The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13)

"Okay. Garage. We need something to break the padlock."

They rummaged for tools and, in the kitchen, Ercole found a large hatchet. They left the house and made their way, crouching, to the outbuilding.

They prepared for entry again--different this time, since they could both establish a field of fire. He would break the lock and pull the sliding door open, while Sachs crouched and aimed into the small building with her flashlight and Beretta. He would do the same.

She nodded.

One swing of the tool and the padlock flew off. He yanked the door open...and just like with the closet, empty space greeted them.

A sigh. They put their weapons away and walked back to the house.

"Let's see what we can find."

How much time did they have until Khaled died? Not much, she knew.

They walked into the living room and, donning blue gloves now, looked over the desk, the papers, files, notes, instrument strings. Searching for anything that might give a clue where the Composer and Khaled might be.

Her phone hummed--she'd put it on silent before the entry.

"Rhyme," she said into the microphone attached to her earbud cords. "It's his hidey-hole. But they're not here. The Composer or the vic."

"Massimo says the Carabinieri should be there any minute."

She could hear the sirens.

Rhyme said, "There's not much time. He's uploaded his video. Massimo sent the link to Ercole's phone. The Postal Police are trying to track his proxies through the Far East. He doesn't have Edward Snowden's chops but it'll still be a few hours before they get a specific site."

"We'll keep at it here, Rhyme."

She disconnected and continued the search, telling the Forestry officer, "Check your phone."

Ercole showed her the screen. "Here."

The video showed the unconscious form of Khaled Jabril, sitting in a chair, a noose around his neck, mouth gagged. Even through the small speakers of the mobile, it was easy to hear the bass beat, keeping time to the waltz that played underneath the visuals. The tune was eerie.

Ercole said, "Ah, he's not using gasping breath for the rhythm, like before. It's the victim's heartbeat."

Sachs said, "It's familiar, that music. Do you know what it is?"

"Ah, yes. It is the 'Danse Macabre.'"

Sachs actually shivered, hearing the pulsing, ominous piece. She then squinted as she gazed at some papers in front of her.

No. Impossible.

She hit redial.

"Sachs. You've found something?"

"It's far-fetched, Rhyme, but it's the only chance we've got. Where's Massimo?"

"Hold on. You're on speaker."

"I'm here, Detective Sachs," Rossi said.

"Here's an address. In Naples." She recited it.

"Yes, it's in the Spanish Quarters, not too far away from us. What's there?"