“Okay. What’s that going to do?”

“Start mixing. I’ll tell you when we’re through.”

Ben mixed the chemicals according to Rhyme’s instructions and then filled twenty of the tubes with alternating bands of different colored liquids—the ethanol and the tetrabromoethane.

“Pour a little of the soil sample from Garrett’s shoe into the tube on the left. The soil’ll separate and that’ll give us a profile. We’ll get samples from employees here who live in different areas of the county. If any of them match Garrett’s that means the dirt he picked up could be from nearby.”

Bell arrived with the first of the employees and Rhyme explained what he was going to do. The sheriff grinned’in admiration. “That’s an idea and a half, Lincoln. Cousin Roland knew what he was doing when he sang your praises.”

But the half hour spent on this exercise was futile. None of the samples submitted from the people in the building matched the dirt in the treads of Garrett’s shoe. Rhyme scowled as the last sample of dirt from the employees settled into the tube.

“Damn.”

“Was a good try though,” Bell said.

A waste of precious time.

“Should I pitch out the samples?” Ben asked.

“No. Never throw out your exemplars without recording them,” he said firmly. Then remembered not to be too abrasive in his instructions; the big man was here only by the grace of family ties. “Thom, help us out. Sachs asked for a Polaroid camera from the state. It’s got to be here someplace. Find it and take close-ups of all the tubes. Mark down the name of each employee on the back of the pictures.”

The aide found the camera and went to work.

“Now let’s analyze what Sachs found at Garrett’s foster parents’ house. The pants in that bag—see if there’s anything in the cuffs.”

Ben carefully opened the plastic bag and examined the trousers. “Yessir, some pine needles.”

“Good. Did they fall off the branches or are they cut?”

“Cut, looks like.”

“Excellent. That means he did something to them. He cut them on purpose. And that purpose may have to do with the crime. We don’t know what that is yet but I’d guess it’s camouflage.”

“I smell skunk,” Ben said, sniffing the clothes.

Rhyme said, “That’s what Amelia said. Doesn’t do us any good, though. Not yet anyway.”

“Why not?” the zoologist asked.

“Because there’s no way to link a wild animal to a specific location. A stationary skunk would be helpful; a mobile one isn’t. Let’s look at the trace on the clothes. Cut a couple pieces of the pants and run them through the chromatograph.”