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Cooper glanced at the hardware in a crisp plastic bag. "Nobody name-stamps chain anymore. So we're out of luck there. The lock's a Secure-Pro middle-of-the-line model. It isn't very secure and definitely not professional. How long d'it take to break it?"
"Three whole seconds," Sellitto said.
"See. No serial numbers and it's sold in every hardware and variety store in the country."
"Key or combination?" Rhyme asked.
"Combination."
"Call the manufacturer. Ask them if we take it apart and reconstruct the combination from the tumblers, will that tell us which shipment it was in and where it went to?"
Banks whistled. "Man, that's a long shot."
Rhyme's glare sent a ferocious blush across his face. "And the enthusiasm in your voice, detective, tells me you're just the one to handle the job."
"Yessir"--the young man held up his cellular phone defensively--"I'm on it."
Rhyme asked, "Is that blood on the chain?"
Sellitto said, "One of our boys. Cut himself pretty bad trying to break the lock off."
"So it's contaminated." Rhyme scowled.
"He was trying to save her," Sachs said to him.
"I understand. That was good of him. It's still contaminated." Rhyme glanced back at the table beside Cooper. "Prints?"
Cooper said he'd checked it and found only Sellitto's print on the links.
"All right, the splinter of wood Amelia found. Check for prints."
"I did," Sachs said quickly. "At the scene."
P.D., Rhyme reflected. She didn't seem to be the nickname sort. Beautiful people rarely were.
"Let's try the heavy guns, just to be sure," Rhyme said and instructed Cooper, "Use DFO or ninhydrin. Then hit it with the nit-yag."
"The what?" Banks asked.
"A neodymium:yttrium aluminum garnet laser."
The tech spritzed the splinter with liquid from a plastic spray bottle and trained the laser beam on the wood. He slipped on tinted goggles and examined it carefully. "Nothing."
He shut off the light and examined the splinter closely. It was about six inches long, dark wood. There were black smears on it, like tar, and it was impregnated with dirt. He held it with forceps.
"I know Lincoln likes the chopstick approach," Cooper said, "but I always ask for a fork when I go to Ming Wa's."
"You could be crushing the cells," the criminalist grumbled.
"I could be but I'm not," Cooper responded.
"What kind of wood?" Rhyme wondered. "Want to run a spodogram?"
"No, it's oak. No question."
"Saw or plane marks?" Rhyme leaned forward. Suddenly his neck spasmed and the cramp that bolted through the muscles was unbearable. He gasped, closed his eyes and twisted his neck, stretching. He felt Thom's strong hands massaging the muscles. The pain finally faded.
"Lincoln?" Sellitto asked. "You okay?"
