The chains were removed, and Stefan had a very odd reaction. Rather than rub his wrists, as anyone else might have done, he cocked his head, closed his eyes and listened, it seemed, to the tinkling of the tiny steel rings of the shackles as they were pocketed by the officer.
Similar to what he'd done in Charlotte McKenzie's house the night they were arrested.
It was as if he was memorizing the sound, storing it away.
He opened his eyes and asked for a tissue. Rossi handed him a box and he plucked one from the top and wiped his face and the crown of his head. When McKenzie said, "Sit down, Stefan," he did, immediately. Not from fear, but as if she were a portion of his conscious mind and he himself had made the decision.
She was, of course, more than an associate. She was Euterpe, his muse, the woman guiding him on the path to Harmony.
"These men will explain what we need to do, Stefan. I'll tell you later everything that's happened. But for now, please do what they say."
His head rose and fell slowly.
She looked at Rhyme, who said, "We have a recording, Stefan. Would you listen to it and tell us all the information you can figure out? We need to find somebody and we think the background sounds might be able to lead us to them."
"A kidnapping phone call?"
Rhyme said, "No, a call between two people who're planning a terror attack."
He looked at McKenzie, who said, "Yes. One of the people we were after. I made a mistake and we got the wrong one. There's someone else. We need to stop her."
"Her. Ah. I kidnapped her husband, and it was really the wife." A smile. "Who stole my shoe."
"Yes."
Intelligent. Good.
Spiro asked, "Would it help to shut the lights out?"
"No, I don't need that."
Ercole played the audio. Now that he was aware of its potential value, Rhyme listened carefully. He made out a few noises that he hadn't noticed in the first or second hearing but not much.
"Again." Stefan's voice was firm. He wasn't the least deferential. Odd how even the most insecure grow assertive when practicing their special art.
Ercole played it once more.
"And again."
He did so.
"Can I have a pen and paper, please?" Stefan asked.
Spiro produced them instantly.
"It is hard, I am sure, to hear past the voices," Rossi said.
Stefan responded with a bemused frown. Apparently he could hear past the voices just fine.
"Sound is better than words. Sounds have meanings that are more trustworthy. Robert Frost, the poet, talked about the sound of sense. I love that, don't you? He said you could experience a poem recited on the other side of a door without hearing the words. The sounds alone would convey the intended emotion and meaning to you."
Not exactly the ramblings of a madman.
He began to jot notes in perfect script. Beatrice Renza would approve of it.
As he wrote, he said, "The caller was not far from the harbor. I hear Klaxons and warning and announcement horns. Passenger and commercial vessels. Tugboat diesels."
"Not from trucks?" Rossi asked.