The Skin Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 11)

The scrapings beneath Chloe Moore's fingernails revealed no skin, only off-white cotton cloth and paper fibers.

Rhyme explained to Sellitto: 'Chloe may've fought him and picked those up in the struggle. A shame she didn't get a chunk of his skin. Where's the DNA when you need it? On the board, and let's keep at it.'

The duct tape that the unsub had used to bind Chloe's feet was generic; the handcuffs too. And the flashlight - the beacon to reveal his handiwork - was a cheap, plastic variety. Neither that nor the D batteries inside bore fingerprints, and no hairs or other trace adhered, except a bit of adhesive similar to that used on sticky rollers - exactly what crime scene officers employed to pick up trace. As Sachs had speculated, he'd probably rolled himself before leaving for the crime scene.

'This boy's even better than I thought,' Rhyme said. Dismay mixing with a certain reluctant admiration.

'Now, any electrical outlets down there, Sachs? I don't recall.'

'No. The spotlights that the first responders set up were battery-powered.'

'So his tattoo gun would be battery-operated too. Rookie - when you take a break from your marble quest, find out who makes battery tattoo guns.'

Pulaski went back online, saying, 'Hopefully, they'll be pretty rare.'

'Now, that's going to be interesting.'

'What?'

'Finding a tattoo gun that's filled with hope.'

'That's filled with ... what?'

Sellitto was smiling sourly. He knew what was coming.

Rhyme continued, 'That's what "hopefull"Y means. Your sentence didn't say "I hope that portable tattoo guns're rare." Using "hopefull"Y as a disjunct - an opinion by the speaker - is non-standard. English teachers and journalists disapprove.'

The young officer's head bobbed. 'Lincoln, sometimes I think I've walked into a Quentin Tarantino movie when I'm talking to you.'

Rhyme's eyebrows arched. Continue.

Pulaski grumbled, 'You know, that scene where two hit men are going to blow somebody away but they talk and talk and talk for ten minutes about how "eager" and "anxious" aren't the same, or how "disinterested" doesn't mean "uninterested". You just want to slap 'em.'

Sachs coughed a laugh.

'Those two misuses bother me just as much,' Rhyme muttered. 'And good job knowing the distinction. Now, that last bit of evidence. That's the one I'm most interested in.'

He turned back to the collection bag, thinking he'd have to find out who this Tarantino was.

CHAPTER 10

Mel Cooper carefully opened the sole remaining evidence bag over an examination table. Using tweezers, he extracted the crumpled ball of paper. He began to unwrap it. Slowly.

'Where was it, Amelia?' he asked.

'About three feet from the body. Below one of those yellow boxes.'

'I saw those,' Rhyme said. 'IFON. Electric grid, telephone, I'd guess.'

The paper was from the upper corner of a publication, torn out. It was about three inches long, two high. The words on the front, the right-hand page, were these: ies

that his greatest skill was his ability to anticipate

On the reverse page:

the body was found.

Rhyme looked at Cooper, who was using a Bausch + Lomb microscope to compare the paper fibers from this sample with those found under the victim's fingernails.