The Empty Chair

her.”
    The big man asked, “Is there a paint database somewhere we can compare it to?”
    “Good idea,” Rhyme responded. “But the answer’s no. I have one in New York but that won’t do us any good here. And the FBI database is automotive. But keep going. What’s in the pockets, anything? Put on—”
    But Ben was already pulling on the latex gloves. “This what you were going to say?”
    “It was,” Rhyme muttered.
    Thom said, “He hates to be anticipated.”
    “Then I’ll try to do it more,” Ben said. “Ah, here’s something.” Rhyme squinted at several small white objects the young man dug out of Garrett’s pocket.
    “What are they?”
    Ben sniffed. “Cheese and bread.”
    “More food. Like the crackers and—”
    Ben was laughing.
    Rhyme frowned. “What’s funny?”
    “It’s food—but it’s not for Garrett.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Haven’t you ever fished?” Ben asked.
    “No, I’ve never fished,” Rhyme grumbled. “If you want fish you buy it, you cook it, you eat it. What the hell does fishing have to do with cheese sandwiches?”
    “They’re not from sandwiches,” Ben explained. “They’re stinkballs. Bait for fishing. You wad up breadand cheese and let ’em get good and sour. Bottom feeders love ’em. Like catfish. The smellier the better.”
    Rhyme’s eyebrow lifted. “Ah, now that’s helpful.”
    Ben examined the cuffs. He brushed a small amount out onto a People magazine subscription card and then looked at it under the microscope. “Nothing much distinctive,” he said. “Except little flecks of something. White.”
    “Let me see.”
    The zoologist carried the large Bausch & Lomb microscope over to Rhyme, who looked through the eyepieces. “Okay, good. They’re paper fibers.”
    “They are?” Ben asked.
    “It’s obvious they’re paper. What else would they be? Absorbent paper too. Don’t have a clue what the source is, though. Now, that dirt is very interesting. Can you get some more? Out of the cuffs?”
    “I’ll try.”
    Ben cut the stitching securing the cuff and unfolded it. He brushed more dirt out onto the card.
    “ ’Scope it,” Rhyme ordered.
    The zoologist prepared a slide and slipped it onto the stage of the compound microscope, which he again held rock steady for Rhyme, who peered into the eyepieces. “There’s a lot of clay. I mean, a lot. Feldspathic rock, probably granite. And—what’s that? Oh, peat moss.”
    Impressed, Ben asked, “How d’you know all this?”
    “I just do.” Rhyme didn’t have time to go into a discussion of how a criminalist must know as much about the physical world as he does about crime. He asked, “What else was in the cuffs? What’s that ?” Nodding toward something resting on the subscription card. “That little whitish-green thing?”
    “It’s from a plant,” Ben said. “But that’s not my expertise. I studied marine botany but it wasn’t my favorite subject. I’m more into life forms that’ve got a chance toget away when you’re collecting them. Seems more sporting.”
    Rhyme ordered, “Describe it.”
    Ben looked it over with a magnifying glass. “A reddish stalk and a dot of liquid on the end. It looks viscous. There’s a white, bell-shaped flower attached to it. . . . If I had to guess—”
    “You do,” Rhyme snapped. “And quickly.”
    “I’m pretty sure it’s from a sundew.”
    “What the hell’s that? Sounds like dish soap.”
    Ben said, “It’s like a Venus flytrap. They eat insects. They’re fascinating. When I was a kid we’d sit and watch ’em for hours. The way they eat is—”
    “Fascinating, ” Rhyme repeated sarcastically. “I’m not interested in their dining habits. Where’re they found ? That’s what would be fascinating to me.”
    “Oh, all over the place here.”
    Rhyme scowled. “Useless. Shit. All right, run a sample of that dirt through the chromatograph after the cloth sample’s done.” He then looked at Garrett’s T-shirt, which was lying, spread open, on a table. “What’re those stains?”
    There were several reddish blotches on the shirt. Ben studied them closely and shrugged, shook his head.
    The criminalist’s thin lips curved into a wry smile. “You game to taste it?”
    Without hesitation Ben lifted the shirt and licked a small portion of the stain.
    Rhyme called, “Good man.”
    Ben lifted an eyebrow. “I assumed that was standard procedure.”
    “No way in hell would I have done that,” Rhyme