Sophieshrugged. 'It's all right, I guess.'

    'Plusyour school is only a block away. You can sleep late.'

    Sophiegiggled. 'You don't know my mom.'

    Thetruth was, he did. He soon realized the folly of his statement.

    Sophieglanced up the street. The looming structure of Sacred Heart Parochial School wassilhouetted against the carbon-blue night sky. She looked back at Byrne. 'Didyou go to Catholic school?'

    'Ohyeah,' Byrne said. He wanted to tell her that he still had ruler marks on hisknuckles to prove it, but decided against it.

    'Didyou like it?'

    Howto answer this? 'Well, do you have a kid in your school who is alwaysgoofing off, always getting into trouble?'

    'Yeah,'Sophie said. 'In my school it's Bobby Tomasello.'

    'Well,in my school that kid was me.'

    'Yougot into trouble?'

    'Allthe time,' Byrne said.

    'Didthey make you sit in the corner?'

    Byrnesmiled at the memory. 'Let me put it this way. Sister Mary Alice ended upputting my desk in the corner. It saved everyone a trip. In fact, I had acorner office in every one of my classrooms.'

    Sophie'sface softened into an expression that Byrne had seen a thousand times onJessica's face, a look of compassion and understanding. 'It's all right,Kevin,' she said. 'You turned out okay.'

    Thejury was still out on that one, Byrne thought. Still, it was nice to hear, evenif it was coming from a seven-year-old. Maybe especially from aseven-year-old. 'Thanks.'

    Theyfell silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of the party coming frominside the house.

    'Ilike Colleen,' Sophie said.

    'Yeah,'Byrne said. 'She's pretty special.'

    'Shetaught me something.'

    'Ohyeah?'

    Sophienodded. She thought for a moment, wrinkling her brow, then balled her fists,extended a finger, stopped, thought a bit more, started over. This time sheextended her hands, rubbed one palm across the other, lifted the index fingeron each hand, bumped fists, and pointed at Byrne.

    Itwas American Sign Language for 'Nice to meet you.'

    'Verygood,' Byrne said. 'Did you just learn that?'

    Sophienodded. 'It took me a few times.'

    Byrnesmiled. 'It took me -way more than a few times.'

    A fewminutes later he kissed Sophie on top of her head, watched her walk backinside. After she was inside, Byrne stood and observed Jessica's family throughthe window for a while. It had been a long time since he'd been part ofsomething like this.

    Hethought about Sophie's sign language, how determined she was, how she stayedwith it until she got it right. He considered how the oldest sayings were thetruest, like that one about the apple not falling far from the tree.

    Byrnewalked down Third Street, got into the van. He had grown up not far from here.He remembered a variety store on the corner. He used to get his water pistolsand comic books there, cadging the occasional Baby Ruth and Butterfinger. Heremembered a kid who got beat up once in the alley behind the store, a kid whowas thought to have molested a little girl from the neighborhood. Byrne hadbeen sitting on the corner with his cousin Patrick when it happened. Heremembered the kid screaming. It was the first time he had ever encounteredviolence like that, the first time he had ever heard someone in so much pain.He believed that all those sounds, all the dark echoes of violence, in manyways remained.

    Byrnesat there for a long time, not moving, just rolling the fifty- cent piece overhis fingers, the memories of his old neighborhood misting across his mind.

    Someoneemerged from the shadows just outside the driver's side window of the van.Byrne sat upright. It was Jessica. He rolled down the window.

    'What'sup?' he asked. 'Ready to move back already?'

    'Youknow the paper that was wrapped around the victims' heads?'

    'Whatabout it?'

    'Wehave a make.'

Chapter 26

    Thecrime lab - officially known as the Forensic Science Center, but never calledthat - was a massive building that had once been a schoolhouse, located just afew blocks from the Roundhouse at Eighth and Poplar Streets.

    Thereigning sovereign of the documents section was Sergeant Helmut Rohmer. HellRohmer was thirty-five, and a giant, measuring six-four, weighing two-fifty.Besides his strange and eclectic taste in music, which ran from Iron Maiden toKitty Wells, he was known for his T-shirts - always black, never bearing thesame saying twice. He must have had hundreds. He was starting to receive themin the mail, even from people he had helped put away in prison. Today his shirtread:

PADDLE FASTER.

I HEAR BANJOS.

    Hisconsiderable arms were ringed with rose tattoos, or some variation, which nowfinished with ivy circling his wrists and ending on the backs of his hands. Hewas always well-groomed - right down to his oddly manicured fingers. Jessicafigured that his manicures had something to do with his sense of the tactile.Hell Rohmer didn't want anything interfering with his sense of touch. He wasalmost metaphysical in his approach to document forensics. It was one of thereasons why he and Byrne spoke the same language.

    'Goodevening, sleuths,' Hell said.

    'Goodevening, alchemist,' Byrne replied.

    Hellsmiled. 'I have your paper,' he said. 'You can only hide from the Weavemeisterfor so long.'

    Onthe wall were six enlarged photographs of the paper found on the victims, frontand back. The photographs showed the blood that had leached from thelacerations on each of the victim's foreheads, as well as the small dot of bloodfrom the shallow puncture wound. A line, a dot, and the rough figure eightwhere the ears were mutilated.

    'Whatdo we have?' Jessica asked.

    Hellpicked up a small square of the paper sample, cut from the end of one of thebands. 'This is pricey stuff,' he said, running a finger across the slightlypebbled surface. 'It's beautiful, really. Our boy has exquisite taste.' Hellzoned for a moment, his eyes going a bit unfocused. Hell Rohmer was definitelya touchy-feely sort of guy.

    'Hell?'

    'Okay.Sorry. The paper is handmade, a hundred percent cotton, acid-free. Which putsit into the same category as about ten thousand brands. I'm not equipped to doa comparison test to determine the make, and I was just about to send it off tothe FBI - which, as you know, can take a month or two to get back - when I sawsomething.' Helmut held up a sample. 'This was cut from the paper we took fromthe female victim. If you look here, you can see a small segment of awatermark.' Hell held the paper up to a strong light, but not too close.Jessica saw what looked like the portion of a shoulder.

    'Isthat a cherub of some sort?' Jessica asked.

    Hellshook his head. 'The watermark is Venus de Milo. It's not on the other sample,so I'm thinking these were cut from a larger sheet.'

    Helldisplayed another printout. It was an extreme close-up of the edge of thepaper, photographed through a microscope. 'This was cut with a large blade,which is indicated by the slight tearing of the fiber. I think he used a papercutter, instead of an X-acto blade, scissors, or razor blade. The shearing isconsistent front to back, with the fibers pushed downward. Too uniform to havebeen done by hand.'

    Hellpointed to the sample.

    'And whilethis might look white, it is really Felt Light Grey. Deckled on two sides,which leads me to believe it's deckled on four. The band is twenty-four incheslong, which leads me to believe it was cut from a sheet that was twenty-four bytwenty-six, which is fairly standard in printmaking.'