The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13)

Where were the doors, the windows, for entrance and exit? Where were alcoves and alleys--places where one could lie in wait and plan a break-in?

Where were the vantage points from which people inside could look out and where, from outside, could people peer in?

Were there trash bins that might contain evidence?

Were there hiding places for weapons?

The questions piled up. But there were no helpful answers. He shook his head.

Which was when Thom said in a soft voice, "You become him."

"Him?"

"The perp." The aide was looking his way and had apparently noted Ercole's stymied expression. "You know the word?"

"Yes, yes, certainly. 'Perp.' But become him?"

"It's why Lincoln was the king of crime scenes when he ran forensics at NYPD. And why he picked Amelia as his protegee years ago. I don't understand it myself." The aide added after a moment, "But the process is getting into the mind of the killer. You're not a cop anymore. You're the killer, the burglar, the rapist, the molester. You're like a Method actor: you know, getting into the minds of the characters they play. It can be pretty tough. You go to dark places. And it can take some time to climb back out. But the best crime scene investigators can do it. Lincoln says that it's a fine line between good and bad, that the best forensic cops could easily become the worst perps. So. Your goal isn't to find clues. It's to commit the crime all over again."

Ercole's eyes went back to the building. "So I am a criminal."

"That's right."

"Allora, my crime is putting the evidence in the apartment to make Garry Soames seem guilty."

"That's right," Thom said.

"But the front door is open to a busy street and many neighbors. I can't break in that way. Maybe I could pretend to be interested in letting the apartment upstairs and, when the real estate agent lets me in, I sneak down to Garry's flat and leave the evidence."

"But would you, as the criminal, do that?" Thom asked.

"No. Of course not. Because I wo

uld leave a record of my presence. So, I have to break in through the side or the back. But the doors and windows are locked or painted shut. And there are no signs of--"

"Ah, Ercole, you're thinking as an investigator. After the fact of the crime. You have to think like the criminal. You have to be the criminal. You're the real rapist who has to blame Garry. Or you're the girlfriend that he treated badly and who wants to get even. You're desperate. You need to make this work."

"Yes, yes," Ercole whispered.

So I am the perp.

I'm desperate or furious. I must get inside, and plant drugs in Garry's bedroom.

Ercole began to pace through the backyard. Thom followed. The officer stopped quickly. "I have to plant the drugs but that's only part of my crime. The other part is being certain that no one knows I've done it. Otherwise, the police will instantly conclude Garry is innocent and begin looking for me."

"Yes. Good. You said, 'me,' not 'him.'"

"How would I do this? I can't be a supervillain and abseil down the chimney. I can't tunnel up into the basement apartment..."

Ercole's eyes scanned the back of the building, actually feeling a twist of desperation in his belly. I have little time because I can't be seen. I have no fancy tools because I'm not a professional thief. Yet I have to break in and make sure there are no signs of jimmied doors or windows. He muttered, "No signs at all...How do I do that? How?"

Thom was silent.

Ercole, staring at the building he needed to breach. Staring, staring.

And then understood. He gave a laugh.

"What?" Thom asked.