Rhyme then said, ‘But one thing I don’t understand: Lon Sellitto. You poisoned him, of course. You borrowed a fireman’s outfit at the site of the Belvedere Apartment attack and gave him the laced coffee.’
‘You figured that out too?’
‘Arsenic is metalloid poison. Billy used only plant based toxins.’
‘Hm. Missed that. Mea culpa. Tell me, Lincoln, were you one of those boys who read children’s puzzle books and could always spot what was wrong with this picture?’
Yes, he had been, and, yes, he could.
Rhyme added, ‘And you slipped the doctored painkillers into Amelia Sachs’s purse.’
A dense pause. ‘You found those?’
The minute Rhyme had deduced the Watchmaker was still alive and was probably behind Lon’s attack, he’d told Sachs, Pulaski and Cooper to be on the lookout for any attacks. She’d recalled that someone had sat near her in a coffeehouse where she’d been meeting with a witness in the Metropolitan Museum case. She’d found a second bottle of painkillers in the bag.
Rhyme asked, ‘Arsenic as well? The results aren’t back yet.’
‘I’ll tell you, since you’ve figured it out. Antimony.’
Lincoln Rhyme said, ‘See, that’s what I don’t follow: trying to kill Lon and Amelia and blame the deaths on the Stantons? It was you dressed up like Billy Haven at the scenes? Looking at her through the manhole cover on Elizabeth Street? Outside the restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen? In the building near the Belvedere?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So why …?’ His voice faded. The thoughts were coming fast, exploding like firecrackers. ‘Unless …’
‘Catching on, are you, Lincoln?’
‘Twenty million dollars,’ he whispered. ‘To buy your freedom. There is no way the Stantons and the AFFC could have gotten you that much money to bribe the guards and medics. No, no – they’re a shoestring operation at best. Someone else financed your escape. Yes! Somebody who needed you for another job. You used the AFFC as a cover for something else.’
‘Ah, that’s my Lincoln,’ said the Watchmaker.
The voice was condescending and a moment’s anger burst. But then the thought landed and he laughed out loud. ‘Lon. Lon Sellitto! He was the whole point of this. You needed him killed or out of commission, and you used the AFFC as a scapegoat.’
‘Exactly,’ the man whispered. And the tone of his voice taunted: Keep going.
‘The case he’d been working on. Of course. The break in at the Metropolitan museum. He was getting close to finding out what it was all about and your employer needed to stop him.’ He considered other facts. ‘And Amelia too. Because she’d taken over the Met case … But you’re admitting it all now,’ Rhyme said slowly, troubled. ‘Why?’
‘I think I’ll let it go at that, Lincoln. Probably not good to say much more. But I will tell you that nobody is at risk anymore. Amelia’s safe. The only reason to poison her or Ron or your brilliant nerdy assistant, Mel Cooper, would be to shift the blame to the AFFC. And obviously that’s pointless now. Besides, I’ve changed tack.’
Rhyme pictured the man shrugging.
‘You’re safe too, of course. You always have been.’
Always have been?
Rhyme gave a laugh. ‘The anonymous phone call about somebody’s breaking into my town house through the back door. When Billy snuck in to poison my whisky. That was you.’
‘I was keeping tabs on him. The night he went to your town house, I was following. He wasn’t supposed to kill you, hurt you in any way. When he changed into a workman’s uniform and got a needle ready, I knew what he was up to.’
This made no sense at all.
Until a moment later another deduction. Rhyme whispered, ‘You need me for something. You need me alive. Why? To investigate a crime, of course. Yes, yes. But which one? One committed recently?’ What open major cases were there? Rhyme wondered. Then realized. ‘Or one that’s going to happen? Next week?’
‘Or next month or next year,’ the Watchmaker offered, sounding amused.
‘The Metropolitan museum break in? Or something else?’
No word.
‘Why me?’
A pause. ‘I’ll just say that the plan I’ve put together needs you.’
‘And it needs me to be aware of it,’ Rhyme shot back. ‘So my knowing is a gear or a spring or a flywheel in your timepiece.’
A laugh. ‘How well put. It’s so refreshing to talk to somebody who gets it … But now I should be going, Lincoln.’
‘One last question?’
‘Of course. Answering may be a different matter.’
‘You told Billy to find that book, Serial Cities .’
‘That’s right. I needed to make sure he and the Stantons appreciated how good you were – and how much you and Amelia had learned about the militias and their tactics.’
Rhyme said ruefully, ‘You had no particular interest in the Bone Collector? I got that wrong.’
‘I guess you did.’
A laugh and Rhyme said, ‘So the connection I found between the Bone Collector and you wasn’t there at all?’
A pause.
‘You found a connection between us?’ The Watchmaker sounded curious.
‘There’s a famous watch on display here in Manhattan. It’s made entirely out of bone. Some Russian, I think. I wondered if stealing that was on your agenda.’
‘There’s a Mikhail Semyonovitch Bronnikov in town?’
‘I think that was it. And you didn’t know?’
The Watchmaker said, ‘I’ve been rather … preoccupied lately. But I’m familiar with the piece. It’s quite astonishing. Mid 1860s. And you’re right: made entirely of bone, one hundred percent.’
‘I suppose it wouldn’t make sense for you to risk getting caught – and waste the time, so to speak – trying to break into a Manhattan antiques store to steal a watch.’
‘No, but it was creative thinking, Lincoln. Just what I’d expect of you.’ Another pause. Rhyme imagined that he was checking his own timepiece. ‘Now I think it’s best to say goodbye, Lincoln. I’ve been on the line a little too long. Sometimes those proxies and phone switches can be traced, you know. Not that you’d ever try.’ A chuckle. ‘Till we meet again …’
Next week, next month, next year.
The line went dead.
VI
SKIN AND BONE
CHAPTER 79
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 12
1:00 P.M.
Ron Pulaski had assumed the job of scouring the Berkowitz Funeral Home for evidence and witnesses, searching for any clues that might lead to the Watchmaker.
He seemed to take the failure of his undercover mission to heart, though he could hardly be blamed; the Watchmaker had recognized him immediately. He’d seen the young officer as part of his project in New York a few years ago.
Moreover, Rhyme knew, even if it had been a righteous set, the kid was a pretty bad actor. The best thespians didn’t play characters; they became them.
Gielgud …
So the young officer had collected trace from the documents at the funeral home that Richard Logan – or whatever his real name might be – had signed and where he’d collected the box containing the ashes of the unidentified homeless man from the city morgue. He’d interviewed everyone who’d been at the parlor when the Watchmaker had, including the relatives of someone named Benjamin Ardell, also known as Jonny Rodd, whoever he was. But he’d uncovered no leads.
Nor were there any among the New York Bureau of Investigation agents, who’d also been scammed by the Watchmaker. The agents hadn’t had much contact with ‘Dave Weller’, other than phone calls. And the mobile he’d contacted them on, diming out Pulaski, was, of course, long gone. Batteries in one sewer, snapped in half handset in another.
Sachs was handling a different portion of the case, tracking down the insiders who’d helped Logan escape, medical workers, an attendant in the New York City morgue and various prison guards. To Rhyme it seemed they’d taken an astronomical risk. If it was discovered that the Watchmaker was alive, then the ring of suspects would be quite small; they were sure to be detected. But, Rhyme supposed, it wasn’t the Watchmaker’s problem if they didn’t hide the bribes he’d paid them or had failed to come up with credible alibis after they’d faked the medical reports and death certificate.