The Cutting Edge (Lincoln Rhyme #14)(34)
This kimberlite, a perfect example of Locard’s matter, had become a helpful partner in their hunt for the unsub.
Rhyme called, “Prints?”
“Negative,” Cooper replied. He’d been over every inch of the jacket with an alternative light source then tried gold and zinc vacuum metal deposition, which can sometimes raise fingerprints on cloth. Well, that was always a long shot with garments.
Rhyme told him, “Get samples to Queens for DNA and TDNA.”
“Already ordered,” Cooper said. There was likely a DNA sample somewhere on the coat. Sweat or spit or tears or—it wasn’t unheard of with outer garments—semen adhere plentifully. If this was the case here, the DNA profile might have a positive hit in the CODIS or an international database and reveal the suspect’s identity. Even if no significant amounts of fluid or tissue were found, though, there would certainly be skin cells, which might be used for a Touch DNA analysis. This technique is less accurate than a full DNA workup—it requires only a half-dozen skin cells—and can result in false positive results. But this would not be for criminal trial, merely direction in getting the unsub’s identity.
Cooper slipped the jacket into an evidence bag and, since he hadn’t done so earlier, added his name to the chain-of-custody card. He left it inside the front door to await pickup by a team from the DNA analysis unit in Queens.
The brand labels had been cut from the jacket—clever. It was roughly a medium size, man’s. The stitching suggested mass manufacturing in a third-world country. Probably sold in a thousand stores around the country. There would be no leads from this angle.
In evidence bags Cooper assembled samples of fibers he’d taken from the jacket, along with fibers found inside the pockets—they were black cotton, very similar to those found at Patel’s, from the gloves, and polyester fibers, from the mask.
Patrolman Ron Pulaski called in. He explained he was still having no luck tracking down the mysterious VL. Rhyme recalled what their insurance investigator had warned of: the reluctance of those in the diamond community to talk to outsiders. As well as a natural tendency not to get involved in a case in which the perp was fast to use a razor knife and gun.
“Keep at it,” he told the Rookie and they disconnected.
VL’s refusal to contact the police was perplexing. Yes, he’d be scared of being targeted by the killer, but generally a witness would come forward immediately and ask for protection—and help catch the perp. It was also curious that no friends or family had contacted the police—surely he’d told someone about his run-in with the perp. He was a young man and must have a family.
Of course, it was possible he’d died of the wounds from the rock fragments. They hadn’t seemed serious but Rhyme had known victims of bad gunshot wounds to walk and act normally for hours before keeling over and dying.
Possible too that the unsub had found him, like he had Weintraub, killed him and disposed of the body. But in either of those cases he would have expected a missing-persons report. And Cooper’s survey of the precincts—admittedly quick—had found none.
The tech was peering into a microscope. “Trace on the jacket: More kimberlite. And some plant material. Two types. One is from leaves and grass similar to the control samples Amelia took from around the storm drain. What you’d expect. But there’s some flecks that’re unique.”
“And they’re what?”
“Hold on.” He was flipping through cellular-level images in the horticultural database that Rhyme had created at the NYPD years ago and that he still helped maintain. He loved plants as forensic markers.
“Something called…Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s something called Coleonema pulchellum. Aka confetti bush. Not indigenous to the area—it comes from Africa—but common here as a deodorizer and in potpourri.”
The perp had been to a gift shop lately, possibly. Or did he live in an apartment where pungent smells were a problem?
“The brass,” Rhyme called.
Cooper, who was certified by the AFTE, the Association of Firearm and Tool Mark Examiners, turned to the two spent 9mm shells that Sachs had collected. The slugs themselves, all of which had lodged in Weintraub’s body, would be sent from the Medical Examiner’s Office, after the autopsy. Given the urgency of the case, the doctor performing the postmortem had photographed one slug and sent the image to Cooper. The preliminary analysis was that it had been fired from the same weapon that was used at the shooting at Patel’s. No surprise since the gunshot residue was almost identical; the powder in all the rounds would have come from the manufacturer’s same lot.
“Prints on the brass?” Rhyme asked.
Cooper shook his head.
No surprise here either.
Cooper then ran through the list of trace and minute substances that Sachs had collected.
“Sawdust, diesel fuel, metals consistent with welding. Heating oil, air-conditioner coolant. Then trichlorobenzene. I don’t know what that is.”
“Used as a pesticide, I think. Or used to be. Nasty stuff. Look it up.”
Cooper read from a government environmental alert: “‘Trichlorobenzene has several uses. It is an intermediate—a building block—to make herbicides, substances that destroy or prevent the growth of weeds. It is also used as a solvent to dissolve waxes, grease, rubber and certain plastics and a dielectric fluid (a liquid that conducts little or no electricity).’ And, yeah, you’re right, used to be used for termite control.”