Pulaski read from the screen. ‘Matthew Stanton was an only child. But Harriet had a sister, Elizabeth. Married Ebbett Haven. They had a son, William Aaron. Ebbett was an elder with the AFFC but he and his wife died when the boy was young.’ He looked up. ‘In the Branch Davidian standoff. They were there to sell guns to the Davidians and got caught inside during the siege.

‘William went to live with Aunt Harriet and Uncle Matthew. Went by Billy mostly. He’s got a record – juvie, so there are no prints on record; it was sealed. The case was an assault charge. Hate crime. Billy beat up a Jewish boy at school. Then used an ice pick and ink to tattoo a swastika on the kid’s forearm. He was ten. There’s a picture. Check it out.’

The tattoo was pretty well done. Two color, shaded, razor-sharp lines, Rhyme noted.

‘Then he studied art and political science at the University of Southern Illinois. Then, for some reason, opened a tattoo parlor.’

In Billy’s backpack were receipts for two apartments in town. One was in Murray Hill, in the name of Seth McGuinn – Pam’s boyfriend. The other, under the pseudonym Frank Samuels, was near Chinatown, off Canal Street. Crime Scene had searched both. Billy had largely scrubbed them but in the second place – a workshop – the teams had recovered equipment and a number of terrariums filled with the plants from which Billy had extracted and distilled the poisons he’d used in the murders.

These boxes and their eerie lights now sat in Rhyme’s parlor, against the far wall. Well, all but one. That was the sealed terrarium that had housed the botulinum spores. The bio-chem folks from Fort Detrick had decided it was best to take control of that one. Normally possessive of evidence, Rhyme had not made an issue of that particular box being handed off.

The criminalist finished logging the plants into evidence – noting the hemlock was particularly lovely – and rang up Fred Dellray, the FBI agent, who would be handling the federal side of the investigation. He explained what they’d found. The eccentric agent muttered, ‘If that don’t beat all. I wondered where Hussein’s WMDs got themselves to. And we finally found ’em about two blocks from my favorite Chinese restaurant. Happy Panda. The one on Canal. No, not the Happy Panda on Mott or the Happy Panda on Sixth. The original one and only Happy Panda. Yu-um. The jellyfish. No, no, ’s better’n you think. Okay, call me when you got the report ready to go.’

After he disconnected, Rhyme heard a laugh across the room.

‘That’s pretty good,’ Mel Cooper said, staring at a computer screen.

‘What?’ Rhyme asked.

Pulaski laughed too and turned the screen: It was the New York Post online edition. A headline over the story about the Stantons was Poison Pen.

Referring to Billy Haven’s murder weapon.

Clever.