“On a contact wound, theoretically, we could,” I said.
“The obvious problem is that a foriv-five loaded with highperformance ammunition is so incredibly destructive, you aren’t likely to find a good pattern, not on the head.”
This had been true in Danny’s case, even after I had conjured up my plastic surgery skills to reconstruct the entrance wound as best I could. But as I compared the cloth to diagrams and photographs I had made downstairs in the morgue, I found nothing inconsistent with a Sig P220 beino the murder weapon. In fact, I thought I might have matched a sight mark protruding from the margin of the entrance.
“This is our confirmation,” Frost said, adjusting the focus as he continued staring into the comparison microscope.
We both turned at the sound of’ someone running down the hall.
“You want to see?” he asked.
“Yes, I do,” I said as vet another person ran past, keys jingling madly from a bell.
“What the hell?” Frost -of up, frownin- toward the door.
Voices had gotten louder outside in the hall, and now people were hurrying by, but going the other way. Frost and I stepped outside the lab at the same moment several security guards rushed past, heading for their station. Scientists in lab coats stood in doorways casting about. Everyone was asking everyone else what was going on, when suddenly the fire alarm hammered overhead and red lights in the ceiling flashed.
“What the hell is this, a fire drill?” Frost yelled.
“There isn’t one scheduled.” I held my hands over my ears as people ran.
“Does that mean there’s a fire?” He looked stunned.
I glanced up at sprinkler heads in the ceilings, Fiji(] said, “We’ve got to get out of here.”
I ran downstairs and had just pushed through doors into the hall on my floor when a violent white storm of’ cool halon gas blasted from the ceiling. It sounded as if I were surrounded by huge cymbals being beaten madly with a million sticks as I dashed in and Out of rooms. Fieldin- was gone, and every other office I checked had been evacuated so fast that drawers were left open, and slide displays and microscopes were on. Cool clouds rolled over me, and I had the surreal sensation I was flying through a hurricane in the middle of an air raid. I dashed into the library, the restrooms, and when satisfied that everyone was safely out, I ran down the hall and pushed my way out of the front doors. For a moment, I stood to catch my breath and let my heart slow down.
The procedure for alarms and drills was as rigidly structured as most routines in the state. I knew I would find my staff gathered on the second floor of the Monroe Tower parking deck across Franklin Street. By now, all Consolidated Lab employees should be in their designated spots, except for section chiefs and agency heads, and of those, it seemed, I was the last to leave, except for the director of general services, who was in charge of my building. He was briskly crossing the street in front of me, a hard hat tucked under his arm. When I called out to him, he turned around and squinted as if he did not know me at all.
“What in God’s name is going on?” I asked as I caught up with him and we crossed to the sidewalk.
“What’s going on is you better not have requested anything extra in your budget this year.” He was an old man who was always well dressed and unpleasant. Today he was in a rage.
I stared at the building and saw no smoke as fire trucks screamed and blared several streets away.
“Some jackass tripped the damn deluge system, which doesn’t stop until all the chemicals are dumped.” He glared at me as if I were to blame. “I had the damn thing set on a delay to prevent this very thing.”
“Which wasn’t going to hell) if there was a chemical fire or explosion in a lab,” I couldn’t resist pointing out, because most of his decisions were about as bad. “You don’t want a thirty-second delay when something like that happens.”