short walk down a pleasantly sun-washed hallway to the south wing of Schroeder Plaza. Rizzoli had strode down this hall countless times, her gaze often straying to the windows that overlooked the troubled neighborhood of Roxbury, where shops were barricaded at night behind bars and padlocks and every parked car came equipped with the Club. But today, she was in single-minded pursuit of answers, and she did not even glance sideways but headed in a beeline to Room S269, the hair, fiber, and trace evidence lab.
In this windowless room, crammed tight with microscopes and a gammatech prism gas chromatograph, criminalist Erin Volchko reigned supreme. Cut off from sunlight and outdoor views, she focused her gaze, instead, on the world beneath her microscope lens, and she had the pinched eyes, the perpetual squint, of someone who has been staring too long into an eyepiece. As Rizzoli came into the room, Erin swiveled around to face her.
“I’ve just put it under the microscope for you. Take a look.”
Rizzoli sat down and peered into the teaching eyepiece. She saw a hair shaft stretched horizontally across the field.
“This is that long brown strand I recovered from the strip of duct tape binding Dr. Yeager’s ankles,” said Erin. “It’s the only such strand trapped in the adhesive. The others were short hairs from the victim’s limbs, plus one of the vic’s head hairs, on the strip taken from his mouth. But this long one is an orphan strand. And it’s quite a puzzling one. It doesn’t match either the victim’s head hair or the hairs we got from the wife’s hairbrush.”
Rizzoli moved the field, scanning the hair shaft. “It’s definitely human?”
“Yes, it’s human.”
“So why can’t it be our perp’s?”
“Look at it. Tell me what you see.”
Rizzoli paused, calling back to mind all that she had learned about forensic hair examination. She knew Erin must have a reason for taking her so systematically through the process; she could hear quiet excitement in her voice. “This strand is curved, degree of curl about point one or point two. And you said the shaft length was twenty-one centimeters.”
“In the range of a woman’s hairstyle,” said Erin. “But rather long for a man.”
“Is it the length that concerns you?”
“No. Length doesn’t tell us gender.”
“Then what am I supposed to focus on, anyway?”
“The proximal end. The root. Do you notice anything strange?”
“The root end looks a little ragged. Kind of like a brush.”
“That’s exactly the word I would use. We call that a brushlike root end. It’s a collection of cortical fibrils. By examining the root, we can tell what stage of hair growth this strand was in. Care to venture a guess?”
Rizzoli focused on the bulbous root end, with its gossamerlike sheath. “There’s something transparent clinging to the root.”
“An epithelial cell,” said Erin.
“That means it was in active growth.”
“Yes. The root itself is slightly enlarged, so this hair was in late anagen. It was just ending its active growth phase. And that epithelial cell might give us DNA.”
Rizzoli raised her head and looked at Erin. “I don’t see what this has to do with zombies.”
Erin gave a soft laugh. “I didn’t mean that literally.”
“What did you mean?”
“Look at the hair shaft again. Follow it as it leads away from the root.”
Once again, Rizzoli gazed into the microscope and focused on a darker segment of the hair shaft. “The color’s not uniform,” she said.
“Go on.”
“There’s a black band on the shaft, a short way from the root. What is that?”
“It’s called distal root banding,” said Erin. “That’s where the sebaceous gland duct enters the follicle. Sebaceous gland secretions include enzymes that actually break down cells, in a sort of digestive process. It causes this swelling and dark band formation near the root end of the hair. That’s what I wanted you to see. The distal banding.
In this windowless room, crammed tight with microscopes and a gammatech prism gas chromatograph, criminalist Erin Volchko reigned supreme. Cut off from sunlight and outdoor views, she focused her gaze, instead, on the world beneath her microscope lens, and she had the pinched eyes, the perpetual squint, of someone who has been staring too long into an eyepiece. As Rizzoli came into the room, Erin swiveled around to face her.
“I’ve just put it under the microscope for you. Take a look.”
Rizzoli sat down and peered into the teaching eyepiece. She saw a hair shaft stretched horizontally across the field.
“This is that long brown strand I recovered from the strip of duct tape binding Dr. Yeager’s ankles,” said Erin. “It’s the only such strand trapped in the adhesive. The others were short hairs from the victim’s limbs, plus one of the vic’s head hairs, on the strip taken from his mouth. But this long one is an orphan strand. And it’s quite a puzzling one. It doesn’t match either the victim’s head hair or the hairs we got from the wife’s hairbrush.”
Rizzoli moved the field, scanning the hair shaft. “It’s definitely human?”
“Yes, it’s human.”
“So why can’t it be our perp’s?”
“Look at it. Tell me what you see.”
Rizzoli paused, calling back to mind all that she had learned about forensic hair examination. She knew Erin must have a reason for taking her so systematically through the process; she could hear quiet excitement in her voice. “This strand is curved, degree of curl about point one or point two. And you said the shaft length was twenty-one centimeters.”
“In the range of a woman’s hairstyle,” said Erin. “But rather long for a man.”
“Is it the length that concerns you?”
“No. Length doesn’t tell us gender.”
“Then what am I supposed to focus on, anyway?”
“The proximal end. The root. Do you notice anything strange?”
“The root end looks a little ragged. Kind of like a brush.”
“That’s exactly the word I would use. We call that a brushlike root end. It’s a collection of cortical fibrils. By examining the root, we can tell what stage of hair growth this strand was in. Care to venture a guess?”
Rizzoli focused on the bulbous root end, with its gossamerlike sheath. “There’s something transparent clinging to the root.”
“An epithelial cell,” said Erin.
“That means it was in active growth.”
“Yes. The root itself is slightly enlarged, so this hair was in late anagen. It was just ending its active growth phase. And that epithelial cell might give us DNA.”
Rizzoli raised her head and looked at Erin. “I don’t see what this has to do with zombies.”
Erin gave a soft laugh. “I didn’t mean that literally.”
“What did you mean?”
“Look at the hair shaft again. Follow it as it leads away from the root.”
Once again, Rizzoli gazed into the microscope and focused on a darker segment of the hair shaft. “The color’s not uniform,” she said.
“Go on.”
“There’s a black band on the shaft, a short way from the root. What is that?”
“It’s called distal root banding,” said Erin. “That’s where the sebaceous gland duct enters the follicle. Sebaceous gland secretions include enzymes that actually break down cells, in a sort of digestive process. It causes this swelling and dark band formation near the root end of the hair. That’s what I wanted you to see. The distal banding.
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