The Steel Kiss (Lincoln Rhyme 12)

Sachs took out one of her c

ards, circled her number and added Rhyme's, as well as his address on the back. She gave it to Alicia. "When you feel up to it we'll need to talk to you some more." Sachs was confident the woman had insights that could help them find their prey.

"Okay," she whispered. Breathed deeply. "Sure. Okay."

The ambulance doors shut and a moment later the vehicle took off through traffic, the siren pulsing urgently.

Sachs walked up to Bo Haumann and reported what she'd learned--which wasn't much. He in turn told her that canvassing had revealed no sightings. "He had a fifteen-minute lead," the ESU man said. "How far does that buy you in the city?"

"Pretty damn far," she muttered.

And Sachs walked to the superintendent, Sal, sitting on the stoop, to interview him. He was a good-looking Italian American, thick black hair, solid muscles, clean-shaven. Reporters were shooting pictures and asking him to hold up the baseball bat with which he'd driven off the killer. Sachs could picture the punning tabloid headline already: "Hero-super" Bats a Thousand.

CHAPTER 50

Rhyme watched Amelia Sachs cart in the evidence from Vernon Griffith's apartment. She had yet to search Alicia Morgan's place and the warehouse where Griffith had bludgeoned to death his neighbor, Boyle, but Rhyme wanted to get started on the clues from what was probably the most fruitful scene that would lead to his whereabouts: his apartment in Chelsea.

She walked to the evidence tables and, pulling on blue gloves, began to organize the evidence she and the ECTs had collected.

Juliette Archer too was here, though Cooper was absent. Rhyme said to Sachs, "Mel's going to be a couple of hours--some terrorist thing the FBI wanted him to look in on. But we can get started. Any more word on Alicia?"

"She should be released soon. A fractured cheekbone, loose tooth, concussion. She's shaken up but willing to talk."

As one would expect when your boyfriend tries to beat you to death with a hammer.

Rhyme examined the evidence collected at Griffith's apartment. Unlike from the earlier scenes, here was a trove.

"But first, the documentation," Rhyme said. "Any luck with real property, tickets to anywhere regularly, plane or train?"

Sachs reported that the findings were negative, so far. "I've looked over banking and financial information. He'd sold the house on Long Island, but there was no record of him buying another place. Banks and credit card companies, insurance, taxes--they all sent statements and correspondence to a P.O. box in Manhattan. He had a business--selling his miniatures and dollhouse furniture. But it was handled out of his apartment, not from an office or workshop."

Archer noted a slip of paper in a clear plastic envelope. "This could be another potential victim. In Scarsdale."

The upscale suburb north of New York City was undoubtedly filled with many high-end products equipped with DataWise5000 controllers and owned by the rich consumers that Vernon Griffith despised.

Archer was reading from the note, "'Henderson Comfort-Zone Deluxe water heater.'"

And Rhyme cross-referenced the list of products that had DataWise controllers inside; yes, the water heater was one of them.

"Who lives there?"

"No indication from the note. Just have the address at this point. Griffith's been ID'd so I doubt he'll go for another attack but, on the other hand, he's pretty fanatical. So who knows?" Rhyme asked Sachs to call Westchester County and have troopers stake out the house.

"And find out who lives there, Sachs."

She did so, searching records and DMV. A moment later she had the answer. William Mayer, a hedge fund manager. He was a friend of the governor and there were a few articles about him that hinted at political aspirations.

Archer said, "Water heater? What was he going to do, do you think? Turn the heat up and scald somebody to death in the shower? Todd Williams blogged about something like that, remember? Or maybe build up the pressure and close a valve, so that when somebody goes down to see what's wrong, it blows up? Gallons of two-hundred-degree water? Jesus."

She wheeled closer and looked over the half-dozen plastic bags of miniatures. Furniture, baby carriages, a clock, a Victorian house. They were very well made.

Rhyme too studied them. "He's very good. Let's see if he took classes anywhere."

Sachs had thought of this, it seemed. "I've got a body at One PP checking out Griffith's bio in depth. They might turn up a workshop or two he went to. School he studied at recently." Then Sachs was frowning. She picked up a small toy. "Something familiar about this. What is it?"

Rhyme squinted at the toy. "Looks like a caisson. A wagon artillery soldiers tow along with the cannon. Holds the shells. The song, that line: 'And the caissons go rolling along.'"

Sachs studied it closely. Rhyme said nothing more. He let her thoughts play out on their own. Archer, too, he noted, held back any questions.