Dark Rivers of the Heart

something you can't accept about yourself Did you ever think of that?" She glanced at the fingerprint photos. "So what do you want me to do with these?"
        Roy saw that David Davis had to struggle not to answer with the first thing that came to his mind.
        Instead, Davis said, "We need to know whose prints these are. Go through Mama, get on-line with the FBI's Automated Identification Division. Start with the Latent Descriptor Index."
        The Federal Bureau of Investigation had one hundred ninety million fingerprints on file. Though its newest computer could make thousands of comparisons a minute, a lot of time could be expended if it had to shuffle through its entire vast storehouse of prints.
        With the help of clever software called the Latent Descriptor Index, the field of search could be drastically reduced and results achieved quickly. If they had been seeking suspects in a series of killings, they would have listed the prime characteristics of the crimes-the sex and age of each victim, the methods of murder, any similarities in the conditions of the corpses, the locations at which the bodies had been found-and the index would have compared those facts to the modus operandi of known offenders, eventually producing a list of suspects and their fingerprints.
        Then a few hundred-or even just a few-comparisons might be necessary instead of millions.
        Nella Shire turned to her computer and said, "So give me the telltales, and I'll create a three-oh-two."
        "We aren't seeking a known criminal," Davis said.
        Roy said, "We think our man was in special forces, or maybe he had special-weapons-and-tactics training."
        "Those guys are all hardbodies, for sure," Shire said, eliciting a scowl from David Davis. "Army, navy, marines, or air force?"
        "We don't know," Roy said. "Maybe he was never in the service.
        Could have been with a state or local police department. Could have been a Bureau agent, as far as we know, or D.E.A or A.T.F."
        "The way this works," Shire said impatiently, "is, I need to put in telltales that limit the field."
        A hundred million of the prints in the Bureau's system were in criminal-history files, which left ninety million that covered federal employees, military personnel, intelligence services, state and local law-enforcement officers, and registered aliens. If they knew that their mystery man was, say, an ex-marine, they wouldn't have to search most of those nine million files.
        Roy opened the envelope that Melissa Wicklun had given him a short while ago, in Photo Analysis. He took out one of the computer-projected portraits of the man they were hunting. On the back of it was the data that the photo-analysis software had deduced from the rain-veiled profile of the man at the bungalow the previous night.
        "Male, Caucasian, twenty-eight to thirty-two," Roy said.
        Nella Shire typed swiftly. A list appeared on the screen.
        "Five feet eleven inches tall," Roy continued. "One hundred and sixty-five pounds, give or take five. Brown hair, brown eyes."
        He turned the photo over to stare at the full-face portrait, and David Davis bent down to look as well. "Severe facial scarring," Roy said.
        "Right side. Beginning at the ear, terminating near the chin."
        "Was that sustained on duty?" Davis wondered.
        "Probably. So a conditional telltale might be an honorable early discharge or even a service disability."
        "Whether he was discharged or disabled," Davis said excitedly, "you can bet he was required to undergo psychological counseling. A scar like this-it's a terrible blow to self-esteem. Terrible."
        Nella Shire swiveled in her chair, snatched the portrait out of Roy's hand, and looked at it. "I don't know… I think it makes him look sexy.
        Dangerous and sexy."
        Ignoring her, Davis said, "The government's very concerned about self-esteem these days. A lack of self-esteem is the root of crime and social unrest. You can't hold up a bank or mug an old lady unless you first think you're nothing but a lowlife thief "
        "Yeah?" Nella Shire said, returning the portrait to Roy. "Well, I've known a thousand jerks who thought they were God's best work."
        Davis said firmly, "Make psychological counseling a telltale."
        She added that item to her list. ",anything else?"
        "That's all," Roy said. "How long