The Skin Collector(Lincoln Rhyme)

Chapter 15





‘Now,’ Sachs said, ‘listen. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’

In her charming lilt of an alto voice Pam said, ‘Okay, there’s a way to start a conversation.’ She tossed her hair, which she wore like Sachs’s, beyond shoulder length, no bangs.

Sachs smiled. ‘No, really.’ She was looking the girl over closely and decided that she had a glow about her. Maybe it was her job, ‘costuming’, Pam called it, for a theater production company. She loved behind the scenes Broadway. College too she enjoyed.

But, no, Sachs asked herself: What’m I thinking? Of course. The answer was Seth.

Thom appeared in the doorway with a tray. Hot chocolate. The smell was both bitter and sweet. ‘Don’t you just love the winter?’ he asked. ‘When the temperature’s below thirty-five hot chocolate doesn’t have any calories. Lincoln could come up with the chemical formula for that.’

They thanked the aide. He then asked Pam, ‘When’s the premiere?’

Pam was attending NYU but she had a light class load this semester and – as a talented seamstress – was working part-time as an assistant to the assistant costumer for a Broadway revival of Sweeney Todd – the musical adaptation, by Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler, of an older play detailing the life of the homicidal barber in London. Todd would slice his customers’ throats and a conspirator would bake the victims into pies. Rhyme had reported to Sachs and Pam that the perp reminded him of a criminal he’d once pursued, though he added that Todd was purely fictional. Pam had seemed playfully disappointed at that factoid.

Cutting throats, cannibalism, Sachs reflected. Talk about body modification.

‘We open in a week,’ Pam said. ‘And I’ll have tickets for everybody. Even Lincoln.’

Thom said, ‘He’s actually looking forward to going.’

Sachs said, ‘No!’

‘Gospel.’

‘Heart be still.’

Pam said, ‘I’ve got a disabled slot reserved. And you know the theater has a bar.’

Sachs laughed. ‘He’ll be there for sure.’

Thom left, closing the door behind him, and Sachs continued, ‘So, here’s what’s happened. The man who kidnapped you and your mother? Years ago?’

‘Oh, yeah. The Bone Collector?’

Sachs nodded. ‘It looks like there’s somebody who’s copying him. In a way. He’s not obsessed with bones, though. But skin.’

‘God. What does he …? I mean, does he skin people?’

‘No, he killed his victim by tattooing her with poison.’

Pam closed her eyes and shivered. ‘Sick. Oh, wait. That guy on the news. He killed the girl in SoHo?’

‘Right. Now, there’s no evidence he has any interest in the surviving victims from back then. He’s using the tattoos to send a message, so he’ll pick targets in out-of-the-way places, we think – if we don’t stop him first. We checked but none of the other survivors of the Bone Collector are in the area. You’re the only one. Now, has anybody asked you anything about being kidnapped, about what happened?’


‘No, nobody.’

‘Well, we’re ninety-nine percent sure he has no interest in you at all. The killer—’

‘The unsub,’ Pam said, offering a knowing smile.

‘The unsub won’t know about you – your name wasn’t in the press because you were so young. And your mother used a pseudonym back then anyway. But I wanted you to know. Keep an eye out. And at night we’re going to have an officer parked outside your apartment.’

‘Okay.’ Pam didn’t seem fazed by this information. In fact, Sachs now realized something: The news that there might be a connection, however tenuous, with Unsub 11-5 whom the press had dubbed the Underground Man, was greeted with what seemed to Sachs to be such lack of concern that she realized the girl had another topic in mind.

And it was soon placed – no, dumped – on the table.

Pam sipped some cocoa and her eyes looked everywhere but at Sachs’s. ‘So, here’s the thing, Amelia. Something I wanted to talk about with you.’ Smiling. Smiling too much. Sachs grew nervous. She too took a sip. Didn’t taste a bit of the rich brew. She thought immediately: Pregnant?

Of course. That was it.

Sachs stifled her anger. Why hadn’t they been careful? Why—?

‘I’m not going to have a baby. Relax.’

Sachs did. Coughed a brief laugh. She wondered if her body language was that readable.

‘But Seth and me? We’re moving in together.’

This soon? Still, Sachs kept the smile on her face. Was it just as fake as the teenager’s?

‘Are you now? Well. That’s exciting news.’

Pam laughed, apparently at the disconnect between the modifier and Sachs’s less-than-excited expression. ‘Look, Amelia. We’re not getting married. Just, it’s time for this to happen. I feel it. He feels it. It’s just right. We’re like totally compatible. He knows me, really knows me. There’re times I don’t even have to say anything and he knows what I’m thinking. And he’s just so nice, you know?’

‘It’s kind of fast, don’t you think, honey?’

Pam’s enthusiasm, the sparkle, dimmed. Sachs recalled that her mother, who’d beaten the girl and locked her in a closet for hours on end, had called her ‘honey’, and Pam had grown to hate the endearment. Sachs regretted using it but she’d been flustered and forgotten the word was tainted.

She tried again. ‘Pam, he’s a great guy. Lincoln and I both think so.’

This was true.

But Sachs couldn’t stop herself. ‘It’s just, I mean, don’t you really think it’d be better to wait? What’s the hurry? Just hang out, date. Spend the night … Go away on a trip.’

