Crooked River

14

Agent Pendergast stepped into the room — part office, part laboratory — that Dr. Crossley had lent him in the low, sand-colored building that housed the district medical examiner for Lee County. Another man was there already — short and thin, in his late forties, with dark hair parted carefully down the middle as slick and shiny as an Eton schoolboy’s. He quickly stood up as the agent entered. There was a wheeled tray beside him, on which sat four evidence bags, their surfaces scuffed and cloudy.

“Ah, Mr.... Quarles, is it not?” Pendergast said. “Thank you so much for agreeing to work with us on this matter.”

“My pleasure, Agent Pendergast,” the man said, shaking the proffered hand. “Peter Quarles, forensic examiner, FTG.”

“Yes, yes. FTG—?”

“Footwear and Tire Group.”

“Yes, of course.”

“As soon as your courier package arrived at Huntsville yesterday morning, I dropped everything and began an analysis of the specimens. The Bureau placed the highest priority on this case.”

“Excellent. I look forward to hearing the results.” Pendergast sat down and offered him a place across the room’s small conference table. “Tell me about this, ah, Footwear and Tire Group. I haven’t worked with that forensic subspecialty before at the Bureau.”

“The most problematic tire work is done in Quantico, the rest in Huntsville. ‘Footwear and tire’ is a little deceiving, of course — because there are so many items that require specialized knowledge, each of us in the group had to develop broader areas of expertise. In addition to shoes, mine includes hats, neckties, and men’s underwear.”

“I see.”

“Boxers only, however. Briefs are handled in Quantico.”

“I would never have suspected.”

Mr. Quarles nodded, pleased. “And may I compliment you on your own pair?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your pair. Of shoes. John Lobb, if I’m not mistaken. A beautiful example of bespoke handcraft.”

“You are most kind.” Pendergast crossed one leg over the other and glanced pointedly at the evidence bags.

“But here I am, wasting your time with pleasantries!” Quarles rose, wheeled the metal tray over, and adjusted its height so that it hovered barely an inch above the table. The evidence bags on the tray, Pendergast knew, each contained one of the shoes that had floated ashore — two right and two left, in different sizes, including the one the M.E. had originally sliced up.

“I examined all four examples carefully. Since they’re without question from the same source and identical, I’ll simplify things by focusing on one,” Quarles said as he pulled on a pair of gloves. Then he selected an evidence bag, slid open the seal, and removed a shoe. Although it was still in one piece — barely — it had been sliced, cross-sectioned, punched, and cut for samples so many times that it looked more like a flayed bird than a shoe. Quarles set the item before Pendergast. A faint smell of seawater and rotten fish reached Pendergast’s nostrils.

“As one who appreciates fine footwear, you probably don’t need me to describe the traditional shoemaking process to you: creating the last; stretching the shell; steaming the upper; adding the lining, tongue, and hardware on the stitching line; and so forth. This,” Quarles said, shaking the shoe for emphasis so that it flapped, “is not that kind of shoe. It is a cheap, mass-produced item almost certainly made in China. It was created for a specialized environment rather than for everyday streetwear. It’s clearly not a fashion product: it’s strictly utilitarian. I don’t find any match to this shoe in our databases.”

“What kind of specialized environment?”

“There are many settings in which specific footwear is required. There are disposable, nonwoven foam ‘scuffs’ for spas, hotels, and the like, usually color-coded for size. On the other end of the spectrum are the kind of heavy-duty, polyethylene-coated shoe coverings used in biohazard environments or clean rooms. This is neither of those.”

Pendergast nodded for the technician to continue.

“When a shoe resists easy analysis, we must turn to its component parts to look for an answer.” Quarles picked up a small metal instrument from the tray, almost like a dental pick, which he used for demonstration. “The shoe — I use ‘shoe’ here in the most generic sense — is cheaply made, of inferior materials, and lacks many standard components, such as an inner lining. The top was formed through a process known in the trade as ‘SMS’ — meltblown polypropylene, sandwiched between layers of spunbond polypropylene. Usually, such footwear would have three or four plies of material, but these have only two — more evidence of how cheaply they were made. The exterior layers are not woven into a breathable material. That gives them fluid resistance at the expense of comfort.”

“Fluid resistance?”

“Yes. This shoe, or perhaps more accurately specialized slipper, would be used in an environment where there might be fluids on the floor, such as a hospital, nursing home, kitchen, workshop, prison, factory — that sort of place. These shoes are too expensive to be onetime disposables, but too cheap for long-term wear. And they present a couple of other curious aspects.”

