Or mysterious.
Phases of the moon.
Rhyme asked Dobyns if their unsub could be driven to act cyclically.
“No. The moon isn’t in a major phase right now. We’re four days past new.”
“So the moons mean something else.”
“If they’re even moons in the first place,” Sachs said. Pleased with herself, and rightly so, Rhyme thought. He said, “Good point, Amelia. Maybe he’s talking about circles. About ink. About paper. About geometry. The planetarium…”
Rhyme realized that she was staring at him. Maybe just realizing now that he’d shaved and his hair was combed, his clothes changed.
And what was her mood now? he wondered. Angry at him, or disengaged? He couldn’t tell. At the moment Amelia Sachs was as cryptic as Unsub 823.
The beeping of the fax machine sounded in the hallway. Thom went to get it and returned a moment later with two sheets of paper.
“It’s from Emma Rollins,” he announced. He held the sheets up for Rhyme to see.
“Our grocery scanner survey. Eleven stores in Manhattan sold veal shanks to customers buying fewer than five items in the last two days.” He started to write on the poster then glanced at Rhyme. “The names of the stores?”
“Of course. We’ll need them for cross-referencing later.”
Thom wrote them down on the profile chart.
B’way & 82nd,
ShopRite
B’way & 96th,
Anderson Foods
Greenwich & Bank,
ShopRite
2nd Ave., 72nd-73rd,
Grocery World
Battery Park City,
J &G’s Emporium
1709 2nd Ave.,
Anderson Foods
34th & Lex.,
Food Warehouse
8th Ave. & 24th,
ShopRite
Houston & Lafayette,
ShopRite
6th Ave. & Houston,
J &G’s Emporium
Greenwich & Franklin,
Grocery World
“That narrows it down,” Sachs said, “to the entire city.”
“Patience,” said restless Lincoln Rhyme.
Mel Cooper was examining the straw that Sachs had found. “Nothing unique here.” He tossed it aside.
“Is it new?” Rhyme asked. If it was they might cross-reference stores that had sold brooms and veal shanks on the same day.
But Cooper said, “Thought of that. It’s six months old or older.” He began shaking the trace evidence in the German girl’s clothing out over a piece of newsprint.
“Several things here,” he said, poring over the sheet. “Dirt.”
“Enough for a density-gradient?”
“Nope. Just dust really. Probably from the scene.”
Cooper looked over the rest of the effluence he’d brushed off the bloodstained clothing.
“Brick dust. Why’s there so much brick?”
“From the rats I shot. The wall was brick.”
“You shot them? At the scene?” Rhyme winced.
Sachs said defensively, “Well, yes. They were all over her.”
He was angry but he let it go. Adding just, “All kinds of contaminants from gunfire. Lead, arsenic, carbon, silver.”
“And here… another bit of reddish leather. From the glove. And… We’ve got another fiber. A different one.”
Criminalists love fibers. This was a tiny gray tuft barely visible to the naked eye.
“Excellent,” Rhyme announced. “And what else?”
“And here’s the photo of the scene,” Sachs said, “and the fingerprints. The one from her throat and from where he picked up the glove.” She held them up.
“Good,” Rhyme said, looking them over carefully.
There was a sheen of reluctant triumph on her face – the rush of winning, which is the flip side of hating yourself for being unprofessional.
Rhyme was studying the Polaroids of the prints when he heard footsteps on the stairs and Jim Polling arrived. He entered the room, did a double-take at the spiffed-up Lincoln Rhyme and strode to Sellitto.
“I was just at the scene,” he said. “You saved the vic. Great job, guys.” He nodded toward Sachs to show the noun included her too. “But the prick’s ’napped another one?”
“Or’s about to,” Rhyme muttered, gazing at the prints.
“We’re working on the clues right now,” Banks said.
“Jim, I’ve been trying to track you down,” Sellitto said. “I tried the mayor’s office.”
“I was with the chief. Had to fucking beg for some extra searchers. Got another fifty men pulled off UN security detail.”
“Captain, there’s something we got to talk about. We gotta problem. Something happened at the last scene…”
A voice as yet unheard from boomed through the room, “Problem? Who got a problem? We don’t got no problems here, do we? None ay-tall.”
Rhyme looked up at the tall, thin man in the doorway. He was jet black and wore a ridiculous green suit and shoes that shone like brown mirrors. Rhyme’s heart plummeted. “Dellray.”
“Lincoln Rhyme. New York’s own Ironside. Hey, Lon. And Jim Polling, how’s it hangin’, buddy?”
Behind Dellray were a half-dozen other men and a woman. Rhyme knew in a heartbeat why the federal agents were here. Dellray scanned the officers in the room, his attention alighting momentarily on Sachs then flying away.
“What do you want?” Polling asked.
Dellray said, “Haven’t you guessed, gemmuns. You’re outa business. We closin’ you up. Yessir. Just like a bookie.”
SEVENTEEN
ONE OF US.
That’s how Dellray was looking at Lincoln Rhyme as he walked around the bed. Some people did this. Paralysis was a club and they crashed the party with jokes, nods, winks. You know I love you, man, ’cause I’m makin’ funna you.
Lincoln Rhyme had learned that this attitude got tiring very, very quickly.
“Lookit that,” Dellray said, poking at the Clinitron, “That’s something outa Star Trek. Commander Riker, get your ass in the shuttle.”
“Go away, Dellray,” Polling said. “It’s our case.”
“And how’s dis here patient doing, Dr. Crusher?”
The captain was stepping forward, a rooster the lanky FBI agent towered over. “Dellray, you listening? Go away.”
“Man, I’ma get me one of those, Rhyme. Lay my ass down in it, watcha game. Seriously, Lincoln, how you doin’? Been a few years.”
“Did they knock?” Rhyme asked Thom.
“No, they didn’t knock.”
“You didn’t knock,” Rhyme said. “So may I suggest that you leave?”
“Gotta warrant,” Dellray murmured, flicking papers in his breast pocket.
Amelia Sachs’s right index fingernail worried her thumb, which was on the verge of bleeding.
Dellray looked around the room. He was clearly impressed at their impromptu lab but strangled the feeling fast. “We’re taking over. Sorry.”
In twenty years of policing, Rhyme had never seen a peremptory takeover like this.
UNSUB 823 (page 1 of 3)
Appearance
•Caucasian male, slight build
•Dark clothing
Residence
•Prob. has safe house
•Located near: B’way & 82nd,
Anderson Foods Greenwich & Bank, 34th & Lex,
Vehicle
•Yellow Cab
Other
•knows CS proc.
•possibly has record
•knows FR prints
•gun =.32 Colt
UNSUB 823 (page 2 of 3)
Appearance
•Old gloves, reddish kidskin
•Ski mask? Navy blue?
Residence
ShopRite 2nd Ave.or 72nd-73rd or B’way & 96th,
• Grocery World Battery Park City,
•J &G’s Emporium 1709 2nd Ave.,
•Food Warehouse 8th Ave. & 24th,
Vehicle
•Recent model sedan
Other
•Ties vics w/ unusual knots
•“Old” appeals to him
•Called one vic “Hanna”
•Knows basic German
UNSUB 823 (page 3 of 3)
Appearance
•Gloves are dark
Residence
•ShopRite Houston & Lafayette or 6th Ave. & Houston,
•J &G’s Emporium Greenwich & Franklin
Vehicle