"The prints," Cooper said. "They're pretty small. I'd guess size eight male."
The size of the sole doesn't necessarily correspond to shoe size and provides even less insight into the stature of the person wearing them, but it was reasonable to conclude the Dancer's partner had a slight build.
Turning to the trace evidence, Cooper mounted samples onto a slide and slipped it under the compound 'scope. He patched the image through to Rhyme's computer.
"Command mode, cursor left," Rhyme ordered into his microphone. "Stop. Double click." He examined the computer monitor. "More of the mortar from the cinder block. Dirt and dust . . . Where'd you get this, Sachs?"
"I scraped it from around the cinder blocks and vacuumed the floor of the tunnel. I also found a nest behind some boxes where it looked like somebody'd been hiding."
"Good. Okay, Mel, gas it. There's a lot of stuff here I don't recognize."
The chromatograph rumbled, separating the compounds, and sent the resulting vapors to the spectrometer for identification. Cooper examined the screen.
He exhaled a surprised breath. "I'm surprised his friend's able to walk at all."
"Little more specific there, Mel."
"He's a drugstore, Lincoln. We've got secobarbital, phenobarbital, Dexedrine, amobarbital, meprobamate, chlordiazepoxide, diazepam."
"Jesus," Sellitto muttered. "Reds, dexies, blue devils . . . "
Cooper continued, "Lactose and sucrose too. Calcium, vitamins, enzymes consistent with dairy products."
"Baby formula," Rhyme muttered. "Dealers use it to cut drugs."
"So the Dancer's got himself a cluckhead for a sidekick. Go figure."
Sachs said, "All those doctors' offices there . . . This guy must've been boosting pills."
"Log on to FINEST," Rhyme said. "Get a list of every drugstore cowboy they've got."
Sellitto laughed. "It's gonna be big as the White Pages, Lincoln."
"Nobody says it's easy, Lon."
But before he could make the call, Cooper received an E-mail. "Don't bother."
"Huh?"
"The AFIS report on the fingerprints?" The tech tapped the screen. "Whoever the guy is, he doesn't have a record in New York City or State or NCIC."
"Hell!" Rhyme snapped. He felt cursed. Couldn't it be just a little easier? He muttered, "Any other trace?"
"Something here," Cooper said. "A bit of blue tile, grouted on the back, attached to what looks like concrete."
"Let's see it."
Cooper mounted the specimen onto the 'scope's stage.
His neck quivering, almost breaking into a spasm, Rhyme leaned forward and studied it carefully. "Okay. Old mosaic tile. Porcelain, crackle finish, lead based. Sixty, seventy years old, I'd guess." But he could make no cunning deductions from the sample. "Anything else?" he muttered.
"Some hairs." Cooper mounted them to do a visual. He bent over the 'scope.
Rhyme too examined the thin shafts.
"Animal," he announced.
"More cats?" Sachs asked.