A Textbook Case (Lincoln Rhyme 9.50)

He laughed bitterly. "Twelve-hour days don't leave a lot of time or energy for that sort of thing."

After the divorce her mental and emotional condition grew worse, he added, though it never occurred to him that she'd grow violent.

But she sure had. Coming up with a bizarre plan to get even with Ferguson by stalking and killing some of the women Ferguson dated or knew. She dressed like a homeless woman, so she wouldn't be noticed, camping out near her intended victims' apartments to get details about their lives. Then she'd murdered them using as a template Rhyme's book, both to cover up any clues to her personally and also to shift the focus to Ferguson, since there was a record he'd bought a copy of the textbook.

The last step, tonight, would be to plant evidence implicating her ex-husband in Vicki Sellick's apartment. A whole chapter in Rhyme's book was about intentionally seeding evidence at a scene to establish guilt.

Rhyme glanced at his textbook, sitting in an evidence collection bag. "Why did you happen to buy it?"

Ferguson explained that as a documentary TV producer he watched as many competitors' programs as he could. "I saw the episode on A&E about that murder in Florida, where you were talking about evidence. I thought it was brilliant. I thought maybe my company could do something along those lines. So I ordered your book. But I never got around to doing the show. I went on to other things."

"And your wife knew about the book?" Sellitto asked.

"I guess I mentioned the project to her and that I was reading it. She's been in my apartment off and on over the past year. She must've stolen it sometime when she was over." He regarded Rhyme. "But why didn't you think I was the one, like she planned?"

Rhyme said, "I did at first. But then I decided it wouldn't've been smart for somebody to use a book that could be traced to them as a template for murder. But it'd be very smart for someone else to use that book. And whoever put this together was brilliant."

"He profiled you," Sachs said with a smile.

Rhyme grimaced.

Sellitto had then spoken to Ferguson and learned of the nasty divorce, which gave them the idea that his ex might be behind it. They learned, too, that he'd just dropped off Vicki Sellick, the woman he was dating, at her apartment.

They'd tried to call the woman but, when she hadn't picked up, Sachs and the team had sped there to see if she was in fact under attack.

"She was nuts," Ferguson muttered. "Insane."

"Ah, madness and brilliance--they're not mutually exclusive," Rhyme replied. "I think we can agree on that."

Then Marko rubbed his close-cropped head and laughed. "I'm sort of surprised you didn't suspect me. I mean, think about it. I was first on the scene at the Twenty-sixth Street homicide, I knew forensics, I'd taken your course and you could assume I'd read your book."

Rhyme grunted. "Well, sorry to say, Kid, but you were a suspect. The first one."

"Me?"

"Sure. For the reasons you just mentioned."

Sellitto said, "But Linc had me check you out. You were in the lab in Queens, working late, when the first vic was killed."

"We had to check. No offense," Rhyme said.

"It's cool, sir... Lincoln."

"All right," Sellitto muttered. "I got paperwork to do." He left with Ferguson, who would go downtown to dictate his statement. Marko, too, left for the night.

"That his first name or last?" Rhyme asked.

"Don't know," Sachs replied.

An hour later, she'd finished bundling up the last of the evidence collection bags and jars and boxes for transport to the evidence storage facility in Queens.

"We'll definitely need to air the place out," Rhyme muttered. "Smells like an alleyway in here."

Sachs agreed. She flung open the windows and poured them each a Glenmorangie scotch. She dropped into the rattan chair beside Rhyme's Storm Arrow. His drink was in a tumbler, sprouting a straw. She placed it in a cup holder near his mouth. He had good movement of his right arm and hand, thanks to the surgery, but he was still learning the subtleties of control and didn't want to risk spilling valuable single-malt.

"So," she said, regarding him with a gleam in her eye.

"You're looking coy, Sachs."