In minutes the two were standing in the lab, next to the gurney that held the remains of the body they had brought back from Ninh Phuoc. Muir was coolly clinical now, in his element as he compared the information in Specialist Deville’s medical files with the specimen on the gurney.

“First and foremost, we have the teeth. In a properly matched set of remains, they are as conclusive as fingerprints on a dead body. We are lucky in this case to have a full set of the . . .” Muir hesitated for a moment. “What are we going to call this man now? We don’t have a name or a circumstance.”

“Try ‘victim,’ Professor.”

“Definitely the victim,” said Muir. “The severed hand indicates that he was very likely murdered. So. We have a full set of the victim’s teeth. And we also have Specialist Deville’s dental file.”

Muir took out a small metal pointer from his shirt pocket, expanding it like a car antenna, then opened the dental file to where it displayed a chart of Deville’s teeth. As he spoke, he used the pointer to compare the file with the victim’s skull. “Deville had fillings on eight teeth. Here, here, here, and all along here. The victim had only three fillings. Look here. And on those teeth, there are no markings in Deville’s dental file. See? End of story. Case closed. The only reason to pursue it further is in the event, by some incredible accident, we have the wrong dental file. Probability, far less than one percent. But just to be sure, I looked at the medical side.”

Muir flipped a few pages in the folder, then again held it near the victim’s remains. “Deville fractured his left femur in a motorcycle accident when he was a teenager.” The pointer went to the victim’s left femur. “You’d be able to see the imprint of that fracture on the bone. Nothing here. And actually this man—this victim—is from my calculations about two inches shorter than Deville. Again, case closed. This is not Deville.”

“You’re sure you have the right file, Professor?”

“His name is all over it, on every page. There’s no mistake here. And think about the hand, Brandon. Could the amputation of two hands be an accident? It’s what we like to call a signature. And you know whose signature it is. I’m telling you, these remains are not Deville.”

“So the only thing that matches is the dog tags.”

“That’s it,” said the professor. “So ask yourself. Why would Specialist Deville kill this man and leave him behind wearing his own dog tags?”

“Because he wanted whoever found the body to think that he was dead.”

“Exactly. And why would he want us to think that?”