Jeffery Deaver - The Bone Collector

HE SNAGGED THEM BOTH in front of Rhyme’s town-house.

Quick as the coiled snake that Jerry Banks was carrying at his side like a souvenir from Santa Fe.

Dellray and two agents stepped from an alley. He announced casually, “Got some news, honey dear. You’re under arrest for the theft of evidence under custodial care of the U.S. government.”

Lincoln Rhyme had been wrong. Dellray hadn’t made it to the federal building after all. He’d been staking out Rhyme’s digs.

Banks rolled his eyes. “Chill out, Dellray. We saved the vic.”

“And a mighty good thing you did, sonny. If you hadn’t we were gonna bring you up on homicide.”

“But we saved ’im,” Sachs said. “And you didn’t.”

“Thanks for that snappy recap, officer. Hold your wrists out.”

“This is bullshit.”

“Cuff this young lady,” the Chameleon said dramatically to a burly agent beside him.

She began, “We found more clues, Agent Dellray. He’s got another one. And I don’t know how much time we have.”

“Oh, and invite that thayre boy to ouah party too.” Dellray nodded to Banks, who turned to the woman FBI agent approaching him and seemed to be thinking of decking her.

Dellray said a cheerful, “No, no, no. You don’ wanna.”

Banks reluctantly held out his hands.

UNSUB 823 (page 1 of 3)

Appearance

Caucasian male, slight build

•Dark clothing

•Old gloves, reddish kidskin

•Aftershave; to cover up other scent?

Residence

•Prob. has safe house

•Located near: B’way &82nd,

•ShopRite B’way &96th,

• Anderson Foods

• Greenwich & Bank,

•ShopRite 2nd Ave., 72nd-73rd,

Vehicle

•Yellow Cab

•Recent model sedan

Other

•knows CS proc.

•possibly has record

•knows FR prints

•gun =.32 Colt

•Ties vics w/ unusual knots

•“Old” appeals to him

UNSUB 823 (page 2 of 3)

Appearance

•Ski mask? Navy blue?

•Gloves are dark

•Aftershave = Brut

Residence

• Grocery World Battery Park City

•J &G’s Emporium 1709 2nd Ave.,

• Anderson Foods 34th & Lex.,

•Food Warehouse8th Ave. & 24th,

Vehicle

•Lt. gray, silver, beige

Other

•Called one vic “Hanna”

•Knows basic German

•Underground appeals to him

•Dual personalities

•Maybe priest, soc. worker, counselor

UNSUB 823 (page 3 of 3)

Appearance

•Hair color not brown

•Deep scar, index finger

•Casual clothes

Residence

•ShopRite Houston & Lafayette,

•ShopRite 6th Ave. & Houston,

•J &G’s Emporium Greenwich & Franklin,

•Grocery World

•Old building, pink marble

Vehicle

•Rental car: prob. stolen

Other

•Unusual wear on shoes, reads a lot?

•Listened as he broke vic’s finger

Sachs, angry, offered the agent a cold smile. “How was your trip to Morningside Heights?”

“He still killed that cabbie. Our PERT boys’re crawling over that house now like beetles on dung.”

“And that’s all they’re going to find,” Sachs said. “This unsub knows crime scenes better than you and I do.”

“Downtown,” Dellray announced, nodding at Sachs, who winced as the cuffs ratcheted tight around her wrists.

“We can save the next one too. If you -”

“You know what you got, Officer Sachs? Take a guess. You gotchaself the right to remain silent. You got -”

“All right,” the voice called from behind them. Sachs looked around and saw Jim Polling striding along the sidewalk. His slacks and dark sports shirt were rumpled. It looked as if he’d napped in them, though his bleary face suggested he hadn’t slept in days. You could see a day’s growth of beard and his sandy hair was an unruly mess.

Dellray blinked uneasily though it wasn’t the cop he was troubled by but the tall physique of the U.S. attorney for the Southern District behind Polling. And bringing up the rear, SAC Perkins.

“Okay, Fred. Let ’ em go.” From the U.S. attorney.

In the modulated baritone of an FM disk jockey the Chameleon said, “She stole evidence, sir. She -”

“I just expedited some forensic analysis,” Sachs said.

“Listen-” Dellray began.

“Nope,” Polling said, completely in control now. No temper tantrums. “No, we’re not listening.” He turned to Sachs and barked, “But don’t you try to be funny.”

“Nosir. Sorry, sir.”

The U.S. attorney said to Dellray. “Fred, you made a judgment call and it went south. Facts of life.”

“It was a good lead,” Dellray said.

“Well, we’re changing the direction of the investigation,” the U.S. attorney continued.

SAC Perkins said, “We’ve been conferencing with the director and with Behavioral. We’ve decided that Detectives Rhyme and Sellitto’s positioning is the approach to pursue.”

“But my snitch was clear that something was going down at the airport. That’s not the sorta thing he’d be wishy about.”

“It comes down to this, Fred,” the U.S. attorney said bluntly. “ Whatever the fucker’s up to, it was Rhyme’s team that saved the vics.”

Dellray’s lengthy fingers folded into an uncertain fist, opened again. “I appreciate that fact, sir. But -”

“Agent Dellray, this’s a decision that has already been made.”

The glossy black face – so energized at the federal building when he was marshaling his troops – was now somber, reserved. For the moment, the hipster was gone. “Yessir.”

“This most recent hostage would’ve died if Detective Sachs here hadn’t intervened,” the U.S. attorney said.

“That’d be Officer Sachs,” she corrected. “And it was mostly Lincoln Rhyme. I was his legman. So to speak.”

“The case is going back to the city,” the U.S. attorney announced. “The Bureau’s A-T is to continue to handle terrorist-informant liaison but with reduced manpower. Anything they learn should be conveyed to Detectives Sellitto and Rhyme. Dellray, you’re gonna put bodies at their disposal for any search-and-surveillance or hostage-rescue effort. Or anything else they might need. Got that?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. You want to remove those handcuffs from these officers now?”

Dellray placidly unlocked the cuffs and slipped them into his pocket. He walked to a large van parked nearby. As Sachs picked up the evidence bag she saw him standing by himself at the edge of a pool of streetlight, his index finger lifted, stroking the cigarette behind his ear. She wasted a moment’s sympathy on the feebie then turned and ran up the stairs, two at a time, after Jerry Banks and his rattlesnake.

“Ihave it figured out. Well, almost.”

Sachs had just walked into Rhyme’s room when he made this pronouncement. He was quite pleased with himself.

“Everything except the rattler and the glop.”

She delivered the new evidence to Mel Cooper. The room had been transformed yet again and the tables were covered with new vials and beakers and pillboxes and lab equipment and boxes. It wasn’t much compared to the feds’ headquarters but, to Amelia Sachs, it felt oddly like home.

“Tell me,” she said.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday… pardon me – today’s Sunday. He’s going to burn down a church.”

“How do you figure?”