The Skin Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 11)

'Oh, that? The "he"?' Gordon shrugged. 'I never did very ... well in school. Thought I was going to say "good", didn't you? Couple years at Hunter but got bored, you know. But when I started inking, I'd do a lot of text. Bible verses, passages from books, poems. So I learned writing from famous authors. Spelling, grammar. I mean, dude, it was pretty interesting. Typography too. The same passage in one font has a whole different impact when it's printed in another.

'Sometimes a couple'd come in and they'd want to ink wedding vows on their arms or ankles. Or crappy love poems they'd written, like I mentioned. I'd say, okay, dudes, you sure you want to go through life with "Jimmy I love you you're heart and mine for ever" on your biceps. That's Jimmy no comma, you no period or semicolon, Y-O-U apostrophe R-E, and for ever two words. They'd say, "Huh." I'd edit anyway when I inked them. They'll have kids and have to go to a PTA meeting, meet the English teacher. After all, not like you can use White-Out, right?'

'And cut and paste would be really bad,' Pulaski joked, drawing smiles.

But not from Gordon. 'Oh, there's a version of scarification where people actually cut strips of skin out of their body.'

Rhyme then heard a click in the front door latch and the door open - or, more accurately, the wind howl and the sleet clatter from the sky.

The door closed.

After that footsteps and a light, airy laugh.

He knew who had come to visit and shot a glance to Sachs, who quickly rose and turned around the whiteboard that contained the crime scene pictures of Chloe Moore and switched the high-def screens away from the images TT Gordon had been examining.

A moment later Pam Willoughby stepped into the room. The pretty, slim nineteen year old was enwrapped in a brown overcoat trimmed in faux fur. Her long, dark hair was tucked up under a burgundy stocking cap, and her outer garments were dusted with dots of sleet or snow, melting fast. She waved hello to everyone.

Accompanying her was her boyfriend, Seth McGuinn, a handsome, dark-haired man of about twenty-five. She introduced him to Pulaski and Mel Cooper, neither of whom he'd met.

Seth's dark-brown eyes, which matched Pam's, blinked when they turned to TT Gordon, who greeted the couple pleasantly. Pam had a similar reaction. Rhyme had seen athletic Seth in a T-shirt and jogging shorts, when he and Pam had been going to the park several weeks ago, and noted he'd sported no tattoos. Pam had none either, visible at least. The young couple now tried, unsuccessfully, to hide their surprise at Rhyme's quirky visitor.

Pam detached herself from Seth's arm, kissed Rhyme on the cheek and hugged Thom. Seth shook everyone's hand.

TT Gordon asked if they needed any more help with the case. Sellitto glanced around the room at the others and when Rhyme shook his head, said, 'Thanks for coming in. Appreciate it.'

'I'll keep an eye out for anything weird. In the community, you know what I mean? So long, dudes.'

Gordon stashed his gear, pulled on his pitifully thin jacket and headed out the door.

Seth and Pam shared a smile, looking after Gordon's exit.

Sachs said, 'Hey, Pam. I think Seth needs a 'stache.'

The clean-cut young man nodded, frowning. 'Hell, I can outdo him. I'd go with braids.'

Pam said, 'Naw, get pierced. That way we can swap earrings.'

Seth said he had to be going; a deadline for his ad agency loomed. He kissed Pam, chastely, as if Rhyme and Sachs were the girl's real parents. Then he nodded a farewell to the others. At the archway he turned and reminded Sachs and Rhyme that his parents would like to have lunch or dinner with them soon. Rhyme generally disliked such socializing but since Pam was, in effect, family, he'd agreed to go. And reminded himself to endure the pleasantries and mundane conversation with a smile.

'Next week?' Rhyme asked.

'Perfect. Dad's back from Hong Kong.' He added that his father had found a copy of Rhyme's book about New York crime scenes. 'Any chance of an autograph?'

Recent surgery had improved Rhyme's muscle control to the point that he actually could write hi

s name - not as clearly as before the accident but as good as any doctor writing a prescription. 'Delighted to.'

When he'd left, Pam pulled off her jacket and hat, set them on a chair, asked Sachs, 'So, your message? What's up?'

The detective nodded toward the sitting room, across the hall from Rhyme's lab/parlor, and said, 'How 'bout we go in there.'

CHAPTER 15

'Now,' Sachs said, 'listen. I don't think there's anything to worry about.'

In her charming lilt of an alto voice Pam said, 'Okay, there's a way to start a conversation.' She tossed her hair, which she wore like Sachs's, beyond shoulder length, no bangs.

Sachs smiled. 'No, really.' She was looking the girl over closely and decided that she had a glow about her. Maybe it was her job, 'costuming', Pam called it, for a theater production company. She loved behind the scenes Broadway. College too she enjoyed.