Detective by Arthur Hailey Page A

technician
grade one, Sylvia Walden. Verona,
short, stocky, and balding, stood
still, his piercing dark eyes moving
methodically over the scene
confronting him. Walden, younger,
blond, and leggy, whose specialty
was fingerprints, carried a black
box resembling a weekend suitcase.
    Nobody spoke while the two surveyed
the room. Finally, Verona shook his
head and sighed. "I have two
grandkids. This morning we were
having breakfast and watching this
TV news story about a couple of
teenagers who murdered their
mother's boyfriend. So I tell the
kids, 'This world we're handing you
has become a pretty rotten place,'
then right at that moment I got this
call." He gestured to the mutilated
bodies. "It gets worse every day."
    Ainslie said thoughtfully, "The
world's always been a savage place,
Julio. The difference now is there
are a lot more people to kill, and
more who do the killing. And every
day news travels faster and farther;
sometimes we watch the horror while
it's happening."
    Verona shrugged. "As always,
Malcolm the scholar's viewpoint.
Either way's depressing."
    He began photographing the dead
couple, taking three photos of
several groupings: an overall shot,
a medium, and a close-up. After the
bodies he would photograph other
areas of room 805, the corridor
outside, stairwells, eleva
    80 Arthur Halley
    tors, and the building exterior, the
last including entrances and exits
a criminal might have used. Such
photos often revealed evidence
originally overlooked.
    As well, Verona would make a
detailed sketch of the scene, to be
transferred later to a specialized,
dedicated computer.
    Sylvia Walden was now busy,
searching for latent fingerprints,
concentrating on the doorway first,
inside and out, where a
perpetrator's prints were most
likely to be found. When entering,
intruders were often nervous or
careless; if they took precautions
about prints, it was usually later.
    Walden was dusting wood surfaces
with a black graphite powder mixed
with tiny iron filings, and applied
with a magnetic brush; the mix
adhered to moisture, lipids, amino
acids, salts, and other chemicals of
which fingerprints were composed.
    On smoother surfaces glass or
metal a nonmagnetic powder was used,
of differing colors to suit varied
backgrounds. As she worked, Walden
switched from one type of powder to
another, knowing that prints varied
depending on skin texture,
temperature, or contaminants on
hands.
    Officer Tomas Ceballos had
reentered the room and briefly stood
watching Walden at work. Turning her
head, she told him, smiling,
"Finding good prints is harder than
people think."
    Ceballos brightened. He had
noticed Walden the minute she
arrived. "It always looks easy on
TV."
    "Doesn't everything? In real
life," she explained, "it's surfaces
that make the difference. Smooth
ones like glass are best, but only
if they're clean and dry; if there's
dust, prints will smear they're
useless. Doorknobs are hopeless; the
area's not flat, too small for good
prints, and just turning a knob
smears any prints made." Walden
regarded
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    the young officer, clearly liking
what she saw. "Did you know
fingerprints can be affected by what
someone ate recently?"
    "Is this a joke?"
    "No joke." After another smile, she
went on working. "Acidic foods cause
extra skin moisture and clearer
prints. So if you're planning a
crime, don't eat citrus fruits be-
forehand oranges, grapefruit,
tomatoes, lemon, lime. Oh, and no
vinegar! That's the worst."
    "Or the best, from our viewpoint,"
Julio Verona corrected.
    "When I make detective," Ceballos
said, "I'll remember all that." Then
he asked Walden, "Do you give private
lessons?"
    "Not normally." She smiled. "But I
can make exceptions."
    "Good, I'll be in touch." Officer
Ceballos left the room looking
pleased.
    Malcolm Ainslie, who had overheard,
commented, "Even at a murder scene,
life goes on."
    Walden grimaced, glancing toward
the mutilated bodies. "If it didn't,
you'd go crazy."
    Already she had located several
prints,