'Yes?'
'Mr Rhyme, it's Jason? Jason Heatherly?' The unnecessarily interrogative words were fast, the voice flummoxed. 'I'm--'
'I remember you, Mr Heatherly.'
How could Rhyme not? They'd spoken at length only a week ago.
'Well, it's - I don't know how to explain this - but what you said might happen happened.'
Rhyme and Sachs shared a smile.
'It's gone. Impossible but it's gone. The alarms were set when I left last night. They were set when I got here this morning. Nothing was disturbed. Not a thing out of place. Not. A. Thing. But it's gone.'
'Really.'
The 'it' the worked-up jeweler was referring to was a watch. The Mikhail Semyonovitch Bronnikov timepiece made entirely of bone.
Contrary to what he'd told the Watchmaker, Rhyme had not believed the man had any connection with the Bone Collector whatsoever. He'd told the Watchmaker that simply to dangle bait.
And how better to snare a man whose strength - and weakness - was time and timepieces than by using a rare watch?
Rhyme had found out that a Bronnikov, one of the few in existence, was in London, though not for sale. But he'd charmed the owner into changing his mind (charm plus twenty thousand dollars, that is) and spent another ten thousand to fly the watch to New York. Ron Pulaski had been the courier.
Rhyme had called Fred Dellray and learned that there was an art dealer under indictment for tax evasion, Jason Heatherly. Dellray got the US attorney to drop a few of the charges if Heatherly cooperated; the feds wanted the Watchmaker back in the slammer as much as Rhyme and the NYPD did.
Heatherly agreed and the watch was delivered to him and put on display in a case in his Upper East Side antiques store/art gallery.
In his conversation with the Watchmaker a week ago Rhyme had brought up the Bone Collector and then casually segued to the Bronnikov watch, mentioning that it was in a gallery in Manhattan. He'd tried to be nonchalant and hoped his delivery was more fluid than Ron Pulaski's.
Apparently it was.
Several days after the conversation, Heatherly reported that a man had called, inquiring about any watches the gallery might have for sale - though asking nothing specific about the Bronnikov. Heatherly had told him the inventory, including a mention of the bone watch, and the man had thanked him and hung up. Caller ID was Unknown.
Rhyme and a task force had debated how to handle it. The bureau wanted surveillance and a take-down team near the gallery, ready to move in as soon as somebody came in to buy or steal the watch. Rhyme said no. The Watchmaker would spot them instantly. They should take a different approach, more subtle.
So FBI and NYPD surveillance experts had installed a miniature tracker in the metal fob of the watch. The device would remain powered down, undetectable by any radio wave sensors, most of the time. Every two days, it would - for a millisecond - beam its location to the ICGSN, the International Consolidated Geopositioning Satellite Network, which blanketed nearly every populated area on earth. Then go quiescent.
The positioning data would be sent directly to the task force's mainframe. If the Watchmaker was on the move, they could narrow down the country and region he was traveling through and alert border authorities. Or, if luck was with them, they might find him stationary, enjoying a cool wine on a beach and admiring his stolen bone watch.
Or maybe he'd immediately separate the watch from its duplicitous fob, which he'd mail to Sri Lanka and go on with his plans for whatever heist or murder he was plotting.
So my knowing about this is a gear or a spring or a flywheel in the timepiece of your plan ...
The gallery owner continued to be exercised about the break-in. He said breathlessly, 'It's impossible. The alarms. The locks. The video cameras.'
Rhyme had insisted that there be no lapses in security to make it easier for the Watchmaker to steal the bait; the man would have grown suspicious in an instant and balked.
Heatherly continued, 'There's simply no way anybody could have gotten inside.'
But we aren't dealing with just anybody, Rhyme reflected, and without comment he muttered goodbye to the gallery owner and disconnected the call.
Now, we wait.
A day, a month, a year ...
He wheeled away from the examination tables, glancing at another watch - the Breguet that the Watchmaker had given to Rhyme some years ago.
Rhyme now said to Sachs, 'Call Pulaski. I want him on the grid at the art gallery.'