A high-resolution image processing system could see two hundred and fifty-six shades of gray, while the human eye could differentiate, at the most, thirty-two. Therefore, it was possible to scan something into the computer and let it see what we could not. Deadoc may have sent me more than he bargained for. The first task this morning was to compare a morgue photograph of the torso with the one sent to me through AOL.

'Let me get a little more gray over here.' Vander said as he worked computer keys.

'And I'm going to tilt this some.'

'That's better,' I agreed.

We were sitting side by side, both of us leaning into the nineteen-inch monitor. Nearby, both photographs were on the scanner, a video camera feeding their images to us live.

'A little more of that.' Another shade of gray washed over the screen. 'Let me bump this a tad more.'

He reached over to the scanner and repositioned one of the photographs. He put another filter over the camera lens.

'I don't know,' I said as I stared. 'I think it was easier to see before. Maybe you need to move it a little more to the right,' I added, as if we were hanging pictures.

'Better. But there's still a lot of background interference I' d like to get rid of.'

'I wish we had the original. What's the radiometric resolution of this thing?' I asked, referring to the system's capability of differentiating shades of gray.

'A whole lot better than it used to be. Since the early days, I guess we've doubled the number of pixels that can be digitalized.'

Pixels, like the dots in dot matrix, were the smallest elements of an image being viewed, the molecules, the impressionistic points of color forming a painting.

'We got some grants, you know. One of these days, I want to move us into ultraviolet imaging. I can't even tell you what I could do with cyanoacrylate,' he went on about Super Glue, which reacted to components in human perspiration and was excellent for developing fingerprints difficult to see with the unaided eye.

'Well, good luck,' I said, because money was always tight no matter who was in office. Repositioning the photograph again, he placed a blue filter over the camera lens, and dilated the lighter pixel elements, brightening the image. He enhanced horizontal details, removing vertical ones. Two torsos were now side by side. Shadows appeared, gruesome details sharper and in contrast.

'You can see the bony ends.' I pointed. 'Left leg severed just proximal to the lesser trochanter. Right leg' - I moved my finger on the screen - 'about an inch lower, right through the shaft.'

'I wish I could correct the camera angle, the perspective distortion,' he muttered, talking to himself, which he often did. 'But I don't know the measurements of anything. Too bad whoever took this didn't include a nice little ruler as a scale.'

'Then I would really worry about who we were dealing with,' I commented.

'That's all we need. A killer who's like us.' He defined the edges, and readjusted the positions of the photographs one more time. 'Let's see what happens if I superimpose them.'

He did, and the overlay was amazing, bone ends and even the ragged flesh around the severed neck, identical.

'That does it for me,' I announced.

'No question about it in my mind,' he agreed. 'Let's print this out.'

He clicked the mouse and the laser printer hummed on. Removing the photographs from the scanner, he replaced them with the one of the feet and hands, moving it around until it was perfectly centered. As he began to enlarge images, the sight became even more grotesque, blood staining the sheet bright red, as if it had just been spilled. The killer had neatly lined up feet like a pair of shoes, hands side by side like gloves.

'He should have turned them palm down,' Vander said. 'I wonder why he didn't?' Using spatial filtering to retain important details, he began eliminating interference, such as the blood and the texture of the blue table cover.

'Can you get any ridge detail?' I asked leaning so close, I could smell his spicy aftershave.

'I think I can,' he said.

His voice was suddenly cheerful, for there was nothing he liked better than reading the hieroglyphics of fingers and feet. Beneath his gentle, distracted demeanor was a man who had sent thousands of people to the penitentiary, and dozens to the electric chair. He enlarged the photograph and assigned arbitrary colors to various intensities of gray, so we could see them better. Thumbs were small and pale like old parchment.

There were ridges.

'The other fingers aren't going to work,' he said, staring, as if in a trance. 'They're too curled for me to see. But thumbs look pretty darn good. Let's capture this.' Clicking into a menu, he saved the image on the computer's hard disk. 'I'm going to want to work on this for a while.'

That was his cue for me to leave, and I pushed back my chair.

'If I get something, I'll run it through AFIS right away,' he said of the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, capable of comparing unknown latent prints against a databank of millions.

'That would be great,' I said. 'And I'll start with HALT.'

He gave me a curious look, because the Homicide Assessment and Lead Tracking System was a Virginia database maintained by the state police in conjunction with the FBI. It was the place to start if we suspected the case was local.

'Even though we have reason to suspect the other cases are not from here,' I explained to him, 'I think we should search everything we can. Including Virginia databases.' Vander was still making adjustments, staring at the screen.

'As long as I don't have to fill out the forms,' he replied.

In the hallway were more boxes and white cartons marked EVIDENCE lining either side and stacked to the ceiling. Scientists walked past, preoccupied and in a hurry, paperwork and samples in hand that might send someone to court for murder. We greeted each other without slowing down as I headed to the fibers and trace evidence lab, which was big and quiet. More scientists in white coats were bent over microscopes and working at their desks, black counters haphazardly arranged with mysterious bundles wrapped in brown paper.

Aaron Koss was standing in front of an ultraviolet lamp that was glowing purple-red as he examined a slide through a magnifying lens to see what the reflective long wavelengths might tell him.

'Good morning,' I said.

'Same to you.' Koss grinned.

Dark and attractive, he seemed too young to be an expert in microscopic fibers, residues, paints and explosives. This morning, he was in faded jeans and running shoes.

'No court for you,' I said, for one could usually tell by the way people were dressed.

'Nope. Lucky me,' he said. 'Bet you're curious about your fibers.'

'I was in the neighborhood,' I said. 'Thought I'd drop by.'

I was notorious for making evidence rounds, and in the main, the scientists endured my intensity patiently, and in the end were grateful. I knew I pressured them when caseloads were already overwhelming. But when people were being murdered and dismembered, evidence needed to be examined now.

'Well, you've granted me a reprieve from working on our pipe-bomber,' he said with another smile.

'No luck with that,' I assumed.

'They had another one last night. I-195 North near Laburnum, right under the nose of Special Operations. You know, where Third Precinct used to be, if you can believe that?'

'Let's hope the person sticks with just blowing up traffic signs,' I said.

'Let's hope.' He stepped back from the UV lamp and got very serious. 'Here's what I've got so far from what you've turned in to me. Fibers from fabric remnants embedded in bone. Hair. And trace that was adhering to blood.'