Footsteps on the stair.

It was the twins once again.

“We passed Fred Dellray outside.”

“He wasn’t the least bit cordial.”

“Or happy.”

“Whoa, look at that.” Saul – Rhyme believed it was Saul; he’d forgotten who had the freckles – nodded at the snake. “I’ve seen more of those in one night than I ever want to again.”

“Snakes?” Rhyme asked.

“We were at Metamorphosis. It’s a -”

“- very spooky place. Met the owner there. Weird guy. As you may’ve guessed.”

“Long, long beard. Wish we hadn’t gone at night,” Bedding continued.

“They sell taxidermied bats and insects. You wouldn’t believe some of the insects -”

“Five inches long.”

“- and critters like that one.” Saul nodded at the snake.

“Scorpions, a lot of scorpions.”

“Anyway, they had a break-in a month ago and guess what got took? A rattler’s skeleton.”

“Reported?” Rhyme asked.

“Yep.”

“But total value of the perped merch was only a hundred bucks or so. So Larceny wasn’t like all-hands-onboard, you know.”

“But tell them.”

Saul nodded. “The snake wasn’t the only thing missing. Whoever broke in took a couple dozen bones.”

“Human bones?” Rhyme asked.

“Yep. That’s what the owner thought was funny. Some of those insects -”

“Forget five inches, some of ’em were eight. Easy.”

“- are worth three or four hundred. But all the perp boosted was the snake and some bones.”

“Any particular ones?” Rhyme asked.

“An assortment. Like your Whitman’s Sampler.”

“His words, not ours.”

“Mostly little ones. Hand and foot. And a rib, maybe two.”

“The guy wasn’t sure.”

“Any CS report?”

“For ’jacked bones? Noooope.”

The Hardy Boys departed once more, heading downtown to the last scene to start canvassing the neighborhood.

Rhyme wondered about the snake. Was it giving them a location? Did it relate to the First Methodist fire? If rattlers had been indigenous to Manhattan, urban development had long ago played Saint Patrick and purged the island of them. Was he making a play on the word snake or rattler?

Then Rhyme suddenly believed he understood. “The snake’s for us.”

“Us?” Banks laughed.

“It’s a slap in the face.”

“Whose face?”

“Everybody who’s looking for him. I think it’s a practical joke.”

“I wasn’t laughing very hard,” Sachs said.

“Your expression was pretty funny.” Banks grinned.

“I think we’re better than he expected and he’s not happy about it. He’s mad and he’s taking it out on us. Thom, add that to our profile, if you would. He’s mocking us.”

Sellitto’s phone rang. He opened it and answered. “Emma darlin’. Whatcha got?” He nodded as he jotted notes. Then looked up and announced, “Rental-car thefts. Two Avises disappeared from their location in the Bronx in the past week, one in Midtown. They’re out ’cause the colors’re wrong: red, green and white. No Nationals. Four Hertz were ’jacked. Three in Manhattan – one from their downtown East Side location, from Midtown and from the Upper West Side. There were two green and – this could be it – one tan. But a silver Ford got boosted from White Plains. That’s my vote.”

“Agree,” Rhyme announced. “White Plains.”

“How do you know?” Sachs asked. “Monelle said it could’ve been either beige or silver.”

“Because our boy’s in the city,” Rhyme explained, “and if he’s going to boost something as obvious as a car he’ll do it as far away from his safe house as he can. It’s a Ford, you said?”

Sellitto asked Emma the question, then looked up. “Taurus. This year’s model. Dark-gray interior. Tag’s irrelevant.”

Rhyme nodded. “The first thing he changed, the plates. Thank her and tell her to get some sleep. But not to wander too far from the phone.”

“Got something here, Lincoln,” Mel Cooper called.

“What’s that?”

“The glop. I’m running it through the database of brand names now.” He stared at the screen. “Cross-referencing… Let’s see, the most likely match is Kink-Away. It’s a retail hair straightener.”

“Politically incorrect but helpful. That puts us up in Harlem, wouldn’t you think? Narrows down the churches considerably.” Banks was looking through the religious-service directories of all three metro newspapers. “I count twenty-two.”

“When’s the earliest service?”

“Three have services at eight. Six at nine. One at nine-thirty. The rest at ten or eleven.”

“He’ll go for one of the first services. He’s already giving us hours to find the place.”

Sellitto said, “I’ve got Haumann getting the ESU boys together again.”

“How ’bout Dellray?” Sachs said. She pictured the forlorn agent by himself on the street corner outside.

“What about him?” Sellitto muttered.

“Aw, let’s cut him in. He wants a piece of this guy bad.”

“Perkins said he was supposed to help,” Banks offered.

“You really want him?” Sellitto asked, frowning.

Sachs was nodding. “Sure.”

Rhyme agreed. “Okay, he can run the fed S &S teams. I want a team on each church right away. All entrances. But they should stay way back. I don’t want to spook him. Maybe we can nail him in the act.”

Sellitto took a phone call. He looked up, eyes closed. “Jesus.”

“Oh, no,” Rhyme muttered.

The detective wiped his sweating face and nodded. “Central got a 9-1-1 from the night manager at this place? The Midtown Residence Hotel? Woman and her little girl called him from La Guardia, said they were just about to get a cab. That was a while ago; they never showed up. With all the news about the ’nappings he thought he should call. Her name’s Carole Ganz. From Chicago.”

“Hell,” Banks muttered. “A little girl, too? Oughta just pull all the cabs off the streets till we nail his butt.”

Rhyme was drenched with weariness. His head raged. He remembered working a crime scene at a bomb factory. Nitroglycerin had bled out of some dynamite and seeped into an armchair Rhyme had to search for trace. Nitro gave you blinding headaches.

The screen of Cooper’s computer flickered. “E-mail,” he announced and called up the message. He read the fine type.

“They’ve polarized all the samples of cello that ESU collected. They think the scrap we found in the bone at the Pearl Street scene was from a ShopRite grocery store. It’s closest to the cello they use.”

“Good,” Rhyme called. He nodded at the poster. “Cross off all the grocery stores but the ShopRites. What locations do we have?”

He watched Thom ink through the stores, leaving four.

B’way & 82nd

Greenwich & Bank

8th Ave. & 24th

Houston & Lafayette

“That leaves us with the Upper West Side, West Village, Chelsea and the Lower East Side.”

“But he could have gone anywhere to buy them.”

“Oh, sure he could’ve, Sachs. He could’ve bought them in White Plains when he was stealing the car. Or in Cleveland visiting his mother. But see, there’s a point when unsubs feel comfortable in their deception and they stop bothering to cover their tracks. The stupid – or lazy – ones toss the smoking gun in the Dumpster behind their building and go on their merry way. The smarter ones drop it in a bucket of Spackle and pitch it into Hell Gate. The brilliant ones sneak into a refinery and vaporize it in a five-thousand-degree-centigrade furnace. Our unsub’s smart, sure. But he’s like every other perp in the history of the world. He’s got limits. I’m betting he thinks we won’t have the time or inclination to look for him or his safe house because we’ll be concentrating on the planted clues. And of course he’s dead wrong. This is exactly how we’ll find him. Now, let’s see if we can’t get a little closer to his lair. Mel, anything in the vic’s clothes from the last scene?”

But the tidal water had washed away virtually everything from William Everett’s clothing.