Jeffery Deaver - The Stone Monkey

"And?" Rhyme asked.

"That means that any trace in the seam between the uppers and his soles might've fallen out. I'll vacuum underneath it. If we're lucky we might find something that'll lead us to his front door."

"Excellent, Sachs," Rhyme said. "Get the Dustbuster."

Excited at this find she started for the CS kit near the door to retrieve the vacuum. But then she stopped. She gave a faint laugh. "You got me, Rhyme."

"I did what?"

"Don't sound so innocent." She realized now that he'd known there was trace beneath the chair from the moment she'd deduced that the Ghost had sat watching the carnage. But he'd recognized that she was still lost in the Ghost's terrible world and that he needed to get her to a better place – the haven of the job they did together. He'd pretended to be frustrated to draw her attention back to him and ease her out of the darkness.

A misrepresentation, she supposed, but it is in such feints as this that love is found.

"Thanks."

"I promised I'd get you back. Now, go do some vacuuming."

Sachs swept the floor under and around the chair and then removed the filter from the portable vacuum and placed it in a plastic evidence bag.

"What happens next?" Rhyme asked.

She judged the angle of the blood spatter from the bullets that killed Tang. "Looks like when Tang finally passed out from the pain the Ghost stood up and shot him. Then he leaves and the assistants trash the place."

"How do you know things happened in that order?"

"Because there was debris covering one of the shell casings. And there was broken glass and some torn poster paper on the chair the Ghost'd been sitting in."

"Good."

Sachs said, "I'm going to do electrostatic prints of the shoes."

"Don't tell me, Sachs," Rhyme muttered, being Rhyme once again. "Just do it."

She stepped outside and returned with the equipment. In this process, a plastic sheet is placed over a shoeprint and an electric charge is sent through the sheet. The result is an image, like a plastic Xerox copy, of a footor shoeprint.

It was as she was crouching down, her back to the dark warehouse, that she smelled the cigarette smoke. Oh, Jesus, she thought suddenly – one of the killers was back, maybe aiming his weapon on the radiant white suit.

Maybe the Ghost himself…

No, she realized, it was the missing bangshou!

Sachs dropped the electrostatic equipment with a crash and spun around, falling hard to the floor on her back, her Glock.40 in her hand. The notch and blade sight rested squarely on the intruder's chest.

"What the fuck're you doing here?" she raged, in agony from the jarring fall.

Sonny Li, smoking a cigarette, was wandering through the office, looking around.

"What I doing? I investigate too."

"What's going on, Sachs!" Rhyme asked.

"Li's in the perimeter. He's smoking."

"What? Get him the hell out."

"I'm trying to." She rose painfully and stormed up to the Chinese cop. "You're contaminating the scene."

"A little smoke. You Americans are worry too much -"

"And the trace on your shoes, on your clothes, your footprints… You're ruining the scene!"

"No, no, I investigate."

"Get him out of there, Sachs!" Rhyme called.

She took him by the arm and walked him to the door. She called to Deng and Coe. "Keep him out."

"Sorry, Officer," Eddie Deng said. "He said he was going to help you run the scene."

"I am doing," Li said, perplexed. "What is problem?"

"Keep him here. Cuff him if you have to."

"Hey, Hongse, you got temper. You know that?"

She stormed back to the scene and finished the printing.

Rhyme said, "Is Eddie Deng there?"

"He's outside," Sachs replied.

"I know the company's supposedly clean but have him go through the files anyway – I assume they're in Chinese. See if he can find anything about the Ghost or smuggling, other snakeheads. Anything helpful."

Outside, she waved to Eddie Deng. He plucked a telephone earbud out of his ear and joined her. She relayed Rhyme's request and, as the Photo and Identification Units took over for Sachs, Deng dug through the desks and file cabinets. After a half hour of diligent work he told her, "Nothing helpful. It's all about restaurant supplies."

She told this to Rhyme and added, "I've got everything here. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

They disconnected the radio.

Massaging her sore spine, she reflected, And what about the Ghost's bangshou? Was he in the city? Was he really a threat to them?

Watch your backs …

She was just at the doorway when her cell phone rang. She answered it and was surprised, and pleased, to hear John Sung identify himself.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Fine. The wound itches some." He then added, "I wanted to tell you – I got some herbs for your arthritis. There's a restaurant downstairs in my building. Could you meet me there?"

Sachs looked at her watch. What could it hurt? She wouldn't be long. Handing off the evidence to Deng and Coe, she told them she had a stop to make and would be at Rhyme's in a half hour. They and Sonny Li got a ride back to Rhyme's from another officer. Li looked relieved he wouldn't be riding with her.

Sachs slipped out of the Tyvek suit and packed it away in the CS bus.

As she dropped into the driver's seat she glanced into the warehouse in which she could clearly see the body of Jerry Tang, his ever-open eyes staring at the ceiling.

Another corpse at the hand of the Ghost. Another name transferred from one balance sheet column to the other in The Register of the Living and the Dead.

No more, she thought to the ten judges of hell. Please no more.

Amelia Sachs, nursing the crime scene bus through the narrow streets of Chinatown, pulled into an alley near John Sung's apartment.

Climbing out, she glanced at a hand-painted sign in the florist shop on the ground floor of his building, next to the restaurant: NEED LUCK IN YOUR LIFE – BUY OUR LUCKY BAMBOO!

She then noticed Sung through the window of the restaurant. He waved, smiling.

Inside, he winced as he rose to greet her.

"No, no," Sachs said. "Don't get up."

She sat opposite him in a large booth.

"Would you like some food?"

"No. I can't stay long."

"Tea, then." He poured it and pushed the small cup toward her.

The restaurant was dark but clean. Several men sat hunched together in various booths, speaking in Chinese.

Sung asked, "Have you found him yet? The Ghost?"

Disinclined to talk about an investigation, she demurred and said only that they had some leads.

"I don't like this uncertainty," Sung said. "I hear footsteps in the hall and I freeze. It's like being in Fuzhou. Someone slows down outside your home and you don't know if they're neighbors or security officers the local party boss sent to your house to arrest you."

An image of what had happened to Jerry Tang came to her and she glanced out the window for a reassuring look at the squad car parked across the street in front of his building, guarding him.

"After all the press about the Fuzhou Dragon, " she said, "you'd think the Ghost'd go back to China. Doesn't he know how many people're looking for him?"

Sung reminded, "'Break the cauldrons -'"

"'- and sink the boats.'" She nodded. Then she added, "Well, he's not the only one who's got that motto."

Sung assessed her for a moment. "You're a strong woman. Have you always been a security officer?"

"We call them police. Or cops. Security officers are private."

"Oh."

"Naw, I went to the police academy after I'd been working for a few years." She told him about her stint as a model for a Madison Avenue agency.