The Bone Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 1)

"No, Amelia. Don't open them."

"What?"

"The cuff lock mechanism is one of the best ways to pick up trace from the perp."

"Well, how'm I supposed to get them off without a key?" She laughed.

"There's a razor saw in the suitcase."

"You want me to cut off the cuffs?"

There was a pause. Rhyme said, "No, not the cuffs, Amelia."

"Well, what do you want me to . . . Oh, you can't be serious. Her hands?"

"You have to." He was irritated at her reluctance.

Okay, that's it. Sellitto and Polling've picked a nutcase for a partner. Maybe their careers're tanking but I'm not going down with them.

"Forget it."

"Amelia, it's just another way to collect evidence."

Why did he sound so reasonable? She thought desperately for excuses. "They'll get blood all over them if I cut--"

"Her heart's not beating. Besides," he added like a TV chef, "the blood'll be cooked into a solid."

The gorge rising again.

"Go on, Amelia. Go to the suitcase. Get the saw. In the lid." He added a frosty, "Please."

"Why'd you have me scrape under her nails? I could've just brought you back her hands!"

"Amelia, we need the cuffs. We have to open them here and we can't wait for the ME. It has to be done."

She walked back to the doorway. Unsnapped the thongs, lifted the wicked-looking saw from the case. She stared at the woman, frozen in her tortured pose in the center of the vile room.

"Amelia? Amelia?"

Outside, the sky was still clogged with stagnant, yellow air and the buildings nearby were covered with soot like charred bones. But Sachs had never been so glad to be out in the city air as now. The CU suitcase in one hand, the razor saw in the other, the headset dangling dead around her neck. Sachs ignored the huge crowd of cops and spectators staring at her and walked straight toward the station wagon.

As she passed Sellitto she handed him the saw without pausing, practically tossed it to him. "If he wants it done that badly tell him he can damn well walk down here and do it himself."

II

LOCARD'S

PRINCIPLE

In real life, you only get one shot at the homicide crime scene.

--VERNON J. GEBERTH,

LIEUTENANT COMMANDER (RET.)

NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT

NINE