"I read up. There are three types--looping, whorling, and arching." Using my hand magnifier, I studied the cards. "You're both loopers. Shelton, your ridges run from the left toward center of the fingertip, then back to the left."
"Mine don't." Hi was squinting over my shoulder at his card.
"Yours still loop, but the ridges go in the opposite direction."
"Long lost brothers?" Hi asked.
Shelton snorted.
"Nope, just commoners," I said. "Two-thirds of the population are loopers."
"I want whorls," Hi said. "They sound cooler."
"Whorlers have a full circle at the center of each print." I lifted my card. "That's me. Less than a third of the population has that type."
"So the last pattern must be pretty rare," Hi said.
"Yep. Less than 5 percent of the population has arches. The center of that print resembles a tiny heap of stacked hills."
"And last night's winner is--?" Shelton voice sounded a drum roll.
I placed the mystery print under the lens.
"An archer!" Hi crowed.
"Which excludes us," I said.
Hi arranged the four cards side by side. "And it's huge! Way too big for any of our fingers."
"A print this perfect has to be recent," I said. "Shelton, you're certain you replaced the reel yourself? You didn't leave it on a cart to be re-shelved?"
"Positive--110 percent sure."
"Then this print was left by our stalker."
I snapped a picture with my phone, then checked my watch. Twenty minutes to the end of the lunch period. Time to find Jason.
But Jason was AWOL.
I looked everywhere, the corridors, the lawn, the gym, the cafeteria. No dice. Though students aren't supposed to leave campus during school hours, the guards often looked the other way. For the connected kids, anyway.
Figuring Jason had slipped off to Poogan's Porch for some crab cakes, I decided to grab him after last period. We had trigonometry together.
The afternoon dragged like a death march. During trig, the sandman hit me with everything he had. Twice my face nearly smacked the desktop. I counted the seconds to the final bell.
Ring!
I shot from my seat as if spring-loaded.
"Jason!" I hurried to catch him in the hall. "Wait up!"
"Yes ma'am!" Big Jason smile. "Anything for a lady."
"Got a minute?"
"Practice starts in ten. Until then, I'm yours."
Bolton's lacrosse team was defending state champion, and deep in the playoffs again that season. Jason was the team's leading scorer.
Target acquired. Go.
But to my horror, I couldn't think how to phrase my request.
Jason waited, a bemused expression on his face. Words were fluttering inside my head when Ben appeared.
"Will he help?" Ignoring Jason.
"I just caught him," I replied.
"I assume we're talking about me?" Jason said. "You're Ben, right?"
"That's right." No smile, no return inquiry.
Jason's brows climbed in surprise.
What the flip? I tried to warm the chilly atmosphere.
"Do you two know each other?"
No response. Jason's eyes remained locked with Ben's. The atmosphere grew more and more uncomfortable.
But Charleston's highborn sons are bred to gentility. Jason's upbringing kicked in. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, not meaning a word.
Niceties completed, Jason retuned his attention to me. Ben no longer existed.
"I have a problem," I said quickly. "I was hoping your dad could help."
Following his graduation from the Citadel, to the Taylor family's dismay, Jason's father had turned his back on tradition and joined the Charleston PD. After years as a beat cop, he'd risen to detective, eventually being assigned to homicide. He now headed up the violent crimes unit.
"My dad?" Jason's voice registered surprised. "Did you shoot someone?"
"Nothing like that." I launched into my fake story. "My laptop was stolen. My fault, I'm a dope. I left it on the front steps while I ran around back to grab the mail. When I returned, gone-zo."
"Any suspects?"
"No, but the thief left a clue." I whipped out the microfilm fingerprint. "I pulled this from a soda can. It was lying where my Mac had been."
This was sounding so lame. I forged ahead.
"I was wondering if your dad could run it?"
"You lifted this yourself? Seriously?" Jason looked amused. "Who are you, Jack Bauer?"
I shrugged. "Family talent."
"Most people just learn to fish or something." He thought a second. "Did you file a police report?"
"Here's the thing." This part was tricky. "I was hoping to check the print first. The thief must be a neighbor."
"Awkward."
"Yeah. I'd prefer to get my computer back without having anyone arrested. We're pretty tight out on Morris."
"That's a tough one." Jason frowned. "My father could submit a request, but the form requires a case number. Even legit, it'd take weeks."
"For side jobs?" I asked.
Jason shook his head. "The lab guys only do favors in emergencies, and they expect something in return. I don't think I can help."
Ben rolled his eyes. Jason cut him a look I couldn't interpret.
Did I miss something with these two?
"Thanks anyway," I said. "I guess I'll just--"
"Wait!" Jason snapped his fingers. "I know who can help." Before I could react he bellowed down the hall. "Chance! Come here a sec!"
My blood pressure spiked.