The Steel Kiss (Lincoln Rhyme 12)

And more galling: She was the one who'd convinced Rhyme to help the widow, setting him on his typically obsessive-compulsive trail of the defendant who'd been responsible for Greg Frommer's death.

Your initial reaction is going to be to say no but just hear me out. Deal?...

Sachs was examining the contents of the fridge and making a grocery list when the doorbell chimed, the first tone high, the second low.

She glanced at her mother, who shook her head.

Neither was Sachs expecting anyone. She walked toward the front hall, not bothering to collect her weapon, on the theory that most doers don't ring doorbells. Also: she kept a second Glock, a smaller one, the model 26, in a battered, faded shoe box beside the front door, one round chambered and nine behind it, a second mag nestling nearby. As she approached the door she removed the lid, turned the box to grabbing position.

Sachs looked out through the peephole. And froze to statue.

My God.

She believed a gasp issued from her throat. Her heart was pounding fiercely. A glance down and she replaced the lid on the camouflaged weapon case, then stood completely still for a moment, staring at her hollow eyes in a mirror set in a gilt frame on the wall.

Breathing deeply, once twice... Okay.

She unlatched the door.

Standing on the small stone porch was a man of about her age. Lean, his handsome face had not seen sun for a long time. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt under a denim jacket. Nick Carelli had been Sachs's lover before Rhyme. They'd met on the force--both cops, though in different divisions. They'd lived together, they'd even talked about getting married.

Sachs had not seen Nick in years. But she remembered vividly the last time they'd been together in person: a courthouse in Brooklyn. They'd exchanged brief glances and then the bailiffs had led him away, shackled, for transfer to state prison to begin his sentence for robbery and assault.

CHAPTER 13

It is an exciting concept," said Evers Whitmore in a tone that belied the descriptive participle.

Which didn't mean he wasn't truly ecstatic; it was just so very hard to read him.

He was referring to Rhyme's theory of the escalator's defect: It didn't matter whether the access panel opened because of metal fatigue, bad lubrication, a curious roach shorting out the servo motor, even someone's pushing the switch accidentally. Or an act of God. The defect was in the fundamental design of the unit--that if the door opened for any reason, the motor and gears should have stopped immediately. An automatic cutoff switch would have saved Greg Frommer's life.

"Had to be cheap to install," Juliette Archer said.

"I would imagine so," Whitmore said. Then he tilted his head and looked at the unit in Rhyme's hallway carefully. "I have another theory too. What does the access panel weigh?"

From Rhyme and Archer in unison: "Forty-two pounds."

"Not that heavy," the lawyer continued.

Archer: "The spring was a convenience, not a necessity."

Rhyme liked this one too. Double-barrel legal theories. "They should never have added a spring. Workmen could unlatch the panel and use a hook to pull it up, or just lift it. Good."

The attorney got a call on his mobile and listened for some time, asking questions and jotting notes in his perfectly linear handwriting.

When he disconnected he turned to Rhyme, Archer and Cooper. "I think we may have something here. But to understand it fully, you need some background in the law."

Not again...

Rhyme nonetheless lifted a please-continue eyebrow and the lawyer launched into yet another lecture.

"Law in America is a complicated creature, like a platypus," Whitmore said, removing and cleaning his glasses once again (Rhyme could only think of them as spectacles). "Part mammal, part reptile, part who knows what else?"

Rhyme sighed; Whitmore missed the impatience waft and kept up the narrative. Eventually he got to his point: The Frommer case would be largely determined by "case law," not legislative statutes, and the court would look to precedent--prior similar decisions--to decide if Sandy Frommer could win a judgment against Midwest.

With what hovered near enthusiasm in his voice, Whitmore said, "My paralegal, Ms. Schroeder, found no cases where escalators were considered defective because of the lack of interlocks. But she did unearth several cases of heavy industrial machinery--printing presses and die stampers--in which liability was found when the devices continued to work after access panels were opened. The facts are close enough to support a finding that Mr. Frommer's injury occurred because of a design defect."

Archer asked, "Is it possible to find escalators made by other companies that do have an interlock switch?"