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A figure appeared in the doorway, accompanying Jim Bell.
He was a man in his fifties, thinning hair and a round, distinguished face. A blue blazer was over his arm and his white shirt was perfectly pressed and heavily starched though darkened with sweat stains under the arms. A striped tie was stuck in place with a bar.
Rhyme had thought this might be Henry Davett but the criminalist's eyes were one aspect of his physical body that had come through his accident unscathed--his vision was perfect--and he read the monogram on the man's tie bar from ten feet away: WWJD.
William? Walter? Wayne?
Rhyme didn't have a clue who he might be.
The man looked at Rhyme, squinted appraisingly and nodded. Then Jim Bell said, "Henry, I'd like you to meet Lincoln Rhyme."
So, not a monogram. This was Davett. Rhyme nodded back to the man, concluding that the tie bar had probably been his father's. William Ward Jonathan Davett.
He stepped into the room. His fast eyes took in the equipment.
"Ah, you know chromatographs?" Rhyme asked, observing a flicker of recognition.
"My Research and Development Department has a couple of them. But this model ..." He shook his head critically. "They don't even make it anymore. Why're you using it?"
"State budget, Henry," Bell said.
"I'll send one over."
"Not necessary."
"This is garbage," the man said gruffly. "I'll get a new one here in twenty minutes."
Rhyme said, "Getting the evidence isn't the problem. Interpreting it is. That's why I can use your help. This is Ben Kerr, my forensic assistant."
They shook hands. Ben seemed relieved that another able-bodied person was in the room.
"Sit down, Henry," Bell said, rolling an office chair up to him. The man sat and, leaning forward somewhat, carefully smoothed his tie. The gesture, his posture, the tiny dots of his confident eyes coalesced in Rhyme's perception and he thought: charming, smart... and one hell of a tough businessman.
Rhyme wondered again about WWJD. He wasn't sure he'd solved the puzzle.
"This is about those women who got kidnapped, isn't it?"
Bell nodded. "Nobody's really coming right out and saying it but in the back of our minds ..." He looked at Rhyme and Ben. "... We're thinking Garrett might've already raped and killed Mary Beth, dumped her body someplace."
Twenty-four hours ...
The sheriff continued, "But we've still got a chance to save Lydia, we're hoping. And we have to stop Garrett before he goes after somebody else."
The businessman said angrily, "And Billy, that was such a shame. I heard he was just being a Good Samaritan, trying to save Mary Beth, and got himself killed."
"Garrett crushed his head in with a shovel. It was pretty bad."
"So time's at a premium. What can I do?" Davett turned to Rhyme. "You said interpreting something?"
"We have some clues as to where Garrett's been and where he might be headed with Lydia. I was hoping you might know something about the area around here and might be able to help us."
Davett nodded. "I know the lay of the land pretty well. I have geology and chemical engineering degrees. I've also lived in Tanner's Corner all my life so I'm pretty familiar with Paquenoke County."
Rhyme nodded toward the evidence charts. "Can you look at those and give us any thoughts? We're trying to link those clues to a specific location."
Bell added, "It'll probably be someplace they could get to by foot. Garrett doesn't like cars. He won't drive."
Davett put on eyeglasses and eased his head back, looking up at the wall.
