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"Obviously it's not brown," Rhyme continued.
"I thought--"
"It's anything but brown. Blond, sandy, black, red . . ."
The detective explained, " 'S'an old trick. You go into an alley behind a barbershop, cop some hairs from the garbage. Drop 'em around the scene."
"Oh." Banks filed this somewhere in his enthusiastic brain.
Rhyme said, "Okay. The fiber."
Cooper mounted it in the polarizing 'scope. As he adjusted knobs he said, "Birefringence of .053."
Rhyme blurted, "Nylon 6. What's it look like, Mel?"
"Very coarse. Lobed cross-section. Light gray."
"Carpet."
"Right. I'll check the database." A moment later he looked up from the computer. "It's a Hampstead Textile 118B fiber."
Rhyme exhaled a disgusted sigh.
"What?" Sachs asked.
"The most common trunk liner used by U.S. automakers. Found in over two hundred different makes going back fifteen years. Hopeless . . . Mel, is there anything on the fiber? Use the SEM."
The tech cranked up the scanning electron microscope. The screen burst to life with an eerie blue-green glow. The strand of fiber looked like a huge rope.
"Got something here. Crystals. A lot of 'em. They use titanium dioxide to deluster shiny carpet. That might be it."
"Gas it. It's important."
"There's not enough here, Lincoln. I'd have to burn the whole fiber."
"So, burn it."
Sellitto said delicately, "Borrowing federal evidence is one thing. Destroying it? I don't know 'bout that, Lincoln. If there's a trial . . ."
"We have to."
"Oh, man," Banks said.
Sellitto nodded reluctantly and Cooper mounted the sample. The machine hissed. A moment later the screen flickered and columns appeared. "There, that's the long-chained polymer molecule. The nylon. But that small wave, that's something else. Chlorine, detergent . . . It's cleanser."
"Remember," Rhyme said, "the German girl said the car smelled clean. Find out what kind it is."
Cooper ran the information through a brand-name database. "Pfizer Chemicals makes it. It's sold under the name Tidi-Kleen by Baer Automotive Products in Teterboro."
"Perfect!" cried Lincoln Rhyme. "I know the company. They sell in bulk to fleets. Mostly rental-car companies. Our unsub's driving a rental."
"He wouldn't be crazy enough to drive a rental car to crime scenes, would he?" Banks asked.
"It's stolen," Rhyme muttered, as if the young man had asked what was two plus two. "And it'll have stolen tags on it. Is Emma still with us?"
"She's probably home by now."
"Wake her up and have her start canvassing Hertz, Avis, National, Budget for thefts."
