‘Bathroom just before he came to the scene?’

‘Possibly, rookie, but I’d guess he picked it up from the sewage system somewhere. I think it tells us he’s been spending a lot of time in underground New York. That’s his killing zone. He’s comfortable there. And if there wasn’t any effluence at the Chloe Moore scene, that means he’s already got a few other sites selected. And it also tells us he’s scoping out his targets ahead of time.’

The parlor phone rang. Sachs answered. Had a brief conversation and then hung up. ‘The ME. Yep, COD was cicutoxin – and no tetrodotoxin. You were right, Mel: This was eight times more concentrated than what you’d find in a natural plant. And he sedated her with propofol. Neck and arm. Two injection sites.’

‘Prescription drug,’ Rhyme noted. ‘You can’t grow that  in your backyard. How did he have access to that? Well, put it on the chart and let’s keep going. The tattoo itself. That’s what I’m really curious about.’

Rhyme gazed at the picture Sachs had taken: inkless but easy to see from the red, inflamed skin. A much clearer image than what he’d viewed through the video camera at the dim crime scene.

‘Man,’ Ron Pulaski said, ‘it’s good.’

‘I don’t know the tattoo world,’ Rhyme said. ‘But I wonder if there’re only a limited number of artists who could do that in a short period of time.’

‘I’ll hit some of the bigger parlors in town,’ Sellitto said. ‘See what I can find.’

Rhyme mused, ‘Those lines.’ He pointed to the border, scallops above and below the words. ‘You were right, Sachs. They look cut, not tattooed. Like he used a razor blade or scalpel.’

Sellitto muttered, ‘Just fucking decorations. What a prick.’

‘On the chart. Don’t know what to make of that. Now, the words: “the second”. Meaning? Thoughts?’

‘The second victim?’ Pulaski offered.

Sellitto laughed. ‘This guy ain’t really covering up his tracks. We probably woulda heard if there was a number one, don’tcha think? Bet CNN would’ve caught on.’

‘Sure, true. Wasn’t thinking.’

Rhyme regarded the picture. ‘Not enough to draw conclusions at this point. And what’s the rest of the message? My impression is that somebody who knows calligraphy that well also knows spelling and grammar. Lowercase “t” on the article “the”. So something preceded it. There’s no period so something comes after the phrase.’

Sachs said, ‘I wonder if it’s a line he made up. Or is it a quotation? A puzzle?’

‘No clue … Lon, get some bodies at HQ to search the databases.’

‘Good idea. Efficient: a task force to find “the second” in a book or something? You think that’s ever appeared before, Linc?’

‘First, Lon, aren’t air quotes a bit overused? More to the point: How’s this? Have them search for the words in famous quotes about crimes, killers, tattoos, underground New York. Tell them to be creative!’

Sellitto muttered, ‘All right. “The second”. And for the number – the numeral two – with “nd” as a suffix.’

‘Hm,’ Rhyme muttered, nodding. He hadn’t thought of that.

The bulky detective placed a call, rising and walking to the corner of the parlor, and a moment later began barking orders. He disconnected and wandered back.

‘Let’s keep going,’ Rhyme said to the others.

After more trace analysis Mel Cooper announced, ‘We’ve got several instances of benzalkonium chloride.’

‘Ah,’ Rhyme said. ‘It’s a quat. Quaternary ammonium. A basic institutional sanitizer, used mostly where there’s particular concern about exposure to bacteria and a vulnerable clientele. School cafeterias, for instance. On the board.’

Cooper continued, ‘Adhesive latex.’

Rhyme announced that the product was used in everything from bandages to construction work. ‘Generic?’

‘Yep.’

‘Naturally,’ Rhyme grumbled. Forensic scientists vastly preferred brand name trace – it was more easily sourced.

The tech ran additional tests. After a few minutes he regarded the computer screen. ‘Good, good. Strong results for a type of stone. Marble. Specifically Inwood marble.’

‘What form?’ Rhyme asked. ‘Put it up on the screen.’

Cooper did and Rhyme found they were looking at dust and grains of various sizes, white, off white and beige. The tech said, ‘Fractured. See the edge on that piece in the upper left hand corner?’

‘Sure is,’ Rhyme offered. ‘Bake it!’

The tech ran a sample through the GC/MS. He announced, ‘We’re positive for Tovex residue.’

Sellitto said, ‘Tovex? Commercial explosive.’

Rhyme was nodding. ‘Had a feeling we’d find something like that. Used in blasting foundations out of rock. Given the trauma to the marble grains, our unsub picked up that trace at or near a construction site. Someplace where there’s a lot of Inwood marble. Call the city for blasting permits, rookie. And then cross reference with the geological database of the area. Now, what else?’

The scrapings beneath Chloe Moore’s fingernails revealed no skin, only off white cotton cloth and paper fibers.

Rhyme explained to Sellitto: ‘Chloe may’ve fought him and picked those up in the struggle. A shame she didn’t get a chunk of his skin. Where’s the DNA when you need it? On the board, and let’s keep at it.’

The duct tape that the unsub had used to bind Chloe’s feet was generic; the handcuffs too. And the flashlight – the beacon to reveal his handiwork – was a cheap, plastic variety. Neither that nor the D batteries inside bore fingerprints, and no hairs or other trace adhered, except a bit of adhesive similar to that used on sticky rollers – exactly what crime scene officers employed to pick up trace. As Sachs had speculated, he’d probably rolled himself before leaving for the crime scene.

‘This boy’s even better than I thought,’ Rhyme said. Dismay mixing with a certain reluctant admiration.

‘Now, any electrical outlets down there, Sachs? I don’t recall.’

‘No. The spotlights that the first responders set up were battery powered.’

‘So his tattoo gun would be battery operated too. Rookie – when you take a break from your marble quest, find out who makes battery tattoo guns.’

Pulaski went back online, saying, ‘Hopefully, they’ll be pretty rare.’

‘Now, that’s going to be interesting.’

‘What?’

‘Finding a tattoo gun that’s filled with hope.’

‘That’s filled with … what?’

Sellitto was smiling sourly. He knew what was coming.

Rhyme continued, ‘That’s what “hopefull”Y means. Your sentence didn’t say “I hope that portable tattoo guns’re rare.” Using “hopefull”Y as a disjunct – an opinion by the speaker – is non standard. English teachers and journalists disapprove.’

The young officer’s head bobbed. ‘Lincoln, sometimes I think I’ve walked into a Quentin Tarantino movie when I’m talking to you.’

Rhyme’s eyebrows arched. Continue.

Pulaski grumbled, ‘You know, that scene where two hit men are going to blow somebody away but they talk and talk and talk for ten minutes about how “eager” and “anxious” aren’t the same, or how “disinterested” doesn’t mean “uninterested”. You just want to slap ’em.’

Sachs coughed a laugh.

‘Those two misuses bother me just as much,’ Rhyme muttered. ‘And good job knowing the distinction. Now, that last bit of evidence. That’s the one I’m most interested in.’

He turned back to the collection bag, thinking he’d have to find out who this Tarantino was.

Mel Cooper carefully opened the sole remaining evidence bag over an examination table. Using tweezers, he extracted the crumpled ball of paper. He began to unwrap it. Slowly.

‘Where was it, Amelia?’ he asked.

‘About three feet from the body. Below one of those yellow boxes.’

‘I saw those,’ Rhyme said. ‘IFON. Electric grid, telephone, I’d guess.’

The paper was from the upper corner of a publication, torn out. It was about three inches long, two high. The words on the front, the right hand page, were these: