Beside the clothing lay the contents of Aiker’s pockets.

Comb. Keys. Miniature Swiss army knife. Twenty-three dol ars in folding money. Seventy-four cents in coins. Wal et-sized bil fold with FWS badge and ID.

Leather cardholder.

In addition to a North Carolina driver’s license, Hawkins had removed a long-distance cal ing card, a US Airways Frequent Flyer card, and Diners Club and Visa credit cards from the rectangular leather pouch.

Gloving my right hand, I ran a finger across the photo on the driver’s license. The steady, brown eyes and sandy hair were a long way from the grotesque distortion lying on Larabee’s table.

Leaning close, I studied the face, wondering what Aiker had been doing on a boat landing at Crowder’s Mountain. I picked up the license and flipped it.

Another card was adhering to the back. I peeled it off with my thumbnail. A Harris-Teeter supermarket VIC card. I laid the card on the counter and glanced back at the license.

And caught my breath.

“There’s something stuck to the back of this,” I said.

Both men turned to look at me. Digging forceps from a drawer, I peeled a limp, flat sheet from the back of the license.

“Looks like folded paper.”

Again using forceps, I teased free an edge and tugged back a layer. One more tug, and the paper lay unfolded on the counter. Though blotchy and diluted, lettering was visible.

“It’s some sort of handwritten note,” I said, easing the paper onto a tray to carry it to the fluorescent magnifier. “Maybe an address or phone number. Or road directions.”

“Or a last wil and testament,” said Hawkins.

Larabee and I looked at him.

“More likely a shopping list,” Larabee said.

“Guy could’ve scribbled something then shoved it in between his plastic thinking maybe it’d survive.” Hawkins sounded defensive. “Hel , that’s probably exactly what did happen. Paper was protected from the water because it was sealed between the cards.” Hawkins had a point about the mode of preservation.

As I clicked on the tube light surrounding the lens, Hawkins and Larabee joined me. Together we viewed the writing under il umination and magnification.

Even under ideal conditions, the scrawl would have been hard to decipher.

“The first part is probably ‘No question,’” Larabee said.

Hawkins and I agreed.

“Something to Columbia?” I suggested.

“Sending?”

“Lending?”

“Heading?”

“Landing?”

“Something’s dirty.” Hawkins.

“Clowns?”

“Col ins?”

“Maybe that’s not aC.Maybe it’s anOor aQ.”

“Or aG.”

I positioned the magnifier closer to the paper. We leaned in and stared, each of us trying to make sense of the blotches and smears.

It was no good. Parts of the message were il egible.

“See you somewhere on some day,” I said.

“Good,” Hawkins and Larabee said.

“Charlotte?” I said.

“Possible,” Larabee said.

“How many places end intte?”