Code(32)

“Kind of.” Here goes. “We have to examine those objects for trace evidence.”

“A forensic assignment?” Anders looked intrigued. “Sounds fun.”

“You bet.” Hi adapted smoothly. “Something has been planted on one of these articles. We’re supposed to locate and identify it.”

“I’m in.” Sundberg removed a box of latex gloves from a cabinet. “The first rule of a forensic examination is to avoid contaminating the objects yourself. You don’t want to introduce anything not already there.”

I cringed. I’d been carrying this stuff loose in my backpack.

Oh well. Done was done.

“So what exactly should we look for?” Hi asked, snapping on gloves.

“Anything, really. Trace evidence is any material that transfers when two objects come into contact.”


Anders moved to the counter. “Often the transfer is facilitated by heat, in a process we call contact friction. A fingerprint, for example.” He carefully lifted the iPad. “This touch screen would be the perfect medium to capture one.”

I glanced at Hi, who frowned sourly. We’d all handled the iPad. Whatever prints may have been present, that ship had sailed.

“I don’t think that’s it,” I said. “We’ve used that as part of our assignment, so it must be covered with our own prints.”

Sundberg shrugged and put it aside, then moved to the puzzle box. “What’s this?”

“Himitsu-Bako.” Hi winked. “It’s Japanese, yo.”

“Does it open?”

“Hopefully.” Grasping its sides, I tried to mimic Shelton’s moves, but couldn’t recall the sequence. After three tries I gave up. Hi had no better luck.

“We found some papers inside,” I said, hiding my frustration. “But I guess further inspection will have to wait.”

“When you get it open,” Anders said, “look for things like hair, cosmetics, glass, or fibers.” He glanced at the ceiling, thinking. “Also soils and botanical materials. Pollen. Maybe paint chips. You get the idea. And use tape to lift them.”

“What about this?”

I tapped the cache from Castle Pinckney. Though scorched and smashed, the box was largely in one piece. I was pinning most of my hopes on it.

“Okay, now we’re in business.” Sundberg studied a singed area along the box’s exterior. “An accelerant was used to make this burn. An oil perhaps, or some other fuel.”

Hi edged in close. “How does that help?”

“Because accelerants don’t burn completely clean. They leave a residue.” Anders held up one hand. “Now, for chemistry sticklers, true accelerants are only compounds and gases that promote fuel burning—like an oxygen-bearing gas—and not the fuel itself. That would exclude gasoline, acetone, kerosene, and so on. But in forensics, any chemical fuel that causes a fire to burn hotter, spread quicker, or be harder to extinguish is considered an accelerant.”

“Identifying the residue will reveal the accelerant.” I’d caught on. “We’d know what caused the fire.”

“And knowing that could lead to a suspect,” Hi finished. “If a bomb was laced with butane, we could start frisking smokers.”

“Exactly.” Anders began pulling supplies from a drawer. “The best example is gunpowder residue. Even though it’s invisible, it stains the shooter’s trigger hand. Pretty useful when sorting out who shot whom.”

“I hear ya, bro,” said Hi. “So what’s the next step?”

Anders brought his eyes close to the cache. “Let’s have a go.” Wielding a long swab, he carefully swiped the singed area, darkening the cotton tip with a greasy film.

“Bingo.” Anders looked pleased with himself. “Whatever that gunk is, it fueled the blaze that charred this container. That’s a trace evidence jackpot.”

“Excellent.” My spirits rose. Maybe this would work. “How can we identify the substance?”

“Run it through a mass spectrometer, or maybe a scanning electron microscope. Arson investigators might use a technique called headspace gas chromatography, which separates gas mixtures into their individual components. Or, if you had an idea what the accelerant was, you could try a chemical reaction test.”

“Great!” I rubbed my hands together. “Which one first?”

Anders’s eyebrows rose. “Tory, that’s a hefty request. Those machines are extremely expensive. We rarely log time on them for side projects.” He paused, lips pursed. “Your teacher couldn’t have reasonably expected you to conduct a full microscopic analysis. How would you? I think you’ll be okay with just the swab.”

“Of course we will.” Hi elbow-jabbed my side. “Tory’s such a kidder. Let’s run the mass spectrometer.” He flashed a “get a load of this guy” face at Anders while aiming a thumb back at me. “What a joker!”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I forced a laugh. “The residue sample should be plenty.”

But how was I going to identify it?

I nearly growled in frustration. And worry. The Gamemaster’s dire threats were looping inside my head. I couldn’t let on to Anders, but we needed those tests.