported, and had been sent to Cooper’s e-mail address as.wav files. The earlier cases had been sent to archives on CD. It could take days to find them but an assistant had sent in a request for them.

When the audio files arrived, Cooper opened and played them. They were of a male voice telling the police to hurry to an address where he’d heard screaming. He described the get-away vehicles. The voices sounded identical.

“Voice print?” Cooper asked. “If we get a suspect, we can compare it.”

Voice prints were more highly regarded in the forensic world than lie detectors, and were admissible in some courts, depending on the judge. But Rhyme shook his head. “Listen to it. He’s talking through a box. Can’t you tell?”

A “box” is a device that disguises a caller’s voice. It doesn’t produce a weird, Darth Vader sound; the timbre is normal, if a little hollow. Many directory assistance and customer service operations use them to make employees’ voices uniform.

It was then that the door opened and Amelia Sachs strode into the parlor, carrying a large object under her arm. Rhyme couldn’t tell what it was. She nodded, then gazed at the evidence chart, saying to Pulaski, “Looks like a good job.”

“Thanks.”

Rhyme noted that what she held was a book. It seemed half disassembled. “What the hell is that?”

“A present from our doctor friend, Robert Jorgensen.”

“What is it? Evidence?”

“Hard to say. It was really an odd experience, talking to him.”

“Whatta you mean by odd, Amelia?” Sellitto asked.

“Think Batboy, Elvis and aliens behind the Kennedy assassination. That sort of odd.”

Pulaski exhaled a fast laugh, drawing a withering look from Lincoln Rhyme.