The Cold Moon (Lincoln Rhyme 7)

"There's a man across the street watching us. In the mouth of the alley."

Sellitto turned. "Got him." The guy was lean, wearing sunglasses despite the dusk, a hat and jeans and a leather jacket. "Looks familiar."

"Invite him to come over here. I'd like to ask him a few questions."

Sellitto laughed. "Kathryn Dance's really having an effect on you, Linc. I thought you didn't trust witnesses."

"Oh, I think in this case it'd be good to make an exception."

Shrugging, the big detective asked, "Who is he?"

"I could be wrong," Rhyme said with the tone of a man who believed he rarely was, "but I have a feeling he's the Watchmaker."

Chapter 32

Gerald Duncan sat on the curb, beside Sachs and Sellitto. He was handcuffed, stripped of his hat, sunglasses, several pairs of beige gloves, wallet and a bloody box cutter.

Unlike Dennis Baker's, his attitude was pleasant and cooperative--despite his being pulled to the ground, frisked and cuffed by three officers, Sachs among them, a woman not noted for her delicate touch on takedowns, particularly when it came to perps like this one.

His Missouri driver's license confirmed his identity and showed an address in St. Louis.

"Christ," Sellitto said, "how the hell'd you spot him?"

Rhyme's conclusion about the onlooker's identity wasn't as miraculous as it seemed. His belief that the Watchmaker might not have fled the scene arose before he'd noticed the man in the alley.

Pulaski said, "I've got him. The ME."

Rhyme leaned toward the phone that the rookie held out in a gloved hand and had a brief conversation with the doctor. The medical examiner delivered some very interesting information. Rhyme thanked him and nodded; Pulaski disconnected. The criminalist maneuvered the Storm Arrow wheelchair closer to Duncan.

"You're Lincoln Rhyme," the prisoner said, as if he was honored to meet the criminalist.

"That's right. And you're the quote Watchmaker."

The man gave a knowing laugh.

Rhyme looked him over. He appeared tired but gave off a sense of satisfaction--even peace.

With a rare smile Rhyme asked the suspect, "So. Who was he really? The victim in the alleyway. We can search public records for Theodore Adams, but that'd be a waste of time, wouldn't it?"

Duncan tipped his head. "You figured that out too?"

"What about Adams?" Sellitto asked. Then realized that there were broader questions that should be asked. "What's going on here, Linc?"

"I'm asking our suspect about the man we found in the alley yesterday morning, with his neck crushed. I want to know who he was and how he died."

"This asshole murdered him," Sellitto said.

"No, he didn't. I just talked to the medical examiner. He hadn't gotten back to us with the final autopsy but he just gave me the preliminary. The victim died about five or six P.M. on Monday, not at eleven. And he died instantly of massive internal injuries consistent with an automobile accident or fall. The crushed throat had nothing to do with it. The body was frozen solid when we found it the next morning, so the tour doc couldn't do an accurate field test for cause or time of death." Rhyme cocked his eyebrow. "So, Mr. Duncan. Who and how?"

Duncan explained, "Just some poor guy killed in a car crash up in Westchester. His name's James Pickering."

Rhyme urged, "Keep going. And remember, we're eager for answers."

"I heard about the accident on a police scanner. The ambulance took the body to the morgue in the county hospital. I stole the corpse from there."

Rhyme said to Sachs, "Call the hospital."

She did. After a brief conversation she reported, "A thirty-one-year-old male ran off the Bronx River Parkway about five Monday night. Lost control on a patch of ice. Died instantly, internal injuries. Name of James Pickering. The body went to the hospital but then it disappeared. They thought it might've been transferred to another hospital by mistake but they couldn't find it. The next of kin aren't taking it too well, as you can imagine."