The Broken Window (Lincoln Rhyme 8)

"LaGrange."

The hiss of wind and the sound of slapping water explained what the detective was up to on this clear-sky, warm day.

Sachs identified herself.

"Oh, sure. Howya doin', Amelia? I'm waiting for a call from a snitch. We've got something going down in Red Hook anytime now."

So, not on his fishing boat.

"I may have to hang up fast."

"Understood. You're on speaker."

"Detective, this is Lincoln Rhyme."

A hesitation. "Oh. Yeah." A call from Lincoln Rhyme got people's full attention pretty fast.

Rhyme explained about his cousin.

"Wait . . . 'Rhyme.' You know, I thought it was a funny name. I mean, unusual. But I never put it together. And he never said anything about you. Not in any of the interviews. Your cousin. Man, I'm sorry."

"Detective, I don't want to interfere with the case. But I said I'd call and find out what the story is. It's gone to the A.D.A., I know. Just talked to him."

"I gotta say the collar was righteous. I've run homicides for five years and short of somebody from Patrol witnessing a gang clip, this was the cleanest wrap I've seen."

"What's the story? Art's wife only gave me the bones."

In the stiff voice that cops fall into when recounting details of a crime--stripped of emotion: "Your cousin left work early. He went to the apartment of a woman named Alice Sanderson, down in the Village. She'd gotten off work early too. We aren't sure how long he was there but sometime around six she was knifed to death and a painting was stolen."

"Rare, I understand?"

"Yeah. But not like Van Gogh."

"Who was the artist?"

"Somebody named Prescott. Oh, and we found some direct-mail things, flyers, you know, that a couple of galleries'd sent your cousin about Prescott. That didn't look so good."

"Tell me more about May twelfth," Rhyme said.

"At about six a witness heard screams and a few minutes later saw a man carrying a painting out to a light blue Mercedes parked on the street. It left the scene fast. The wit only got the first three letters on the tag--couldn't tell the state but we ran everything in the metro area. Narrowed the list down and interviewed the owners. One was your cousin. My partner and me went out to Jersey to talk to him, had a trooper with us, for protocol, you know. We saw what looked

like blood on the back door and in the backseat. A bloody washcloth was under the seat. It matched a set of linens in the vic's apartment."

"And DNA was positive?"

"Her blood, yeah."

"The witness identified him in a lineup?"

"Naw, was anonymous. Called from a pay phone and wouldn't give their name. Didn't want to get involved. But we didn't need any wits. Crime Scene had a field day. They lifted a shoeprint from the vic's entryway--same kind of shoe your cousin wore--and got some good trace."

"Class evidence?"

"Yeah, class. Traces of shave cream, snack food chips, lawn fertilizer from his garage. Exactly matched what was at the vic's apartment."

No, it didn't match, Rhyme reflected. Evidence falls into several categories. "Individuating" evidence is unique to a single source, like DNA and fingerprints. "Class" evidence shares certain characteristics with similar materials but they don't necessarily come from the same source. Carpet fibers, for instance. A DNA test of blood at a crime scene can definitely "match" the criminal's blood. But a comparison of carpet fiber at a scene can only be "associated with" fibers found in the suspect's house, allowing the jury to infer he was at the scene.

"What was your take on whether or not he knew her?" Sachs asked.