The Skin Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 11)

'The poison,' Sachs said. 'One sample's gone to the ME's Office but I want a head start. Burn it, Mel.'

He ran the materials through the chromatograph and a few minutes later had the mass spectrum. 'It's a combination of atropine, hyoscyamine and scopolamine.'

Rhyme was staring at the ceiling. 'That comes from some plant ... yes, yes ... Hell, I can't remember what.'

Cooper typed the cocktail of ingredients into the toxin database and reported a moment later, 'Angel's trumpet: Brugmansia.'

'Yes,' Rhyme called. 'Of course that's it. But I don't know the details.'

Cooper explained that it was a South American plant, particularly popular among criminals in Colombia, who called it devil's breath. They blew it into the faces of their victims and the paralyzing, amnesiac drug rendered them unconscious or, if they remained awake, unable to fight their assailants.

And with the right dose, as with Samantha Levine, the drug could induce death in a matter of minutes.

Coincidentally, at that moment, the parlor landline rang: the medical examiner's office.

Cooper lifted an eyebrow, looking toward Sachs. 'Must be a slow night. Or you scared them into prioritizing us, Amelia.'

Rhyme knew which.

The ME official on call confirmed that devil's breath was the poison that had been used on Samantha Levine's abdomen in the tattooed message. He added that it was a highly concentrated version of the toxin. And there was residue of propofol in her bloodstream. Cooper thanked him.

Sachs and the tech continued to examine the trace she'd collected. This time, though, they found no variation from the control samples, which meant the residues found on her body and where the unsub had walked in the crime scene had not been tracked in by him; they were all indigenous to the underground stockyard pen.

That, in turn, meant the substances wouldn't lead to anywhere the perp might have been.

'Ergo,' Rhyme muttered, 'fucking useless.'

Finally, Sachs used tongs to pick up a plastic bag containing what seemed to Rhyme to be a purse. 'Thought it was a rat at first. Brown, you know. And the strap seemed to be the tail. Be careful. There's a booby trap inside.' A glance at Cooper.

'What?' Rhyme asked.

She explained, 'It was sitting by itself about ten feet from Samantha's body. It just felt wrong being there. I looked at it closely and saw a needle sticking up. Very small. I used forceps to collect the bag.' Sachs added that she'd been on the lookout for traps because the NYPD psychologist, Terry Dobyns, had told them the perp might start targeting his pursuers.

'That's sneaky,' Cooper said, donning an eye loupe to examine the needle. 'Hypodermic. I'd say thirty-gauge. Very small. White substance inside.'

Rhyme wheeled close and looked; his keen eyes could make out a tiny glint near the clasp.

Cooper selected a hemostat and then cautiously lifted the purse from the bag.

'Check for explosives,' Rhyme said. This wasn't the unsub's MO but you could never be too careful.

The scan came back negative. Still, Cooper decided to put the purse in a containment vessel and used remote arms to open the bag, given the possibility that it was also rigged with some trap that might spray with toxin whoever opened it.

But, no, the needle was the only trap. The contents were mundane, if wrenching, clues to a life now abruptly ended: a health club membership card, a breast cancer donation thank-you note, a discount certificate to a Midtown restaurant. Pictures of children - nieces and nephews, it seemed.

As for the booby trap, Cooper extracted the needle carefully.

'It's small,' Rhyme said. 'What do we make of that?'

Cooper said, 'Can be used for insulin but this type is mostly used by plastic surgeons.'

Rhyme reminded, 'He's got propofol too. A general anesthetic. Could be that he's planning some cosmetic surgery as part of his escape plan. Though maybe he just broke into a medical supply house and stole what he wanted. Sachs, check if there've been any reports of that in the past month or so in the area.' She stepped away to make a call downtown, requesting an NCIC search. Rhyme continued, 'But more to the point - excuse the expression - that needle in particular: What's inside his little present to us? Is it more of the angel's trumpet?'

Cooper ran the sample. And a moment later he read the results. 'Nope. It's worse. Well, I shouldn't say worse. That's a qualitative judgment. I'll just say it's more efficient.'

'Meaning deadlier?' Rhyme asked.

'A lot. Strychnine.' Cooper explained: The toxin came from Strychnos, a genus of trees and climbing shrubs. The substance was popular as a rodenticide. It had been a common murder weapon a century ago though it was less so now since it was easily traced. Strychnine was the most pain-inducing of any toxin.