Reardon considered the idea and shook his head. “That still doesn’t sound too conclusive to me. Mike may not have cleaned the car for weeks—”
“No,” Gentry said calmly. Behind his thick glasses his eyes were twinkling. “You’ll also note — if you can note the difference — that there is very little black dust mixed with the ash, and in this town, as in most towns unfortunately these days, it doesn’t take very long for dust to settle.”
“In a car with the windows closed?”
“Even in a car with the windows closed; modern cars certainly aren’t dustproof. And we don’t know they were always closed. We just know when the car was found, all the windows were closed, except the one across from the driver, which was partially open.”
“All right,” Reardon said, happy to agree. “Let’s assume that the man who kidnapped Pop smoked. So what? Half the idiotic population of the entire country smokes — present company included.”
“Actually, less than twenty-five per cent,” Gentry said, ever the pedantic, “although that statistic includes children, of course, too young to smoke.” He puffed on his cigarette with enjoyment as he went on. “However, the percentage is smaller for those who smoke cigars.”
Reardon frowned. “Cigars?”
“That’s right.” Gentry was enjoying his triumph. “The ash is definitely from a cigar.”
“Look,” Reardon said, “I know you can tell a lot from tobacco ash in the laboratory, but it still seems a little Sherlock Holmesish, again, to me. So tell me, Holmes, how do you deduce the ash was from a cigar? And don’t tell me you found the cigar band on the floor of the back seat.”
Gentry shook his head unhappily.
“I wish we had. You see, we can’t go as far as Holmes. He was supposed to be able to identify every known make of cigar and tobacco by its ash, but we’re satisfied to be able to distinguish between the eight basic classifications of tobacco by their ash — flue-cured, dark air-cured, oriental and semi-oriental, dark sun-cured, Burley—”
“All right! All right. I believe you. So?”
“So each type leaves a distinctive ash.” Gentry gestured toward the microscope. “That is dark air-cured, which is used almost exclusively for cigars. Unless,” he added with dry humor, “the man was smoking a hookah in the back seat, because dark air-cured is also used in water pipes in the Middle East. But of course,” he said, thinking about it, “there wouldn’t have been any ash at all with a hookah, would there?”
“I doubt it. Look, Roy—”
“Now, cigarettes, of course, are blends, either of whatever the smoker prefers, or what is available at a good price, or whatever the manufacturer feels like putting in at the moment,” Gentry went on, now wound up. He smiled. “Sherlock Holmes would have gone crazy in today’s cigarette market.” His smile disappeared; the lecturer returned. “Most American cigarettes contain a blend of flue-cured, oriental, and Burley, with or without Maryland light air-cured. English cigarettes are wholly flue-cured tobacco with no additives permitted by law, other than water. Pipe tobaccos—”
Reardon interrupted at last, weary of more knowledge.
“Look, Roy, I’ll read about it in your report, if you don’t mind.”
“If you wish.” Gentry was not at all disturbed; his show was scarcely half over. He turned to a second microscope. “Now, here we have an example of hair. You might know that the man was bearded—”
Reardon was quite aware of the magic sometimes developed in a police laboratory, and he knew that hair gave many more clues than most people knew. Still, it seemed a pity to break up Gentry’s triumphant mood.
“All right, Roy, I’ll play the straight man. How do you know he was bearded?”
Gentry crushed out his cigarette and automatically reached for another.
“When we first separated the stuff Frank Wilkins vacuumed from various parts of the car, we found among the vacuum cleanings of the back seat, in addition to ash, hair. Now, hair,” he said, thinking about it, “is of great importance in identification. Not only can race and sex be determined by microscopic evaluation of hair, but even age can be roughly calculated. Not to the year, of course, but childhood can be differentiated from youth, youth from middle age, middle age from old age, and so forth. In addition, hair from different parts of the body varies considerably in appearance under a microscope. According to Belfield, the hair of the male beard is readily distinguishable from scalp hair by diameter, shape, and pigmentation. The hairs of the scalp generally vary from 1/200 to 1/1000 of an inch in diameter, while the hairs from the jaw are larger, varying in diameter from about 1/150 to—”
“All right!” Reardon modified his tone. “All right, Roy. Do you mind? I appreciate the job you’ve done, but give it to me in nice short sentences. What race, sex, and age are we talking about?”
Gentry nodded, pleased with the reaction of the other man. He brought his exposition to a properly dramatic close.
“The man we’re talking about — the man I am assuming kidnapped Pop Holland — is a white male, between twenty-five and forty years of age, with a beard at least three inches in length and possibly more, beginning to gray at the tips, who smokes cigars. As you know from our voice graphs, we assume him to be a native Californian, probably raised in the bay area, and with a decent education, no doubt at least some college.”
“And a nasty habit of hurting people,” Reardon added. “Also accompanied by a small companion who isn’t any angel himself, considering we figure he was driving the car when the wino was run over.”
He drummed his fingers on the laboratory bench absently while he went over it all in his mind. There were undoubtedly many hundreds of people who fit the physical appearance that Gentry had magically evoked from his microscope and his voice comparator, but the lieutenant had to admit they were a lot farther along than they had been, and a lot farther along than he had expected to be. Still it was a long way from being sufficiently identitive to permit the issuance of an all-points bulletin. If only they could pinpoint the kidnapper a bit more accurately; if only they had one or two more descriptive elements to narrow the field! Well, maybe the message that had been left in the patrolman’s call box might give them what they lacked, though it was doubtful if the kidnapper would make that hoped-for mistake.
As if in answer to the thought, the door swung back and one of the uniformed officers from the reception desk in the lobby was there, holding out a crumpled envelope.
“Not much chance for fingerprints,” he said apologetically. “The patrol car driver said the footman who gave him this was hanging onto it like it was his birthday present. Ruined any possibility of prints.” He added under his breath, “The dummy!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Reardon said shortly. “This guy doesn’t leave prints.” He studied the pasted letters on the envelope a moment, and then slipped a finger under the flap, ripping open the cover. He removed the single sheet of paper, unfolded it, and read it. The words, also clipped from a newspaper or magazine, were of varying sizes and type shapes, but together they formed a message that was short and to the point:
The words were evidently cut from the same newspaper or leaflet as the letters on the envelope; and the underlining of the last four words, as well as the exclamation points, had been added using a heavy black marking pencil. Reardon read it again, although the message was clear enough. He felt a sickening feeling in his stomach. He should never have permitted Dondero to go ahead with his harebrained scheme! Permitted? He practically abetted it! Which was what came from desperation and frustration. Idiot! He forced down the fury he felt at himself and handed the note and envelope both to the laboratory head.