“She’s in no shape to do that. He cut her. All the way to the bone. So she’d bleed and the rats’d get her.”
“Is she mobile?”
“Probably. But you know what she’s just been through?”
“She can give you the route they walked. She can tell you where he stood.”
“She’s going to the ER. She lost a lot of blood.”
A hesitation. He said pleasantly, “Just ask her.”
But his joviality was fake and Sachs heard just impatience. She could tell that Rhyme was a man who wasn’t used to coddling people, who didn’t have to. He was someone used to having his own way.
He persisted, “Just once around the grid.”
You can go fuck yourself, Lincoln Rhyme.
“It’s -”
“Important. I know.”
Nothing from the other end of the line.
She was looking at Monelle. Then she heard a voice, no, her voice say to the girl, “I’m going down there to look for evidence. Will you come with me?”
The girl’s eyes nailed Sachs deep in her heart. Tears burst. “No, no, no. I am not doing that. Bitte nicht, oh, bitte nicht…”
Sachs nodded, squeezed the woman’s arm. She began to speak into the mike, steeling herself for his reaction, but Rhyme surprised her by saying, “All right, Amelia. Let it go. Just ask her what happened when they arrived.”
The girl explained how she’d kicked him and escaped into an adjoining tunnel.
“I kick him again,” she said with some satisfaction. “Knock off his glove. Then he get all pissed and strangle me. He -”
“Without the glove on?” Rhyme blurted.
Sachs repeated the question and Monelle said, “Yes.”
“Prints, excellent!” Rhyme shouted, his voice distorting in the mike. “When did it happen? How long ago?”
Monelle guessed about an hour and a half.
“Hell,” Rhyme muttered. “Prints on skin last an hour, ninety minutes, tops. Can you print skin, Amelia?”
“I never have before.”
“Well, you’re about to. But fast. In the CS suitcase there’ll be a packet labeled Kromekote. Pull out a card.”
She found a stack of glossy five-by-seven cards, similar to photographic paper.
“Got it. Do I dust her neck?”
“No. Press the card, glossy side down, against her skin where she thinks he touched her. Press for about three seconds.”
Sachs did this, as Monelle stoically gazed at the sky. Then, as Rhyme instructed, she dusted the card with metallic powder, using a puffy Magna-Brush.
“Well?” Rhyme asked eagerly.
“It’s no good. A shape of a finger. But no visible ridges. Should I pitch it?”
“Never throw away anything at a crime scene, Sachs,” he lectured sternly. “Bring it back. I want to see it anyway.”
“One thing, I am thinking I forget,” said Monelle. “He touch me.”
“You mean he molested you?” Sachs asked gently. “Rape?”
“No, no. Not in a sex way. He touch my shoulder, face, behind my ear. Elbow. He squeezed me. I don’t know why.”
“You hear that, Lincoln? He touched her. But it didn’t seem like he was getting off on it.”
“Yes.”
“Und… And one thing I am forgetting,” Monelle said. “He spoke German. Not good. Like he only study it in school. And he call me Hanna.”
“Called her what?”
“Hanna,” Sachs repeated into the mike. “Do you know why?” she asked the girl.
“No. But that’s all he call me. He seemed to like saying the name.”
“Did you get that, Lincoln?”
“Yes, I did. Now do the scene. Time’s awasting.”
As Sachs stood, Monelle suddenly reached up and gripped her wrist.
“Miss… Sachs. You are German?”
She smiled and answered, “A long time ago. A couple generations.”
Monelle nodded. She pressed Sachs’s palm to her cheek. “Vielen Dank. Thank you, Miss Sachs. Danke schön.”
FIFTEEN
THE THREE ESU HALOGENS CLICKED TO LIGHT, bringing an eerie tide of white glare to the grim tunnel.
Alone now at the scene Sachs gazed at the floor for a moment. Something had changed. What?
She drew her weapon again, dropped into a crouch. “He’s here,” she whispered, stepping behind one of the posts.
“What?” Rhyme asked.
“He’s come back. There were some dead rats here. They’re gone.”
She heard Rhyme’s laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“No, Amelia. Their friends took the bodies away.”
“Their friends?”
“Had a case up in Harlem once. Dismembered, decomposed body. A lot of the bones were hidden in a big circle around the torso. The skull was in an oil drum, toes underneath piles of leaves… Had the borough in an uproar. The press was talking about Satanists, serial killers. Guess who the perp turned out to be?”
“No idea,” she said stiffly.
“The vic himself. It was a suicide. Raccoons, rats and squirrels made off with the remains. Like trophies. Nobody knows why but they love their souvenirs. Now, where are you?”
“At the foot of the ramp.”
“What do you see?”
“A wide tunnel. Two side tunnels, narrower. Flat ceiling, supported by wooden posts. The posts’re all battered and nicked. The floor’s old concrete, covered with dirt.”
UNSUB 823 (page 1 of 2)
Appearance
•Caucasian male, slight build
•Dark clothing•Old gloves, reddish kidskin
•Aftershave; to cover up other scent?
Residence
•Prob. has safe house
Vehicle
•Yellow Cab
•Recent model sedan
Other
•knows CS proc.
•possibly has record
•knows FR prints
•gun =.32 Colt
UNSUB 823 (page 2 of 2)
Appearance
•Ski mask? Navy blue?
•Gloves are dark
Residence
Vehicle
•Lt. gray, silver, beige
Other
•Ties vics w/ unusual knots
•“Old” appeals to him
•Called one vic “Hanna”
•Knows basic German
“And manure?”
“Looks like it. In the center, right in front of me’s the post she was tied to.”
“Windows?”
“None. No doors either.” She looked over the wide tunnel, the floor disappearing into a black universe a thousand miles away. She felt the crawl of hopelessness. “It’s too big! There’s too much space to cover.”
“Amelia, relax.”
“I’ll never find anything here.”
“I know it seems overwhelming. But just keep in mind that there’re only three types of PE that we’re concerned about. Objects, body materials and impressions. That’s all. It’s less daunting if you think of it that way.”
Easy for you to say.
“And the scene isn’t as big as it looks. Just concentrate on the places they walked. Go to the post.”
Sachs walked the path. Staring down.
The ESU lights were brilliant but they also made the shadows starker, revealing a dozen places the kidnapper could hide. A chill trickled down her spine. Stay close, Lincoln, she thought reluctantly. I’m pissed, sure, but I wanna hear you. Breathe or something.
She paused, shone the PoliLight over the ground.
“Is it all swept?” he asked.
“Yes. Just like before.”
The body armor chafed her breasts despite the sports bra and undershirt and as hot as it was outside it was unbearable down here. Her skin prickled and she felt a ravenous desire to scratch under her vest.
“I’m at the post.”
“Vacuum the area for trace.”
Sachs ran the Dustbuster. Hating the noise. It covered up any sound of approaching footsteps, guns cocking, knives being drawn. Involuntarily she looked behind her once, twice. Nearly dropped the vacuum as her hand strayed to her gun.
Sachs looked at the impression in the dust of where Monelle’s body had lain. I’m him. I’m dragging her along. She kicks me. I stumble…