21

I found George Gara in his lab, retrieving his bagged lunch from a refrigerator posted with a sign that read No Food Inside were stains such as silver nitrate and mucicarmine, in addition to Schiff reagents, none of which was compatible with anything edible.

"That's not such a great idea," I said.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered, setting the bag on the counter and shutting the refrigerator door.

"We have a fridge in the break room. George," I said. "You're more than welcome to use it:'

He didn't respond, and I realized that he was so painfully shy he probably didn't go into the break room for a -reason. My heart ached for him. I couldn't imagine the shame he must have felt when he was growing up and couldn't talk without stuttering. Maybe that explained the tattoos slowly taking over his body like kudzu. Maybe they made him feel special and manly. I pulled out a chair and sat down.

"George, can I ask you about your tattoos?" I asked.

He blushed.

"I'm fascinated by them and need -some help with a problem:' "Sure," he said with uncertainty.

"Do you have someone you go to? A real expert? Someone very experienced in tattooing?"

"Yes, ma'am," hereplied. "I wouldn't go to just anyone."

"You get your tattoos locally? Because I need to find a place where I can ask some questions and not run into bad characters, if you know what I mean."

"Pit," he immediately said. "As in pit bull, but Pit's his real name. John Pit. He's a really good guy. You want me to call him for you?" he asked, stuttering badly.

"I would be grateful if you would," I said.

Gara pulled a small address book out of his back pocket and looked up a number. When he got Pit on the line, he explained who I was, and apparently Pit was very agreeabIй.

"Here." Gara handed me the phone. "I'll let you explain the rest of it."

That took several efforts. Pit was home and just waking up.

"So you think you might have some luck?" I asked.

"I've seen pretty much all the flash out there," he replied.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what that is."

"Flash's the stencils, I guess you could call them. You know, the design people pick out. Every inch of wall space I got is covered with flash. That's why I'm thinking you might want to come here instead of me coming to your office. We might see something that gives us a clue. But I will tell you I'm not open Wednesdays or Thursdays. And payday weekend just about killed me. I'm still recovering. But I'll open up for you, since this must be important. You bringing in whoever's got this tattoo?"

He still didn't quite get it.

"No, I'm bringing the tattoo," I said. "But not the person who goes with it."

"Wait a minute," he said. "Okay, okay, now I'm hearing you. So you cut it off the dead guy."

"Can you handle that?"

"Oh, hell, yeah. I can handle anything."

"What time?"

"How 'bout as soon as you can get here?'

I hung up and was startled to see Ruffin in the doorway watching me. I had a feeling he'd been there for a while, listening to my conversation, since my back was to him as I'd taken notes. His face was tired, his eyes red, as if he'd been up half the night drinking.

"You don't look well, Chuck;" I said without much sympathy.

"I was wondering if I could go home," he said. "I think I'm coming down with something."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. There's a new, very contagious strain going around, thought to be carried by the Internet. It's called the six-thirty bug," I said. "People dash home from work and log onto their home computers. If they have a home computer."

Ruffin's face turned white.

"That's pretty funny," Gara said. "But I don't get the sixthirty part of it."

"The time half the world signs onto AOL:' I replied. "Of course, Chuck, you can go home. Get some rest. I'll walkyou out. We need to stop in the decomposed room first and get the tattoo."

I had removed it from the corkboard and placed it inside ajar of formalin.

"They say it is going to be a really weird winter," Ruffin began to prattle. "I was listening to the radio this morning while I was driving in to work, and it's like it's going to get real cold closer to Christmas and then be like spring again in February."

I opened the automatic doors to the. decomposed room and walked in as trace evidence examiner Larry Posner and an Institute student worked on the dead man's clothes.

"I'm always happy to see you guys," I greeted them.

"Well, I've got to admit, you've given us another one of your challenges," said Posner as he used a scalpel to scrape dirt off a shoe onto a sheet of white paper. "You know Carlisle?"

"Is he teaching you anything?" I asked the young man.

"Sometimes," he replied.

"How ya doing, Chuck?" Posner said. "You don't look so good."

"Hanging in there." Chuck kept up his sick routine.

"Sorry about the Richmond PD.;" he said with a sympathetic smile.

Ruffin was visibly shaken.

"Excuse me?" he said..

Posner looked uncomfortable as he replied, "I heard the academy didn't work out. You know, I just wanted to tell you not to be discouraged."

Ruffin's eyes cut to the phone.

"Most people don't know this," Posner went on as he started work on another shoe. "I flunked the first two tests in chemistry one-oh-one at VCU."

"No kidding," Ruffin muttered.

"Now you tell me." Carlisle feigned horror and disgust. "And here I was told I'd get the best instructors id the world if I came here. I want my money back."

"Got something to show you, Dr. Scarpetta," Posner said, pushing back his face shield.

He set down the scalpel and folded the sheet of paper with a jeweler's fold and moved over to the pair of black jeans Carlisle was working on. They were carefully laid out on the sheet-covered gurney. The waistband had been turned inside out to the hips, and Carlisle was gently collecting hairs with needle-nosed forceps.

"This is the damnedest thing," Posner said, pointing a gloved finger without touching while his trainee carefully folded the jeans down another inch, revealing more hairs.

"We've already collected dozens," Posner was telling me. "You know, we began folding down the jeans and found the expected pubic hair in the crotch, but then there's this blond stuff. And each inch we go, there's more of it. It doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't seem to," I agreed.

"Maybe some sort of animal like a Persian cat?" Carlisle suggested.

Ruffin opened a.cupboard and took out the plastic bottle of formaiin that contained the tattoo.

"If it was sleeping on top of the jeans while they were inside out, for example?" Carlisle went on. "You know, a lot of times when my jeans are a pain to get off, they end up inside out and tossed on a chair. And my dog loves to sleep on top of my clothes."

"I don't guess hanging things up or putting them in drawers ever occurs to you," Posner remarked.

"Is that part of my homework?"

"I'll go find a bag to put this in," Ruffin said, holding up the jar. "In case it leaks or something."

"Good idea:' l said. Then I asked Posner, "How quickly can you take a look at all this?"

"For you, I'll ask the lethal question," he said. -"How quickly do you need it?"

I sighed.

"Okay, okay."

"We've got Interpol trying to track down who this guy is. I feel under as much pressure as.everybody else, Larry" I said.

"You don't need to explain. I know when you say jump, there's always a good reason. I guess I put my foot in my mouth," he added. "What's with that kid? He acted like he didn't know he wasn't accepted at the police academy. Hell, it's all over the building:' "First of all, I didn't know he didn't get in," I said. "And second, I don't know why it's ail over the building."