“Here.”
Joni moved to one side, making room for me.
I peered through the ocular lens. The fiber looked like a blotchy twisted ribbon, its varying shades of bright orange lightly peppered with black particles of titanium dioxide.
“As you can see,” she explained, “the color is also a little awkward. The orange. Uneven, and moderately dense with delustering particles to dull the fiber’s shine.
All the same, the orange is garish, a real Halloween orange, which I find peculiar for clothing or carpet fibers. The diameter is moderately coarse.”
“Which would make it consistent with carpeting,” I ventured. “Despite the peculiar color.”
“Possibly.”
I began thinking about what materials I had come across that were bright orange. “What about traffic vests?”
I asked. “They’re bright orange, and a fiber from that would fit with the vehicle-type debris you’ve identified.”
“Unlikely,” she replied. “Most traffic vests I’ve seen are nylon versus acrylic, usually a very coarse mesh that isn’t likely to shed. In addition, windbreakers and jackets you might associate with road crews or traffic cops are smooth, also unlikely to shed, and they’re usually nylon.”
She paused, adding thoughtfully, “It also seems to me you aren’t likely to find much, if any, delustering particles–you wouldn’t want a traffic vest to appear dull.”
I backed away from the stereoscope. “Whatever the case, this fiber is so distinctive I suspect it’s patented. Someone out there should recognize it even if we don’t have a known material for comparison.”
“Good luck.”
“I know. Proprietary blackouts,” I said. “The textile industry is as secretive about their patents as people are about their assignations.”
Joni stretched her arms and massaged the back of her neck. “It’s always struck me as miraculous the Feds were able to get so much cooperation in the Wayne Williams case,” she said, referring to the grisly twenty-two-month spree in Atlanta, in which it is believed that as many as thirty black children were murdered by the same serial killer. Fibrous debris recovered from twelve of the victims’ bodies was linked to the residence and automobiles used by Williams.
“Maybe we should get Hanowell to take a look at these fibers, especially this orange one,” I said.
Roy Hanowell was an FBI special agent in the Microscopic Analysis Unit in Quantico. He examined the fibers in the Williams case, and ever since had been inundated with other investigative agencies worldwide wanting him to look at everything from cashmere to cobwebs.
“Good luck,” Joni said again, just as drolly.
“You’ll call him?” I asked.
“I doubt he’ll be inclined to look at something that’s already been examined,” she said, adding, “You know how the Feds are.”
“We’ll both call him,” I decided.
When I returned to my office there were half a dozen pink telephone messages. One jumped out at me. Written on it was a number with a New York City exchange and the note: “Mark. Please return call ASAP.”
There was only one reason I could think of for his being in New York. He was seeing Sparacino, Beryl’s attorney. Why was Orn-dorff & Berger so intensely interested in Beryl Madison’s murder? The telephone number apparently was Mark’s direct line because he picked up on the first ring.
“When’s the last time you were in New York?” he asked casually.
“I beg your pardon?”
“There’s a flight leaving Richmond in exactly four hours. It’s nonstop. Can you can be on it?”
“What is this about?” I asked quietly, my pulse quickening.
“I don’t think it wise to discuss the details over the phone, Kay,” he said.
“I don’t think it wise for me to come to New York, Mark,” I responded.
“Please. It’s important. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”
“It’s not possible …”
“I just spent the morning with Sparacino,” he interrupted as long-suppressed emotions wrestled with my resolve. “There’s a couple of new developments having to do with Beryl Madison and your office.”
“My office?” I no longer sounded unmoved. “What could you possibly be discussing that has to do with my office?”
“Please,” he said again. “Please come.”
I hesitated.
“I’ll meet you at La Guardia.”
Mark’s urgency cut off my attempts at retreat. “We’ll find someplace quiet to talk. The reservation’s already made. All you need to do is pick up your ticket at the check-in counter. I’ve booked a room for you, taken care of everything.”