Gotcha, Rhyme thought.

He said, "See, there was a fourth misdirection."

"Four?" Sellitto said.

"That's right. . . . He's not Erick Weir," Rhyme announced with what even he had to admit was excessive dramatics.

Chapter Forty-eight

With a sigh, the killer eased back against a chair leg, eyes closing.

"Not Weir?" Sellitto asked.

"That," Rhyme continued, "was the whole point of what he did this weekend. He wanted revenge against Kadesky and the Hasbro circus--the Cirque Fantastique now. Well, it's easy to get revenge if you don't care about escaping. But"--a nod toward the Conjurer--"he wanted to get away, stay out of prison, keep performing. So he did an identity quick change. He became Erick Weir, got himself arrested this afternoon, fingerprinted and then escaped."

Sellitto nodded. "So after he killed Kadesky and burned down the circus everybody'd be looking for Weir and not for who he really is." A frown. "And who the hell is he?"

"Arthur Loesser, Weir's protege."

The killer gasped softly as the last shred of anonymity--and hope for escape--vanished.

"But Loesser called us," Sellitto pointed out. "He was out west. In Nevada."

"No, he wasn't. I checked the phone records. The call came up 'No caller ID' on my phone because he placed it through a prepaid long distance account. He was calling from a pay phone on West Eighty-seventh Street. He doesn't have a wife. The message on his voice mail in Vegas was fake."

"Just like he called the other assistant, Keating, and pretended to be Weir, right?" Sellitto asked.

"Yep. Asking about the Ohio fire, sounding weird and threatening. To back up what we thought: that Weir was in New York to get revenge against Kadesky. He had to leave a trail that Weir'd resurfaced. Like ordering the Darby handcuffs in Weir's name. The gun he bought too."

Rhyme looked over the killer. "How's the voice?" he asked sardonically. "The lungs feel better now?"

"You know they're fine," Loesser snapped. The whisper and wheezing were gone. There was no damage to his lungs. It was just another ruse to make them believe he was Weir.

Rhyme nodded toward the bedroom. "I saw some designs for promotional posters in there. I assume you drew them. The name on them was 'Malerick.' That's you now, right?"

The killer nodded. "What I told you before is true--I hated my old name, I hate anything about me from before the fire. It was too hard to be reminded of those times. Malerick's how I think of myself now. . . . How did you catch on?"

"After they sealed the corridor in detention you used your shirt and wiped the floor and the cuffs," Rhyme explained. "But when I thought about that I couldn't figure out why. To clean up the blood? That didn't make sense. No, the only answer I could come up with was that you wanted to get rid of your fingerprints. But you'd just been printed; why would you be worried about leaving them in the corridor?" Rhyme gave a shrug, suggesting that the answer was painfully obvious. "Because your real prints were different from the ones on the card that'd just been rolled and filed."

"How the fuck d'he manage that?" Sellitto asked.

"Amelia found traces of fresh ink at the scene. That was from his being printed tonight. The trace wasn't important in itself but what was significant was that it matched the ink we found in his gym bag at the Marston assault. That meant he'd come in contact with fingerprint ink before today. I guessed that he stole a blank fingerprint card and printed it at home with the real Erick Weir's prints. He used that adhesive wax to hide it in his jacket lining tonight--we were looking for weapons and keys, not pieces of cardboard--and then after they rolled his prints he distracted the technicians and swapped the cards. Probably flushed the new one or threw it out."

Loesser grimaced in anger, a confirmation of Rhyme's deduction.

"DOC sent over the card they had on file and Mel processed it. The rolled prints were Weir's but the latents were Loesser's. He was in the AFIS database from when he was arrested with Weir on those reckless endangerment charges in New Jersey. We checked the DOC officer's Glock too. She took that with her and he didn't get a chance to wipe it down. Those prints came back a match for Loesser too. Oh, and we got a partial from the razor knife blade." Rhyme glanced at the small bandage on Loesser's temple. "You forgot to take that with you."

"I couldn't find it," the killer snapped. "I didn't have time to look."

"But," Sellitto pointed out to Rhyme, "he'd be younger than Weir."

"He is younger than Weir." He nodded toward Loesser's face. "The wrinkles're just latex appliances. Like the scars--they're all fake. Weir was born in 1950. Loesser's twenty years younger so he had to age." Then he muttered, "Oh, I missed that one. Should've thought better. Those bits of latex covered with makeup that Amelia found at the scenes? I assumed they were from those finger pads he was wearing. But that wouldn't make sense. Nobody'd wear makeup on his fingers. It would come off. No, it was from the other appliances." Rhyme examined the killer's cheeks and brow. "The latex must be uncomfortable."

"You get used to it."

"Sachs, let's see what he really looks like."

With some difficulty she peeled off the beard and patches of wrinkles around his eyes and chin. The resulting face was blotchy from the adhesive but, yes, he was clearly much younger. The structure of his face was different too. He didn't look much at all like the man he'd been.

Tags: Jeffery Deaver Lincoln Rhyme Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net