The Vanished Man (Lincoln Rhyme 5)

Weir himself would then intentionally get caught during a second attempt to kill Grady and be taken to detention.

Meanwhile, Constable was supposed to do some misdirection of his own. He'd disarm his captors by being the voice of reason, pleading his innocence and winning sympathy and luring Grady to the courthouse this evening by offering to incriminate Barnes and other conspirators. Constable would even try to help track down the illusionist, further disarming the police and giving him the chance to deliver a coded message about his exact location in the detention center, which Barnes would pass on to Weir.

When Grady arrived, Hobbs Wentworth would try to kill the prosecutor but whether he succeeded or not didn't matter; the important thing was that Hobbs would divert the police from the detention center. Then Weir--who was roaming free in the building after faking his own death--would sneak up here in disguise, kill the guards and break Constable out.

There was one more part to the plan--an aspect that Constable'd been looking forward to for weeks. Just before Weir arrived at the interview room, Jeddy Barnes had told him, Constable was "supposed to take care of your lawyer."

"What's that mean?"

"Weir said it's up to you. He just said you're supposed to take care of Roth so he's not in the way."

Now, watching the blood drip from the lawyer's eyes and mouth, he thought, Well, the Jew's took care of.

Constable was wondering how Weir would kill the guards, what kinds of disguises he'd have with him, what their escape route would be, when--right on schedule--he heard the distinctive buzz of the outer door.

Ah, his chariot to freedom had arrived.

Constable dragged Roth off the bench and dumped him in the corner of the interview room. He thought about killing him now, stomping on his windpipe. But he supposed Weir had a gun with a silencer. Or a knife. He could use that.

Hearing the click of the key in the lock of the interview room.

The door swung open.

For a split second he thought: Amazing! Weir'd managed to turn himself into a woman.

But then he remembered her; this was the redheaded officer who'd been with Detective Bell yesterday.

"Injury here," she shouted as she glanced down at Roth. "Call EMS!"

Behind her one guard grabbed a phone and the other hit a red button on the wall, sending a Klaxon alarm braying into the hallway.

What was going on? Constable didn't understand. Where was Weir?

He glanced back at the woman to see the pepper spray--the only permissible weapon in detention--in her hand. He thought fast and began moaning loud, holding his belly. "Somebody got in here! Another prisoner. He tried to kill us!" Hiding the sharp pencil, he clutched his bloody hands to his belly. "I'm hurt. I've been stabbed!"

A fast glance outside. Still no sign of the Magic Man.

The woman frowned and looked around the cell as Constable slumped to the floor. Thinking: When she gets closer he'd stab toward her face with the pencil. Maybe hit her eye. He could get the spray away, blast her in the mouth or eyes with it. Maybe hold the pencil to her back; the guards would think it was a gun and open the door for him. Weir had to be close--maybe he was just outside the security doors.

Come on, honey. A little closer. She might have a bulletproof vest on, he reminded himself; aim for her pretty face.

"Your lawyer?" she asked, leaning over Roth. "Is he stabbed too?"

"Yes! It was some black prisoner. He said I was a racist. He said he wanted to teach me a lesson." His head was down but he could sense her stepping closer. "Joe's hurt bad. We have to save him!"

Just a few more feet. . . .

Or if he is a white man and looks like a smart man--if he has all his teeth and wears clothes that don't smell like yesterday's piss--well, then, are you going to be just a little slower to pull that trigger?

Constable moaned.

He sensed her very close.

She said, "Let me see how badly you're hurt."

He gripped the pencil firmly. Got ready to spring. He looked up to find his target.

And saw the nozzle of the pepper spray, a foot away from his eyes.