The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13)

--Dark cotton fiber. --From hood, used to subdue victim?

--Chloroform.

--Olanzapine, antipsychotic drug.

--YouVid video: --White male (probably vic), noose around neck.

--"Blue Danube" playing, in time to gasps (vic's?).

--"(c) The Composer" appeared at end.

--Faded to black and silence; indication of impending death?

--Checking location where it was uploaded.

Rodney Szarnek, from Computer Crimes, called back. On the other end of the line was, thank you, only the geeky voice, no raw, wah-wah guitar licks. "Lincoln?"

"You have a location?"

"New York metro area."

Something I don't know, please.

"I know you're disappointed. But I can narrow it down. Maybe four, five hours."

"Too long, Rodney."

"I'm just saying. He's used proxies. That's the bad news. The good is that he doesn't really know what he's doing. He's logged onto some free VPNs, which--"

"No time for Greek," Rhyme grumbled.

"It's amateur stuff. I'm working with YouVid and we can crack it but--"

"Four hours."

"Less, I'm hoping."

"Me too." Rhyme disconnected.

"Have something else here, Lincoln." Mel Cooper was at the Hewlett-Packard gas chromatograph/mass spectrometer.

"The footprint trace? Something he stepped in?"

"Right. We have more olanzapine, the antipsychotic. But something else. Weird."

"Weird is not a chemical property, Mel. Nor is it particularly fucking helpful."

Cooper said, "Uranyl nitrate."

"Jesus," Rhyme whispered.

Dellray frowned and asked, "What, Linc? That's some pretty bad shit, I'm hearing?"

Rhyme was resting the back of his skull against the headrest of his wheelchair, staring at the ceiling. He was vaguely aware of the question.

Sellitto now: "Uranus nitrate. Is it dangerous?"

"Uranyl," Rhyme corrected impatiently. "Obviously it's dangerous. What would you call uranium salt dissolved in nitric acid?"