AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Are you—?”
She disconnected and called the main number and in ten seconds was speaking to the man once again.
He grumbled, “Your conspiracy bones satisfied, and my authenticity established, Detective Sachs?”
“Yes.” Maybe a “sir” might be in order. She wasn’t in the mood.
“Mr. Tamblyn has been at several of the crime scenes involving the crane collapses.”
“I know. That’s what he does. Anything more?”
“No. I—”
The line went dead.
She said, “The collapses were intentional. How can you guard against that?”
He shrugged. “Wind happens. Metal failure happens. Terrorists happen. Contractors have to be ready for anything. Look at what we learned on Eighty-Ninth. The operator had a rope in thecab. A hundred dollars’ worth of rope saved his life. That went into my report. And the hospital? I’m going to recommend the city doesn’t approve freestanding cranes. They have to be attached to the structure they’re building.”
She asked, “Did you see anyone at either of the sites who gave you the impression they were involved?”
“No. Just a bunch of jackals who wanted selfies at a disaster. Now, can I go?”
Her phone buzzed.
She told Tamblyn, “Not yet.” Then, to the phone: “Rhyme. I’ve got him. Only, it’s not quite what we thought.” She explained about Tamblyn’s mission, and the mayor’s confirmation.
“Homeless …” Rhyme said. “I saw somebody earlier, on one of the videos. Let me check something … Ah, yes, it’s Tamblyn. That’s what he was holding, a cell phone.” He fell silent. “Put him on speaker.”
She tapped the button and moved the unit closer to Tamblyn. She said, “It’s Lincoln Rhyme. He’s—”
The developer said, “I know who he is … Mr. Rhyme.”
“Mr. Tamblyn. We could use your help. Let me run a few ideas by you and see what you think.”
“I suppose. If it’s urgent. I have an engagement.” And started on the nails of his right hand.
Rhyme said, “Urgent, yes. We just checked the countdown clock. It’s been reset. Only this time whoever’s behind it has upped the deadline. Another crane comes down in just a few hours.”
47.
“SENATOR, FOUR O’CLOCK.”
Not a reference to time.
Position of threat.
The two men were in Lower Manhattan, east of Wall Street.
A glance to his right and behind.
He noted a fortyish man in jeans, dark baseball cap and a sweatshirt, no logo, navy blue. The kind favored by street thieves. Toss-aways, they were called. You mug somebody, run and throw away what you were wearing to fool those searching for you.
“Why’s it a threat, you think?”
Peter, the tall, broad “personal security specialist,” replied, “Paused when we waited for the light, made a call that might not have been a call. It looked fake.” The sun flared off Peter’s naked scalp.
“You see him earlier?”
