Jeffery Deaver - The Cold Moon

You bet, Rhyme thought, nodding. "He'll be targeting another victim-or victims. Probably coming up with his plan right now. Think of the damage he could do pretending to be a doctor."

And I let him get away.

An examination of the trace evidence Sachs had collected revealed little more than shearling fibers and a few bits of a green vegetative material containing evaporated seawater-which didn't, it turned out, match the seaweed and ocean water found around Robert Wallace's boat on Long Island.

The deputy inspector at the Brooklyn precinct called to report that further canvassing of the neighborhood had been useless. A half dozen people remembered seeing the Watchmaker but nobody knew anything about him.

As for Charlotte and her late husband, Bud Allerton, the investigative efforts were much more successful. The couple had not been nearly as careful as the Watchmaker. Sachs had found a great deal of evidence about the underground militia groups they'd been harbored by, including a large one in Missouri and the infamous Patriot Assembly in upstate New York, which Rhyme and Sachs had tangled with in the past. Phone calls, fingerprints and emails would give the FBI and local police plenty of leads to pursue.

The doorbell rang and Thom left the room to answer it. A moment later he returned with a woman in a military uniform. This would be Lucy Richter, the Watchmaker's fourth "victim." Rhyme noted that she was more surprised at the forensic lab in his town house than his disability. Then it occurred to him that this was a woman involved in a type of combat where bombs were the weapon of choice; she'd undoubtedly seen missing limbs and para- and quadriplegia of all sorts. Rhyme's condition didn't faze her.

She explained that she'd called Kathryn Dance not long ago to say she wanted to speak to the investigators; the California detective had suggested she call or stop by Rhyme's.

Thom zipped in and offered her coffee or tea. Normally piqued about visitors and reluctant to give anyone an incentive to linger, Rhyme now, to the contrary, glared at the aide. "She might be hungry, Thom. Or might want something more substantial. Scotch, for instance."

"There's just no figuring you out," Thom said. "Didn't know there was an armed forces hospitality rule in the Lincoln Rhyme edition of Emily Post."

"Thanks, but nothing for me," Lucy said. "I can't stay long. First, I want to thank you. For saving my life-twice."

"Actually," Sellitto pointed out, "you weren't in any danger the first time. He was never going to hurt you-or any of the victims. The second time? Well, okay, accepted-since he wanted to blow the conference room to smithereens."

"My family was there too," she said. "I can't thank you enough."

Rhyme was, as always, uneasy with the gratitude, though he nodded with what he thought was an appropriate acknowledgment.

"The other reason is that I found out something that might be helpful. I've been talking to my neighbors about when he broke in. One man, he lives three buildings down the street, told me something. He said that yesterday he was getting a delivery at the back of the building and he found a rope dangling into the alley from the roof. You can get there from my roof pretty easily. I was thinking that maybe that was how he escaped."

"Interesting," Rhyme said.

"But there's something else. My husband took a look. Bob was a Navy SEAL for two years-"

"Navy? And you're army?" Pulaski asked, laughing.

She smiled. "We have some…interesting discussions from time to time. Especially during football season. Anyway, he looked at the rope and said whoever tied it knew what he was doing. It was a rare knot used in abseiling-you know, rappelling. It's called a dead man's knot. You don't see it much in this country, mostly in Europe. He must've had some experience rock climbing or mountaineering overseas."

"Ah, some hard information." Rhyme glanced darkly at Pulaski. "A shame the victim had to find the evidence, don't you think? That really is in our job description." He turned toward Lucy. "The rope's still there?"

"Yes."

"Good…You in town for a while?" Rhyme asked. "If we catch him, we might need you to testify at his trial."

"I'm going back overseas soon. But I'm sure I can come back for a trial. I could get a special leave for that."

"How long will you be there?"

"I reenlisted for two years."

"You did?" Sellitto asked.

"I wasn't going to. It's tough over there. But I decided to go back."

"Because of the bomb at the ceremony?"

"No, it was just before that. I was looking at the families and the other soldiers there and thinking it's funny how life puts you in places you never thought you'd be. But there you are and you're doing something good and important and, basically, it just feels right. So." She pulled on her jacket. "If you need me, I'll get a leave home."

They said good-bye and Thom saw her out the door.

When he returned Rhyme told the aide, "Add that to the profile. A rock climber or mountaineer, possibly European trained." To Pulaski, Rhyme said, "And have somebody from the CS Unit go collect the rope that you missed in the first place-"

"Actually, I wasn't really the one who searched-"

"-and then find a climbing expert. I want to know where he might've trained. And run the rope too. Where'd he buy it and when?"

"Yessir."

Fifteen minutes later the doorbell rang again and Thom returned with Kathryn Dance. The white iPod earbuds dangling over her shoulders, she greeted everyone. She was holding a white, eight-and-a-half-by-eleven envelope.

"Hi," said Pulaski.

Rhyme lifted an eyebrow in greeting.

"I'm on my way to the airport," Dance explained. "Just wanted to say good-bye. Oh, this was on the doorstep."

She handed the envelope to Thom.

The aide glanced at it. "No return address." Frowning.

"Let's be safe," Rhyme said. "The basket."

Sellitto took the envelope and walked to a large bin that was made out of woven steel strips-like a wicker laundry hamper. He set the envelope inside and clamped the lid shut. As a matter of course, any unidentified packages went into the bomb basket, which was designed to diffuse the force of a small-to-medium-sized improvised explosive device. It contained sensors that would pick up any trace of nitrates and other common explosives.

The computer sniffed the vapors emanating from the envelope and reported that it wasn't a bomb.

Wearing latex gloves, Cooper retrieved and examined it. The envelope bore a computer-generated label, reading only, Lincoln Rhyme.

"Self-sticking," the tech added with a resigned grimace. Criminalists preferred old-style envelopes that perps had to lick; the adhesive was a good source of DNA. Cooper added that he was familiar with the brand of envelope; it was sold in stores all over the country and virtually untraceable.

Rhyme wheeled closer and, with Dance beside him, watched the tech extract a pocket watch and a note, also the product of a computer printer. "It's from him," Cooper announced.

The envelope had been there for no more than a quarter of an hour-the time between Lucy Richter's departure and Dance's arrival. Sellitto called Central to have some cars from the nearby Twentieth Precinct sweep the neighborhood. Cooper emailed the Watchmaker's composite to the house.

The timepiece was ticking and showed the accurate time. It was gold and there were several small dials set in the face.

"Heavy," Cooper said. He pulled on magnifying goggles and examined it closely. "Looks old, signs of wear…no personalized engravings." He took a camel hair brush and dusted the watch over a piece of newsprint. The envelope too. No trace was dislodged.

"Here's the note, Lincoln." He mounted it on an overhead projector.