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She continued walking the grid carefully--even though the apartment was small and you could see most of it simply by standing in the center and turning three-sixty. Sachs found one piece of hidden evidence: As she passed the cot she noticed a small sliver of white protruding from under the pillow. She lifted it out, opened the folded sheet carefully.
"Got something here, Rhyme. A map of the street the African-American museum's on. There're a lot details of the alleys and entrances and exits for all the buildings around it, loading zones, parking spaces, hydrants, manholes, pay phones. Man's a perfectionist."
Not many killers would go to this much trouble for a hired clip. "Stains on it too. And some crumbs. Brownish." Sachs sniffed. "Garlic. Crumbs look like food." She slipped the map into a plastic envelope and continued the search.
"I've got some more fibers, like the other ones--cotton rope, I'd guess. A bit of dust and dirt. That's it, though."
"Wish I could see the place." His voice trailed to silence.
"Rhyme?"
"I'm picturing it," he whispered. Another pause. Then: "What's on the surface of the desk?"
"There's nothing. I told--"
"I don't mean what's sitting on it. I mean, is it stained with ink? Doodles? Knife marks? Coffee cup rings?" He added acerbically, "When perps are rude enough not to leave their electric bill lying around, we take what we can get."
Yep, the good mood was officially deceased.
She examined the wooden top. "It's stained, yes. Scratched and scarred."
"It's wood?"
"Yes."
"Take some samples. Use a knife and scrape the surface."
Sachs found a scalpel in the examination kit. Just like the ones used in surgery it was sterilized and sealed in paper and plastic. She carefully scraped the surface and placed the results in small plastic bags.
As she glanced down she noticed a flash of light from the edge of the table. She looked.
"Rhyme, found some drops. Clear liquid."
"Before you sample them, hit one with some Mirage. Go with Exspray Two. This guy likes deadly toys way too much."
Mirage Technologies makes a convenient
explosives detection system. Exspray No. 2 would detect Group B explosives, which include the highly unstable, clear liquid nitroglycerine, even a drop of which could blow off a hand.
Sachs tested the sample. Had the substance been explosive, its color would have turned pink. There was no change. She hit the same sample with Spray No. 3, just to be sure--this would show the presence of any nitrates, the key element in most explosives, not just nitroglycerine.
"Negative, Rhyme." She collected a second dot of the liquid and transferred the sample to a glass tube, then sealed it.
"Think that's about it, Rhyme."
"Bring it all back, Sachs. We need to get a jump on this guy. If he can get away from an ESU team that easily, it means he can get close to Geneva just as fast."
Chapter Fifteen
She'd aced it.
Cold.
Twenty-four multiple choices--all correct, Geneva Settle knew. And she'd written a seven-page answer to an essay question that called for only four.
Phat . . .
She was chatting with Detective Bell about how she'd done and he was nodding--which told her he wasn't listening, just checking out the halls----but at least he kept a smile on his face and so she pretended he was. And it was wack, she felt good rambling like this. Just telling him about the curveball the teacher'd thrown them in the essay, the way Lynette Tompkins had whispered, "Jesus, save me," when she realized she'd studied for the wrong subject. Nobody else except Keesh'd be interested in listening to her go on and on like this.
