AllFreeNovel
Share Us
In Hale’s backpack was an envelope containing what was probably a half-million dollars’ worth of gems—this would be the purpose for the meeting in the garage just before Hale embarked on his birdwatching visit to Central Park to kill Rhyme.
“Well …” She was thinking quickly. “I thought it was a tax thing. But that was his business.”
Sellitto asked, “Were you going to deduct it as a business expense?”
“Uhm. Yes. Of course I was.”
Rhyme had learned over the years that some suspects—often former law enforcers and attorneys—invariably think they can talk their way out of trouble. Had he been her lawyer, he would have said: Shut up. Now.
He asked, “So you knew nothing about the illegal sides of his plan?”
“No!”
Sachs added, “None of them?”
“No, no, no! The cranes, the assassination thing? Hacking into the security company and uploading the forged emails? That was all his idea!”
And with that:
Gotcha.
The choreography of the interview, carefully worked out by Rhyme and Sachs ahead of time, had had the desired effect. The trap snapped shut.
It was not public knowledge how the emails got into Cody’s account. There’d been no press report about Woman X’s induction hacking device or Emery Digital.
Their eyes met. She said, “I want my lawyer.”
Sachs rose and, tucking the notebook into the same rear pocket that contained her switchblade, said, “You’ll get that chance. Downtown.”
Leppert turned back to Rhyme. In a whisper: “How? How did you find out?”
“Oh, I had an informer.”
“Who?” Leppert asked bitterly.
But Lincoln Ryme did not answer.
•••
Now, the day after Leppert’s arrest, it was at last time for Thom’s dinner.
The scent was arresting.
Rhyme detected mild fish, mushrooms more pungent than generic fungi, garlic, dry white wine. Vermouth, he decided. Fresh bread too.
Sachs was setting the table, and Lincoln Rhyme was once again in the hallway where Charles Hale had died.
An old Glenmorangie whisky was in hand.
He was thinking of the other day, his exchange with Thom, after he’d been in the hallway—parked on the spot where the Watchmaker had died.
“Who’s here?”
“How’s that?”
“I heard you talking to someone.”
“Hardly …”
