The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13)

"It will be on the bestseller list. Among us, the Scientific Polices, at the least." Beatrice then lifted a file folder. "Now. I have made a discovery that is pertains to something else. This is relating to the Garry Soames case. The wine bottle Ercole wished me to run an analysis."

The bottle at the smoking station on the deck the night of the attack.

She handed the lengthy report to Dante Spiro, who scanned the text and said to Rhyme, "I will translate. There were the same results as in the first analysis, the friction ridges, the DNA, the Pinot Nero wine, which showed no traces of the date-rape drug. But there was new trace found on the surface of the bottle."

"And?"

"Beatrice found present cyclomethicone, polydimethylsiloxane, silicone, and dimethicone copolyol."

"Ah," Rhyme said.

Spiro looked his way. "Is this significant?"

"Oh, yes, it is, Dante. Significant indeed."

She was stunningly beautiful.

Though in a different way from Amelia Sachs, Rhyme reflected. Sachs radiated a hometown, neighborhood-girl attractiveness. The sort you could approach and talk to, without intimidation.

Natalia Garelli was a different species of beauty--an appropriate word, for there was something animal-like about her. High, hard cheekbones, eyes close together, the color an otherworldly green. She wore tight black leather pants, boots with heels that boosted her height three inches over Spiro's, and a thin, close-fitting brown leather jacket. As supple as water.

Natalia looked over Rhyme and Spiro, the only people in the situation room at the moment, though Rhyme saw Beatrice cast a curious look at her from the lab. The Scientific Police officer turned back to a microscope.

The woman had no interest in Rhyme's disabled condition. Her thoughts were elsewhere. "Have you brought me here for, come si dice? For a lineup. To identify a suspect?"

"Sit down, please, Signorina Garelli. You are comfortable with English? My associate here does not speak Italian."

"Yes, yes." She sat, flipping her luxurious hair. "Allora. A lineup?"

"No."

"Why am I here then? May I ask?"

Spiro said, "We have more questions about the sexual assault of Frieda Schorel."

"Yes, of course. But I spoke to you, Procuratore, and to Ispettore...What was her name?"

"Laura Martelli. Yes. Of the Police of State."

"That's right. And then I spoke to that American woman and, curiously, a Forestry Corps officer the other day."

Spiro tossed a wry look Rhyme's way. He turned back to Natalia. "One detail I am curious about. You say you and your boyfriend had a meal of Indian food the day of the party."

A pause. "Yes, that is correct. Dinner."

"What did you have?"

"I cannot recall for certain. Possibly korma and saag. Tikka masala. Why?"

"And you did laundry in the afternoon?"

"Yes. As I told you. Or told someone who asked. So I might have clean linens in the event a guest wished to stay the night."

Spiro leaned forward slightly and asked in an abrupt tone: "The night of the party, for how long was Frieda Schorel, the victim, flirting with your boyfriend, Dev?"

"I..." He had caught her completely off guard. "They weren't flirting. Who told you that?"

"I cannot talk about witnesses who give statements in cases."