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This would be a follow-up to their prior conversation a half hour ago.
After the developer had shot down their theories about the Watchmaker’s motives, Rhyme had wondered if the developer could help in another way.
“Six months?” Tamblyn had muttered.
“What?” Rhyme had asked.
“How long it takes to get that reservation at Lucien’s.”
Rhyme had asked, “Will it still be in business six months from now, do you think?”
There’d been a pause. “Jacques won’t be happy. What do you need?”
Rhyme had said, “A developer has to know a lot about the history of the city, its geography, I assume.”
“Are you joking? Someone once wrote that nobody knows more about New York City than Willis Tamblyn. I took offense. Saying ‘nobody knows more.’ That puts me on an equal footing with every Tom, Dick and Loser of developers. The right way to say it is simpler and doesn’t involve a negative. I know more than any other living person about the city.”
“Then maybe you can help us find a location. It’s where the co-conspirators met in the crane attack.”
“Conspirators,” Tamblyn had said slowly, savoring either the word or the concept itself. Perhaps both.
“This is what our officers found in the soil.” And he had sent a picture from the murder board.
•Andy Gilligan, homicide
oclay soil
ooyster shells, old
odecaying substances, all probably several hundred years old:
•wool
•leather
•varnished wood
•liquor
•horsehair
•charcoal
•Garry Helprin, attempted homicide
oclay soil
ooyster shells, old
odecaying substances, all probably several hundred years old:
•wool
•leather
•varnished wood
•liquor
