Back The Empty Chair Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. INorth of the Paquo
  6. … chapter one
  7. … chapter two
  8. … chapter three
  9. … chapter four
  10. … chapter five
  11. … chapter six
  12. … chapter seven
  13. … chapter eight
  14. … chapter nine
  15. … chapter ten
  16. … chapter eleven
  17. … chapter twelve
  18. IIThe White Doc
  19. … chapter thirteen
  20. … chapter fourteen
  21. … chapter fifteen
  22. … chapter sixteen
  23. … chapter seventeen
  24. … chapter eighteen
  25. … chapter nineteen
  26. … chapter twenty
  27. … chapter twenty-one
  28. … chapter twenty-two
  29. IIIKnuckle Time
  30. … chapter twenty-three
  31. … chapter twenty-four
  32. … chapter twenty-five
  33. … chapter twenty-six
  34. … chapter twenty-seven
  35. … chapter twenty-eight
  36. … chapter twenty-nine
  37. … chapter thirty
  38. … chapter thirty-one
  39. … chapter thirty-two
  40. … chapter thirty-three
  41. IVHornets’ Nest
  42. … chapter thirty-four
  43. … chapter thirty-five
  44. … chapter thirty-six
  45. … chapter thirty-seven
  46. … chapter thirty-eight
  47. … chapter thirty-nine
  48. … chapter forty
  49. … chapter forty-one
  50. VThe Town Without Children
  51. … chapter forty-two
  52. … chapter forty-three
  53. … chapter forty-four
  54. … chapter forty-five
  55. … chapter forty-six
  56. AUTHOR’S NOTE

“Sure. Right.” Ben nodded his massive crew-cut head aggressively, as if he were fearful of forgetting this rule. He shook the shoe, peered into it. “Looks like there’s gravel or something inside.”

“Hell, I didn’t have Amelia ask for sterile examining boards.” Rhyme looked around the room. “See that magazine there? People?”

Ben picked it up. Shook his head. “It’s three weeks old.”

“I don’t care how current the stories about Leonardo DiCaprio’s love life are,” Rhyme muttered. “Pull out the subscription inserts inside…. Don’t you hate those things? But they’re good for us—they come off the printing press nice and sterile, so they make good mini-examining boards.”

Ben did as instructed and poured the dirt and stones onto the card.

“Put a sample in the microscope and let me take a look at it.” Rhyme wheeled close to the table but the ocular piece was a few inches too high for him. “Damn.”

Ben assessed the problem. “Maybe I could hold it for you to look in.”

Rhyme gave a faint laugh. “It weighs close to thirty pounds. No, we’ll have to find a—”

But the zoologist picked up the instrument and, with his massive arms, held the ’scope very steady. Rhyme couldn’t, of course, turn the focusing knobs but he saw enough to give him an idea of what the evidence was. “Limestone chips and dust. Would that’ve come from Blackwater Landing?”

“Uhm,” Ben said slowly, “doubt it. Mostly just mud and stuff.”

“Run a sample of it through the chromatograph. I want to see what else is in there.”

Ben mounted the sample inside and pressed the test button.

Chromatography is a criminalist’s dream tool. Developed just after the turn of the century by a Russian botanist though not much used until the 1930s, the device analyzes compounds such as foods, drugs, blood and trace elements and isolates the pure elements in them. There are a half-dozen variations on the process but the most common type used in forensic science is the gas chromatograph, which burns a sample of evidence. The resulting vapors are then separated to indicate the component substances that make up the sample. In a forensic science lab the chromatograph is usually connected to a mass spectrometer, which can identify many of the substances specifically.

The gas chromatograph will only work with materials that can be vaporized—burned—at relatively low temperatures. The limestone wouldn’t ignite, of course. But Rhyme wasn’t interested in the rock; he was interested in what trace materials had adhered to the dirt and gravel. This would narrow down more specifically the places Garrett had been.

“It’ll take a little while,” Rhyme said. “While we’re waiting let’s look at the dirt in the treads of Garrett’s shoe. I tell you, Ben, I love treads. Shoes, and tires too. They’re like sponges. Remember that.”

“Yessir. I will, sir.”