“Which are?”

“The SMS upper is attached to the slip-resistant sole by contact cement: very inexpensive. The bonding line is hidden by this bit of piping, here.” And with the tool, Quarles pointed to a thin ribbon of material, slightly darker than the sea green of the slipper, that ran horizontally along its surface just above the sole. “We tested it and it’s nothing but simple polyester. On a more expensive shoe, its use might have been decorative: a stripe to conceal the joint between the upper and the outsole. But these are of shoddy manufacture, and the stripes are not of contrasting color. They are also especially sloppy.” He indicated spots where the ribbon was hanging loose from the base of the slipper or had fallen away entirely.

Pendergast nodded. “Interesting. And the other detail you can’t account for?”

“It’s an odd one. When we analyzed the upper, it tested positive for antibacterial treatment. That’s a common feature of ‘safety shoes’ you’d find in a surgical bay, a lab, a clean room — even a hotel kitchen. But such shoes almost always have EVA uppers and tend to be expensive.”

“EVA. I assume you mean ethylene-vinyl acetate rubber.”

“I see you’ve studied chemistry. Quite right: water resistant, flexible, but heavy and sturdy for protection. As you can see, this slipper isn’t sturdy. And it certainly isn’t heavy — the samples weigh from forty to forty-four grams. And it’s not EVA.”

“So why bother to protect such shoddy workmanship with antibacterial treatment?”

“Exactly.”

“Very interesting, Mr. Quarles.”

“That’s about it. Any questions?”

A silence ensued as Pendergast became lost in thought. At last he shifted in his chair. “You’re familiar with the details of the case?”

“I read the covering folder, sir.”

“And there’s nothing remotely like this in the NCAVC database.”

Quarles nodded.

“You mentioned they were probably made in China. Can you elaborate?”

“With pleasure. There are three or four shoe-manufacturing regions scattered across China, and each specializes in a certain kind. There’s Jinjiang, in Fujian Province. It’s known as the ‘shoe capital of China’ and has facilities that are technologically advanced. Then there’s Wenzhou. They have the greatest number of manufacturers but are geared toward the domestic trade. Also Dongguan, in Guangdong Province. Their factories tend to be smaller, more specialized, niche producers.”

“I see,” Pendergast replied. “And have you been to these places?”

“Before I joined the FBI, I was in the jobber market for three years. I was the middleman for moving overruns on big orders. Or buying and selling odd lots.”

“Excellent. That familiarity, along with the remarkable knowledge of footwear you’ve just displayed, makes you the logical choice.”

“Choice?” Quarles asked, face blank. His expression changed to one of surprise. “You don’t expect me to... go to China and locate the manufacturer, do you?”

“Who else, if not you? We must find out who made these shoes.”

“But that’s impossible! China’s footwear revenue is nearly seventy billion dollars a year. Why, Dongguan alone has fifteen hundred factories — many of them no bigger than a restaurant.”

“Nevertheless, you must try. Take these samples and show them around. Make use of your local contacts — without giving away any details, of course. Nĭ huì shuō Zhōngwén ma?”

“Pŭtōnghuà,” Quarles replied absently — then looked startled, realizing he had unconsciously switched languages. “You speak Mandarin?”

“As do you, it seems. Most excellent! You’ll leave immediately.”

Quarles’s lips worked silently a moment. “This is rather short notice—”

“I have ADC Pickett’s authorization,” Pendergast went on. “This won’t be a shoestring operation: think of it more as a junket. I’ll make sure you fly first class, stay in the hotels of your choice, have a generous expense account. Discovering the manufacturer of these shoes could be crucial in solving the case.”

Quarles did not reply. But his eyes betrayed what he was imagining: a promotion and dramatic leap up the GS pay scale.

“I’ll need to go back to Huntsville,” Quarles said. “Pack a few things.”

“Of course. Come back here — shall we say this time tomorrow? — and we’ll discuss the operating parameters of your investigation. And then we’ll get you on a plane from Miami. Until then, thank you once again for your invaluable — and ongoing — aid.” With this, Pendergast got up and walked toward the door. When he reached it, he turned. “And, Mr. Quarles?”

Quarles, who was gathering up the evidence bags, turned toward him. “Yes?”

“Remember to pack your, ah, boxers.”