Page 16 of The Skin Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 11)

'There it is, Rhyme.'

The criminalist whispered, 'His message. Well, part of his message. What do you think it means?'

But given the sparse letters, Sachs realized, his question had to be rhetorical.

CHAPTER 6

The two words were about six inches long and ran horizontally one inch above the woman's navel.

Although he'd presumably used poison, not ink, the inflamed wound, swollen and scarring, was easy enough to read.

'All right,' Rhyme said, '"the second." And the border, the scalloped lines. Wonder what those are about?'

Sachs commented, 'They're not as swollen as the letters. Maybe there was no poison in them. They look like wounds, not tattoos. And, Rhyme, look at the characters.'

'How well done they are?'

'Exactly. Calligraphy. He's good. He knows what he's doing.'

'And another observation. It must've taken some time to do. He could've written them crudely. Or just injected her with the poison. Or shot her for that matter. What's his game?'

Sachs had a thought. 'And if it took awhile, that meant she was in pain for a long time.'

'Well, yes, you can see the pain reaction but I have a feeling that was later. She couldn't have been conscious while he was writing his message. Even if she wasn't trying to get away, the involuntary movement would've ruined his handiwork. No, he subdued her somehow. Any trauma to the head?'

She examined the woman's scalp carefully and looked under her blouse, front and back. 'No. And I don't see any signs of Taser barbs. No stun gun welts ... Ah but, Rhyme, see that?' She pointed out a tiny red dot

on her neck.

'Injection site?'

'I think so. I'm guessing sedative, not poison. There's no sign of any swelling or other irritation that toxin would cause.'

'The blood work will tell us.'

Sachs took pictures of the wound and then bent down and swabbed the area carefully, lifting trace. Then the rest of her body too and the ground around her. It was likely that a perp this diligent would have worn gloves - it certainly appeared that way. Yet valuable evidence from even a gloved-and-gowned perp could still easily be transferred to the victim or crime scene.

Edmond Locard, the French criminalist who lived a century before, formulated the Exchange Principle: that every time a crime occurs there is a transfer of evidence between criminal and scene, or criminal and victim. That evidence (which he referred to as 'dust') might be very, very difficult to detect and collect but it exists, for the diligent and innovative forensic scientist.

'There's something odd, Rhyme.'

'Odd?' A splinter of disdain for the artless word. 'Go ahead, Sachs.'

'I'm using only one of the first responders' spotlights - the other's pointed up the tunnel. But there're two shadows on the ground.' She looked up and walked in a slow circle to get a clear view. 'Ah, there's another light near the ceiling, between those two pipes. It looks like a flashlight.'

'Not left by the first responders?'

'What cop or medic is going to give up his Maglite?'

The big black tubed flashlights that all cops and firemen carried around were invaluable - great sources of illumination and they doubled as bone-breaking weapons in a clutch.

But she noted it wasn't one of those expensive models. This was cheap, plastic.

'It's taped to the pipe. Duct tape. Why would he leave a light here, Rhyme?'

'That explains it.'

'What?' she asked.

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