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'So I guess it didn't occur to anyone at the time. It's only--'
'You made your fucking point.'
'--now that we can figure out--'
'You can be a real prick sometimes, Linc. You know that.'
Rhyme did know that and he didn't care. 'And the manhunt around Marble Hill?'
'Checkpoints at main streets, officers at every bus stop and subway station in the area.'
'Looking for ...?' Rhyme asked.
'Any white male around thirty with a pulse.'
Rhyme's computer dinged, and he called up the email. It was Jean Eagleston again, the Crime Scene officer. She was the one who'd done an Identi-Kit composite rendering of the man, based on Harriet Stanton's observation. It depicted an unsmiling young man with Slavic features, a prominent forehead and brows close together. The unsub's pale eyes gave him a startling, eerie visage.
Rhyme didn't believe that good or evil could be objectively reflected in appearance. But his gut told him this was the face of a truly dangerous person.
A second high-def monitor nearby fluttered to life and there was Amelia Sachs, peering his way.
'You there, Rhyme?'
'Yes, yes, Sachs. Go ahead.' This was the computer they used for face-to-face videoconferencing with la
w enforcers in other cities, for occasional interrogation of suspects and for Skyping with the children of Rhyme's closest relative - his cousin who lived in New Jersey - well, Sachs primarily, who read them stories and told jokes. Sachs and Pam would also Skype, sometimes spending hours, chatting away.
He wondered if now, after their fight, that wouldn't be happening anymore.
She asked, 'What's the story? Is it true, the getaway?'
Rhyme grimaced and glanced at Sellitto, who rolled his eyes and said, 'He's gone, yeah. But we got a good description from the hostage.'
'What's the prognosis, Sachs? The guard?'
'Eyes're going to need some treatment is all. He got hit by formaldehyde and severed male genitals. That's what was in the jar. Which he's not happy about.' She gave a faint laugh. 'It was dark, I saw some flesh on the ground. I thought the unsub had used acid and it was melting the guard's flesh off. But he'll be okay. Now, Lon, how's the manhunt going?'
The detective explained to her, 'We've got undercover at all the bus and subway stations in Marble Hill and north and south - the Number One train. He could get a cab but I'm thinking he won't want to be seen one on one - by the driver. According to our tat expert, he's not from around here so he probably doesn't know about gypsy cabs. We're betting he'll stick to public transportation.'
Rhyme could see Sachs nodding, then the image was breaking up, freezing. The unreliable Internet.
The picture came in clear again.
She said, 'He might try for a train farther east.'
'Yeah, I suppose he could.'
Rhyme said, 'Good point.' He told Sellitto, 'Get some of your people to the Number Four train and the D and B lines. That's central Bronx. He's not going to get farther east than that.'
'Hm. I'll do it.' The detective stepped away to make the call.
Sachs said, 'One thing occurred to me, Rhyme?'
'And?'
'There were dozens of storerooms he could've hidden in. Why did he pick that one?'
'Your thought?'
