The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13)

Rhyme could see the even fracture marks, in the shape of a rough rectangle.

Ercole continued, "And after he was finished he put a piece of cardboard he'd found in the yard against the open window before piling the dirt up to conceal the break-in. I am sorry to tell you there were no fingerprints on the flower pots or cardboard. But I did see marks that were left by..." He paused. "That were consistent with marks left by latex gloves."

Good.

"And I found footprints that were probably left by the breakerer-and-enterer. Is that a word?"

"It will do." Rhyme reflected that the young man had quite the career ahead of him.

Ercole added to the mini evidence chart.

Garry Soames's apartment, Corso Umberto I, Naples

--Low window cut open. --No fingerprints, but marks consistent with latex gloves.

--Blocked by cardboard before dirt piled up to conceal break-in.

--Footprints outside broken window and on floor just inside. --Size 71/2 (m)/9 (f)/40 (European), leather sole.

--Gamma hydroxybutyric acid, date-rape drug.

--Tire print, in mud in backyard. --Continental 195/65R15.

--Soil collected from footprint. --Awaiting analysis.

"And the date-rape drug? Where was that?"

"On the windowsill."

Staring at the chart, Rhyme mused, "Who the hell's the intruder?"

The breakerer-and-enterer...

He continued, "Is it the same as the person who called the police and gave them Garry's name? That was a woman's voice. And the shoe size could be a woman's."

Ercole said, "I looked up the tire tread information. The Continental tire. We don't know if it was the intruder's but it was only a day or two old. And it makes sense to park there so as not to be seen from the street."

"Yes, it does."

"Unfortunately, many, many types of cars can use that tire. But we can--"

A voice interrupted, cutting through the room like a whip. "Forestry Officer. You'll leave the room. At once."

Rhyme wheeled about to face Dante Spiro. The lean man was wearing a black suit with a tie-less white shirt. With his goatee, bald head and enraged expression he looked particularly demonic.

"Sir..." Ercole's face was white.

"Leave. Now." A vicious string of Italian.

The young officer shot a glance toward Rhyme.

"He is not your superior--I am," Spiro growled.

The young man walked forward, carefully navigating around Spiro.

His eyes still boring into Rhyme's, the prosecutor muttered to Ercole, "Close the door as you leave."

"Si, Procuratore."