The Steel Kiss (Lincoln Rhyme 12)

- Sawdust from walnut. Cut with same blade as mahogany. Probably a handheld saw or other tool, not electric.

- Bond-Strong liquid hide glue. Mostly used in making musical instruments, but craftsmen in any field use it.

- Glass splinters, probably from same batch as before.

- Additional glazing compound.

- Fragment of leaf. Sent out for analysis. Waiting for return.

- Fragments of electrical insulation, cut with razor knife.

- Additional elements of profile of suspect:

- Probably not a professional electrician.

- Fine woodworker or musical instrument maker (probably former).

- Wore Carhartt jacket, hard hat. Probably discarded.

- Additional message from People's Guardian.

CHAPTER 35

A cool spring evening.

Pleasant. Nick Carelli and Freddy Caruthers were walking down Fourth Avenue in Bay Ridge. Past a yoga store, past Rent-Your-Kilt, which drew a double take from Nick. Yep. That was the name.

From here you could see a bit of the Verrazano's crown. One hell of a bridge. After he'd been arrested he'd thought about jumping off it. But thinking about and doing are two very different animals. Would've upset his brother and mother too much. After the mad urge had passed he was ashamed he'd even considered it.

"There." Freddy pointed.

A block away. The Bay View Cafe. The diner looked pretty decent though the sign lied; there was no view of the bay. For one thing, it faced east. And it offered no view of any water--harbor or ocean or drainage canal or puddle.

"Should call it the Bay Somewhere Nearby Cafe."

"Huh?" asked Freddy. Then he got it. "That's good. Ha."

The place was clean inside. Nick looked around, noting where the hostess station was, what kind of cash register they had, where the kitchen was located, the doors that opened into it, what the Daily Special board looked like, how many servers and busboys there were--and if they looked like they spoke English as a first, second or third language. Or didn't speak it at all. Where the food was stored. Big cans of tomato sauce sat stacked against a back wall. Were they empty and just decorative?

Nick knew he had a lot to learn about the restaurant business. Still, he felt good about the prospect. He really hoped Vittorio Gera would come through and accept his offer.

Freddy tapped Nick's arm and directed him to a booth in the back, where a skinny guy in jeans and a black T-shirt under a brown sport coat sat sipping a Sam Adams from the bottle. He wasn't using the frosted glass the waitress had brought and the empty mug was sweating.

"Stan. I'm Freddy."

"Yo."

"This's Nick."

Hands were shaken and Nick sat down opposite Von, who had thick black hair that could've used a shampooing and trim. His right palm, Nick had felt upon the clasp, was callused. Wondered what his job was. Knuckles red. Maybe he boxed; he had the muscles for it. Nick the cop made observations like this. Nick the prisoner had too. He wasn't going to quash instinct now that he was neither.

Nick scooted over so Freddy could join him on his side of the booth. But Freddy said, "I gotta make some calls. Be five, ten minutes. Leave you guys to it."

"You know what you want to eat?" Nick called.

"I don't care. Burger. You guys order. Don't wait for me." He fished his phone out and headed to the

front of the restaurant, punching in a number. He smiled as he struck up a conversation with the person who'd picked up. Some people did that, smiled or frowned when talking, even though the guy on the other end of the line couldn't see them.