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pinnacle. Fe.
“A little iron.”
He leaned back and summarized. “Pretty common cocktail. Lots of zinc, with silicon and calcium, the other major components. I’ll print these, then let’s test another spot.”
We ran ten tests. All showed the same combination of elements.
“Right, then. The other glove.”
We repeated the procedure with the glove from Tanguay’s kitchen.
The peaks for zinc and sulfur were similar, but this glove contained more calcium, and had no iron, silicon, or magnesium. A small spike indicated the presence of potassium. It was the same on every run.
“What does this mean?” I asked, already certain of the answer.
“Each manufacturer uses a slightly different recipe for the latex. There will even be variation among gloves from the same company, but it will be within limits.
“So these gloves are not a pair?”
“They weren’t even made by the same company.”
He got up to remove the glove. My mind was stumbling over our finding.
“Would X-ray diffraction give more information?”
“What we’ve done, X-ray microfluorescence, tells what elements are present in an object. X-ray diffraction can describe the actual mixture of the elements. The chemical structure. For example, with microfluorescence we can know that something contains sodium and chloride. With diffraction we can tell that it is made up of sodium-chloride crystals.
“To oversimplify, in the X-ray diffractometer a sample is rotated and hit with X rays. The X rays bounce off the crystals, and their pattern of diffraction indicates the structure of those crystals.
“So one limitation with diffraction is that it can only be done on materials with a crystalline structure. That’s about eighty percent of everything that comes in. Unfortunately, latex is not crystalline in structure. Diffraction probably wouldn’t add much anyway. These gloves are definitely made by different manufacturers.”
“What if they’re just from different boxes? Surely individual batches of latex must vary.”
He was silent for a moment. Then:
“Wait. Let me show you something.”
He disappeared into the main lab and I could hear him talking to the technician. He reappeared with a stack of printouts, each composed of seven or eight sheets showing the familiar spire and steeple patterning. He unfolded each series and we looked at the variations in pattern.
“Each of these shows a sequence of tests done on gloves from a single manufacturer, but sampled from different boxes. There is variation, but the differences are never as great as those in the gloves we just analyzed.”
I examined several series. The size of the peaks varied, but the components showed consistency.
“Now. Look at this.”
He unfurled another series of printouts. Again, there were some differences, but overall the mix was the same.
Then I caught my breath. The configuration looked familiar. I looked at the symbols. Zn. Fe. Ca. S. Si. Mg. High zinc, silicon, and calcium content. Traces of the other elements. I laid the printout from Gabby’s glove above the series. The pattern was almost identical.
“Monsieur Lacroix, are these gloves from the same manufacturer?”
“Yes, yes. That’s my point. From the same box, probably. I just remembered this.”
“What case is this?” My heart rate had picked up tempo.
“It came in just a few weeks ago.” He flipped to the first sheet in the series. Numéro d’événement: 327468. “I can pull it up on the computer.”
“Please.”
Data filled the screen in seconds. I scanned it.
Numéro d’événement: 327468. Numéro de LML: 29427. Requesting Agency: CUM. Investigators: L. Claudel and M. Charbonneau. Recovery location: 1422 Rue Berger. Recovery date: 24/06/94.
An old rubber glove. Maybe the guy worried about his nails. Claudel! I thought he’d meant a glove for household cleaning! St. Jacques had a surgical glove! It matched the one in Gabby’s grave!
I thanked Monsieur Lacroix, gathered the printouts, and left. I returned the gloves to property, my mind tearing through what I’d just learned. The glove from Tanguay’s kitchen did not match the one buried with Gabby’s body. Tanguay’s prints were on it. The outside stains were animal blood. The glove found with Gabby was clean. No blood. No prints. St. Jacques had a surgical glove. It matched the one in Gabby’s grave. Was Bertrand right? Were Tanguay and St. Jacques the same person?
A pink slip waited on my desk. CUM Ident had called. The photos of the Rue Berger flat had been archived on a CD-ROM disk. I could view it there or check it out. I called to request the latter, told them I’d be there shortly.
I fought my way to CUM headquarters, cursing the rush-hour traffic and the tourists that clogged the Old Port area. Leaving the car double-parked, I bolted the steps and went