The Skin Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 11)

Before they could get to the evidence, though, the doorbell hummed once more.

With the familiar howl of wind and Gatling gun of falling ice, the door opened and closed. Lon Sellitto walked into the parlor, stomping his feet and missing the rug.

'Getting worse. Man. What a mess.'

Rhyme ignored the AccuWeather. 'The security videos?'

Referring to any surveillance cameras on Elizabeth Street, near the manhole that the perp had used to gain access to the murder site. And where he had apparently been spying on Sachs.

'Zip.'

Rhyme grimaced.

'But there was a witness.'

Another sour look from Rhyme.

'I don't blame you, Linc. But it's all we got. Guy coming home from his shift saw somebody beside the manhole about ten minutes before nine one one got the call.'

'Home from his shift,' Rhyme said cynically. 'So your wit was tired.'

'Yeah, and a fucking tired witness who sees the perp is better than a fresh one who doesn't.'

'In which case he wouldn't be a witness,' Rhyme replied. A glance at the evidence board. Then: 'The manhole was open?'

'Right. Orange cones and warning tape around it.'

Rhyme said, 'Like I thought. So he pops the cover with a hook, sets up the cones, climbs down, kills the vic and leaves.' He turned to Sachs. 'Moisture at the bottom of the ladder, you said. So he kept it open the whole time. What happened to the cones and tape?'

'None there,' Sachs said. 'Not when I came out.'

'He's not going to be leaving them lying around nearby. Too smart for that. Lon, what'd your wit say about him, the perp?'

'White male, stocking cap, thigh-length dark coat. Black or dark backpack. Didn't see a lot of the face. Pretty much the same descrip of the guy by the manhole when Amelia was running the scene underneath.'

The one peering at Sachs. Who'd escaped into the crowds on Broadway.

'What about the evidence on the street?'

'In that storm?' Sachs replied.

Weather was one of the classic contaminators of evidence and one of the most pernicious. And at the scene near the manhole, there'd been another problem: The emergency workers' footprints and gear would have destroyed any remaining evidence as they raced to get Sachs into the ambulance after the apparent poisoning from the trap that wasn't.

'So we'll write off that portion of the scene and concentrate on underground. First, the basement of the boutique?'

Jean Eagleston and her partner had photographed and searched the basement and the small utility room that opened onto it but they'd found very little. Mel Cooper examined the trace they'd collected. He reported, 'Matches the samples from the cellar. Nothing helpful there.'

'All right. The big question: What's the tox screen result? COD?'

They were starting with the assumption that the cause of death was poison but that wouldn't be known until the medical examiner completed the analysis. Sachs had called and harangued the chief examiner to send over a preliminary report ASAP. They needed both the toxin and whatever sedative, as seemed likely, the perp had injected into Chloe to subdue her. Sachs had sealed the urgency by pointing out that they believed this murder was the start of a serial killing spree. The ME, she reported, had sounded as burdened as doctors generally do, especially city employee doctors, but he'd promised to move the Chloe Moore case to the front of the queue.

Again piqued by impatience, Rhyme said, 'Sachs, you swabbed the site of the tattoo?'

'Sure.'

'Run that, Mel, and let's see if we can get a head start on the poison.'

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