Kathy Reichs - Code

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.

Hi began repacking our evidence, talking the whole time. “I think we’ve made some real progress here. Dynamite stuff. First place in the … homework … contest should be ours for the taking. We’ll get matching jackets, maybe with a sweet periodic table arm patch …”

I tuned him out.

Chemical analysis was a tall order. Only one idea sprang to mind.

Despite his über-wealthy background, as a young man Jason’s father had bucked Taylor family tradition and chosen to protect and serve. After years working as a homicide detective, he’d eventually been promoted to head the violent crimes unit for the Charleston Police Department.

Should I try that angle? It didn’t go so well last time, and what story would Jason believe? When it came to odd requests, my credibility had grown suspect. Even with my own father.

“Do you know who specializes in this type of analysis?” I asked casually.

“The police,” Sundberg answered. “We’ve got better equipment, but they’ve got the expertise.” A strange look crossed his face. “Why do you ask?”

“For the assignment. We’re supposed to … we’ve got a list of forensic questions to answer. I think we’re supposed to interview an expert.”

“Oh, no problem.” Anders tapped his chin, thinking. “There’s a guy downtown at the CPD crime lab named Eric Marchant. Actually, Hudson knows him pretty well, if you can stomach talking to that guy. From what I’ve heard, Marchant is one of the city’s go-to forensic experts. A ballistics ace.”

Hmm. It’s a start .

“Thanks so much for the help.” Hi chucked Anders’s shoulder, which seemed to startle him. “We’ll be sure to acknowledge you when our paper wins the Nobel Prize for Awesome Research. We’ll even drop you a footnote.”

“You’re too kind.” Dryly. “Can I tell Kit that you’ve finished in here?”

“Yep.” Hi swiveled to me. “Ready to rock, Tor?”

I nodded. “Thanks, Anders.”

“Always a pleasure.” He departed with a lazy wave.

“At least we found something , right?” Hi recovered the Gamemaster’s letter and shoved it in his backpack. “Not a total waste.”

“Not at all. Let’s get home and tell the others.”

Heading for the door, I had a bit more pep in my step. No answers yet, but we had a place to start. Progress.

For the first time since Coop was injured, I felt a measure of control. The humiliating feeling of being pushed around had lessened. It hadn’t disappeared—we still had to dance to the Gamemaster’s strings—but the bite wasn’t quite as strong.

Watch your back, Gamemaster .

I almost smiled as we waited for the elevator.

You picked the wrong mark .

CHAPTER 17

SECURITY CHIEF HUDSON flipped on the lights.

Halogens flared overhead, bathing Lab Two in surreal brightness. The radiance gleamed off his polished name tag and wristwatch.

Hudson walked to the room’s center. Rotated a slow three-sixty. Stopped. Rubbed his closely shaved chin.

This is pointless .

But his instructions had been clear. Watch the Brennan girl. Track her movements on the island. Discover if she was poking into things she shouldn’t be.