The Bone Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 1)

"Can you do a presumptive blood test?"

"No."

"Let's just assume it's blood. Could it be the victim's?"

"Doesn't seem to be. It's too far away and there's no trail to her body."

"Does it lead anywhere?"

"Looks like it. To a brick in the wall. It's loose. No prints on it. I'm going to move it aside. I--oh, Jesus!" Sachs gasped and stumbled back a foot or two, nearly fell.

"What?" Rhyme asked.

She eased forward, staring in disbelief.

"Amelia. Talk to me."

"It's a bone. A bloody bone."

"Human?"

"I don't know," she answered. "How would I . . . ? I don't know."

"Recent kill?"

"Looks like it. About two inches long and two in diameter. There's blood and flesh on it. It's been sawn off. Jesus. Who the fuck'd do something--"

"Don't get rattled."

"What if he got it from another victim?"

"Then we better find 'im pretty damn soon, Amelia. Bag it. Plastic for the bone."

As she did this, he asked, "Any other staged clues?" He sounded concerned.

"No."

"That's all? Hairs, a bone and a splinter of wood. He's not making it very easy, is he?"

"Should I bring it back to your . . . office?"

Rhyme was laughing. "He'd like us to call it quits. But no. We're not through yet. Let's find out a little more about Unsub 823."

"But there's nothing here."

"Oh, yes there is, Amelia. There's his address and his phone number and his description and his hopes and aspirations. They're all around you."

She was furious at his professor's tone and remained silent.

"You have the flashlight?"

"I've got my issue halogen--"

"No," he grumbled. "Issue lights are too narrow. You need the twelve-volt broad beam."

"Well, I didn't bring it," she snapped. "Should I go back and get it?"

"No time. Check out the pipes."