'Her hair?' I asked, perplexed, for I had not receipted the long, grayish hairs to Koss. That was not his specialty.

'What I saw under the scope don't look human to me,' he replied. 'Maybe two different types of animal. I've sent them on to Roanoke.'

The state had only one hair expert, and he worked out of the western district forensic labs.

'What about the trace?' I asked.

'My guess is it's going to be debris from the landfill. But I want to look under the electron microscope. What I've got under UV now is fibers,' he went on. 'I should say they're fragments, really, that I gave an ultrasonic bath in distilled water to remove blood. You want to take a look?'

He gave me room to peer through the lens, and I smelled Obsession cologne. I could not help but smile, for I remembered being his age and still having the energy to preen. There were three mounted fragments fluorescing like neon lights. The fabric was

white or off-white, one of them spangled with what looked like iridescent flecks of gold.

'What in the world is it?' I glanced up at him.

'Under the stereoscope, it looks synthetic,' he replied. 'The diameters regular, consistent like they would be if they, were extruded through spinnerettes, versus being natural and irregular. Like cotton, let's say.'

'And the fluorescing flecks?' I was still looking.

'That's the interesting part,' he said. 'Though I've got to do further tests, at a glance it looks like paint.'

I paused for a moment to imagine this. 'What kind?' I asked.

'It's not flat and fine like automotive. This is gritty, more granular. Seems to be a pale, eggshell color. I'm thinking it's structural.'

'Are these the only fragments and fibers you've looked at?

'I'm just getting started.' He moved to another countertop and pulled out a stool. 'I've looked at all of them under UV, and I'd say that about fifty percent of them have this paint-type substance soaked into the material. And although I can't definitively say what the fabric is, I do know that all of the samples you submitted are the same type, and probably from the same source.'

He placed a slide in the stage of a polarizing microscope, which, like Ray-Ban sunglasses, reduced glare, splitting light in different waves with different refractive index values to give us yet another clue as to the identity of the material.

'Now,' he said, adjusting the focus as he stared into the lens without blinking. 'This is the biggest fragment recovered, about the size of a dime. There are two sides to it.' He moved out of the way and I looked at fibers reminiscent of blond hairs with speckles of pink and green along the shaft.

'Very consistent with polyester,' Koss explained. 'Speckles are delusterants used in manufacturing so the material isn't shiny. I also think there's some rayon mixed in, and based on all this would have decided what you've got here is a very common fabric that could be used in almost anything. Anything from blouses to bedspreads. But there's one big problem.'

He opened a bottle of liquid solvent used for temporary mountings, and with tweezers, removed the cover slide and carefully turned the fragment over. Dripping xylene, he covered the slide again and motioned for me to bend close.

'What do you see?' he asked, and he was proud of himself.

'Something grayish and solid. Not the same material as the other side.' I looked at him in surprise. 'This fabric has a backing on it?'

'Some kind of thermoplastic. Probably polyethylene terephthalate.'

'Which is used in what?' I wanted to know.

'Primarily soft drink bottles, film. Blister packs used in packing.'

I stared at him, baffled, for I did not see how those products could have anything to do with this case.

'What else?' I asked.

He thought. 'Strapping materials. And some of it, like bottles, can be recycled and used for carpet fibers, fiberfill, plastic lumber. Just about anything.'

'But not fabric for clothing.'

He shook his head, and said with certainty, 'No way. The fabric in question is a rather common, crude polyester blend lined with a plastic-type material. Definitely not like any clothing I've ever heard of. Plus, it appears to be saturated with paint.'

'Thank you, Aaron,' I said. 'This changes everything.'

When I got back to my office, I was surprised and annoyed to find Percy Ring sitting in a chair across from my desk, flipping through a notebook.

'I had to be in Richmond for an interview at Channel Twelve,' he innocently said, 'so I thought I might as well come by to see you. They want to talk to you, too.' He smiled. I did not answer him, but my silence was loud as I sat in my chair.

'I didn't think you would do the interview. And that's what I told them,' he went on in his easy, affable way.

'And so tell me, what exactly did you say this time?' My tone was not nice.

'Excuse me?' His smile faded and his eyes got hard. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You're the investigator. Figure it out.' My eyes were just as hard as his.

He shrugged. 'I gave the usual. Just the basic information about the case and its similarities to the other ones.'

'Investigator Ring, let me make this very clear yet one more time,' I said with no attempt to hide my disdain for him. 'This case is not necessarily like the other ones, and we should not be discussing it with the media.'

'Well, now, it appears you and I have a different perspective, Dr Scarpetta.' Handsome in a dark suit and paisley suspenders and tie, he looked remarkably credible. I could not help but recall what Wesley had said about Ring's ambitions and connections, and the idea that this egotistical idiot would one day run the state police or be elected to Congress was one I could not stand.

'I think the public has a right to know if there's a psycho in their midst,' he was saying.

'And that's what you said on TV.' My irritation flared hotter. 'That there's a psycho in our midst.'

'I don't remember my exact words. The real reason I stopped by is I'm wondering when I'm going to get a copy of the autopsy report.'

'Still pending.'

'I need it as soon as I can get it.' He looked me in the eye. 'The Commonwealth's

Attorney wants to know what's going on.

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. He would not be talking to a C.A. unless there was a suspect.

'What are you saying?' I asked.

'I'm looking hard at Keith Pleasants.' I was incredulous.

'There are a lot of circumstantial things,' he went on, 'not the least of which is how he just so happened to be the one operating the Cat when the torso was found. You know, he usually doesn't operate earth-moving equipment, and then just happens to be in the driver's seat at that exact moment?'

'I should think that makes him more a victim than a suspect. If he's the killer,' I continued, 'one might expect that he wouldn't have wanted to be within a hundred miles of the landfill when the body was found.'

'Psychopaths like to be right there,' he said as if he knew. 'They fantasize about what it would be like to be there when the victim is discovered. They get off on it, like that ambulance driver who murdered women, then dumped them in the area he covered. When it was time to go on duty, he'd call 911 so he was the one who ended up responding.'

In addition to his degree in psychology, he no doubt had attended a lecture on profiling, too. He knew it all.

'Keith lives with his mother, who I think he really resents,' he went on, smoothing his tie. 'She had him late in life, is in her sixties. He takes care of her.'

'Then his mother is still alive and accounted for,' I said.

'Right. But that doesn't mean he didn't take out his aggressions on some other poor old woman. Plus - and you won't believe this - in high school, he worked at the meat counter of a grocery store. He was a butcher's assistant.'