The Coffin Dancer (Lincoln Rhyme 2)

"Fred," Rhyme shouted, "how is she?"

A harrowing pause before he answered.

"Ain't good, Lincoln. We're just gettin' the fire out now. It was an AP of some kind. Shit. We shoulda looked first. Fuck."

Antipersonnel booby traps were usually plastic explosive or TNT and often contained shrapnel or ball bearings--to inflict the most damage they could.

Dellray continued. "Took a coupla walls down and burned mosta the place out." A pause. "I have to tell you, Lincoln. We . . . found . . . " Dellray's voice--usually so steady--now waffled uneasily.

"What?" Rhyme demanded.

"Some body parts . . . A hand. Part of an arm."

Rhyme closed his eyes and felt a horror he hadn't felt in years. An icy stab through his insentient body. His breath came out in a low hiss.

"Lincoln--" Sellitto began.

"We're still searching," Dellray continued. "She might not be dead. We'll find her. Get her to the hospital. We'll do everything we can. You know we will."

Sachs, why the hell did you do it? Why did I let you?

I should never--

Then a crackle sounded in his ear. A pop as loud as a firecracker. "Could somebody . . . I mean, Jesus, could somebody get this off me?"

"Sachs?" Rhyme called into the microphone. He was sure the voice was hers. Then it sounded like she was choking and retching.

"Uck," she said. "Oh, boy . . . This's gross."

"Are you all right?" He turned to the speakerphone. "Fred, where is she?"

"Is that you, Rhyme?" she asked. "I can't hear anything. Somebody talk to me!"

"Lincoln," Dellray called. "We got her! She's A-okay. She's all right."

"Amelia?"

He heard Dellray shouting for medics. Rhyme, whose body hadn't shivered for some years, noted that his left ring finger was trembling fiercely.

Dellray came back on. "She can't hear too good, Lincoln. What happened was . . . looks like what happened was it was the woman's body we saw. Horowitz. Sachs pulled it out of the fridge just 'fore the bang. The corpse took mosta the blast."

Sellitto said, "I see that look, Lincoln. Give her a break."

But he didn't.

In a fierce growl he said, "What the hell were you thinking of, Sachs? I told you it was a bomb. You should've known it was a bomb and bailed out."

"Rhyme, is that you?"

She was faking. He knew she was.

"Sachs--"

"I had to get the tape, Rhyme. Are you there? I can't hear you. It was plastic packing tape. We need to get one of his prints. You said so yourself."

"Honestly," he snapped, "you're impossible."

"Hello? Hello-o? Can't hear a word you're saying."