She looked through the bag, item by item. Nothing was gone. The money and charge cards were all there--though she'd have to call the credit card companies in case the thief had jotted down the numbers. The ammunition and CS tear-gas spray were intact. Hand straying to her Glock, she looked around. There was a small crowd gathered nearby, curious about the police activity. She climbed out and approached them, asking if anybody had seen the break-in. Nobody had.
Returning to the Chevy, Sachs got her bare-bones crime scene kit from the trunk and ran the car just like any other crime scene--checking for footprints, fingerprints and trace inside and out. She found nothing. She replaced the equipment and dropped into the front seat once again.
Then she saw, a half block away, a big black car edge out of an alleyway. She thought of the Mercedes she'd seen earlier, when she'd picked up Pulaski. She couldn't see the make, though, and the car disappeared in traffic before she could
turn her vehicle around and head after it.
Coincidence or not? she wondered.
The big Chevy engine began to push heat into the car and she strapped in. She pushed the transmission into first. Easing forward, she thought to herself, Well, no harm done.
She was halfway up the block, shoving the shifter into third, though, when the thought hit her: What was he looking for? The fact that her money and plastic were still there suggested that the perp was after something else.
Amelia Sachs knew that it's the people with motives you can't figure out who are always the most dangerous.
Chapter 14
At Rhyme's, Sachs delivered the evidence to Mel Cooper.
Before she put on her latex gloves, she walked to a canister and pulled out a few dog biscuits, fed them to Jackson. He ate them down fast.
"You ever think about getting a helper dog?" Kathryn Dance asked Rhyme.
"He is a helper dog."
"Jackson?" Sachs frowned.
"Yep. He helps plenty. He distracts people so I don't have to entertain them."
The women laughed. "I mean a real one."
One of his therapists had suggested a dog. Many paraplegics and quadriplegics had helper animals. Not long after the accident, when the counselor had first brought it up, he'd resisted the idea. He couldn't explain why, exactly, but believed it had to do with his reluctance to depend on something, or someone, else. Now, the idea didn't seem so bad.
He frowned. "Can you train them to pour whiskey?" The criminalist looked from the dog to Sachs. "Oh, you got a call when you were at the scene. Someone named Jordan Kessler."
"Who?
"He said you'd know."
"Oh, wait--sure, Creeley's partner."
"He wanted to talk to you. I told him you weren't here so he left a message. He said that he talked to the rest of the company employees and that Creeley definitely had been depressed lately. And Kessler's still putting together a client list. But it'll take a day or two."
"A couple of days?"
"What he said."
Rhyme's eyes were on the evidence she was assembling on an examination table next to Cooper. His mind drifted away from the St. James situation--what he was calling the "Other Case." As opposed to "His Case," the Watchmaker. "Let's get to the evidence," he announced.
Sachs pulled on latex gloves and began unpacking the boxes and bag.
The clock was the same as the first two, ticking and showing the correct time. The moon face just slightly past full.
Together, Cooper and Sachs dismantled it but found no trace of any significance.
No footprints, friction ridge prints, weapons or anything else had been left behind in the florist's shop. Rhyme wondered if there was some special tool the killer had used to cut the florist's wire or some technique that might reveal a past or present career or training. But, no, he'd used Joanne's own clippers. Like the duct tape, though, the wire had been cut in precise lengths. Each one was exactly six feet long. Rhyme wondered whether he was going to bind her with the wire or whether it was the intended murder weapon.
Joanne Harper had locked the door when she left the shop to meet a friend for coffee. It was clear that the killer had picked the lock to get inside. This didn't surprise Rhyme; a man who knows the mechanics of timepieces could easily learn the skills of lockpicking.