Coward, Sachs told herself, having given the last two suggestions, since her goal was to wedge some distance between Pam and Seth. She was negotiating against herself.

‘Well, interesting you say that.’

Interesting? Sachs reflected. If she’s not pregnant … Oh, no. Her jaw tightened and the next words confirmed her fear.

‘What we’re going to do is take a year off. We’re going to travel.’

‘Oh. Okay. A year.’ Sachs was simply buying time at this point. She might’ve said, ‘How ’bout them Yankees?’ Or ‘I hear the sleet’s going to break in a day or so.’

Pam pressed forward. ‘He’s sick of copywriting freelance. He’s totally talented. But nobody appreciates him in New York. He doesn’t complain but I can see he’s upset. The ad agencies he works for, they have budget problems. So they can’t hire him full-time. He wants to go places. He’s ambitious. It’s so hard here.’

‘Well, sure. New York is always a tough place to get ahead.’

Pam’s voice hardened as she said, ‘He’s tried. It’s not like he hasn’t tried.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘He’s going to write travel articles. I’m going to help him. I’ve always wanted to travel; we’ve talked about that.’

They had, yes. Except Sachs had always imagined that she and Pam would explore Europe or Asia. Big sister and kid sister. She had a fantasy of touring the parts of Germany her ancestors had come from.

‘But school … The statistics show it’s so hard to come back after dropping out.’

‘Why? What statistics? That doesn’t make sense.’

Okay, Sachs didn’t have any numbers. She was making that up. ‘Hon – Pam, I’m happy for you, both of you. Just, well, you have to understand. This’s a pretty big surprise. Fast, like I was saying. You haven’t known him that long.’

‘A year.’

True. In a way. They’d met last December and dated briefly. Then Seth had gone to England for training with an ad agency planning to open a New York office, and he and Pam had joined the ranks of those keeping a relationship afloat via text, Twitter and email. The company had decided not to venture into the US market, though, and Seth had come back a month ago and resumed free-lance copywriting. Normal dating had resumed.

‘And so what if it’s fast?’ An edge to Pam’s voice again. She’d always had a temper – you couldn’t have her upbringing and not find anger near the surface. But she pulled back. ‘Look, Amelia. Now’s the time to do this. When we’re this age. Later? If we get married and if we have kids?’

Please. Don’t go there.

‘You can’t backpack around Europe then.’

‘What about money? You can’t work over there.’

‘That’s not a problem. He’ll sell his articles. And Seth’s been saving for a while and his parents’re totally rich. They can help us out.’

His mother was a lawyer and father an investment banker, Sachs recalled.

‘And we have the blog. I’ll keep doing that from the road.’

Seth had created a website a few years ago where people could post their support for various social and political issues, mostly left-leaning. Women’s right to choose, support for the arts, gun control. Pam was now more involved than he was in running the site. Yes, it seemed popular, though Sachs estimated that the donations they received totaled about a thousand dollars a year.

‘But … where? What countries? Is it safe?’

‘We don’t know yet. That’s part of the adventure.’

Desperate to buy time, Sachs asked, ‘What do the Olivettis say?’

After Sachs had rescued her the girl had gone into a foster home (which Sachs had checked out as if vetting the president’s personal bodyguard). The temporary parents had been wonderful but at eighteen, last year, Pam had wanted to be on her own and – with Rhyme’s and Sachs’s help – she enrolled in college and got a part-time job. Pam had remained close to her foster mom and dad, though.

‘They’re okay with it.’

But, of course, the Olivettis were professional parents; they’d had no connection with Pam before she’d been placed with them. They hadn’t kicked in a door and saved her from the Bone Collector and a wild dog eager to shake her to death. They hadn’t leapt into a firefight with Pam’s stepfather, who was trying to suffocate her.

And, those traumas aside, it had been Sachs who’d spent a lot more time than the busy foster parents schlepping Pam to and from after-school activities, doctors’ appointments and counselling sessions. And it was the detective who’d used some of the few existing connections from her former fashion model career to get Pam the wardrobe department job on Broadway.


Sachs couldn’t help but note too that the girl had told the Olivettis first about her travel plans.

Come on, I deserve a hearing, Sachs thought.

Which was not, however, Pam’s opinion. She said brusquely, ‘Anyway, we’ve decided.’

Then Pam grew suddenly giddy, though Sachs could see the emotions were fake. That was clear. ‘It’ll be a year. Two, tops.’

Now two?

‘Pam,’ Sachs began. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

Yes, you do. So say it.

As a cop, Sachs never held back. She couldn’t as a big sister either. Or surrogate mother. Or whatever her role in the girl’s life might be.

‘Knuckle time, Pam.’

The girl knew of Sachs’s father’s expression. She gauged Sachs with narrowed eyes, which were both cautious and flinty.

‘A year on the road with somebody you don’t really know?’ Sachs said this evenly, trying to keep some tenderness in the tone.

But the woman responded as if Sachs had thrown open the parlor window and let in a flood of sleety wind. ‘We do know each other,’ Pam said defiantly. ‘That’s the whole point. Didn’t you hear me?’

‘I mean really know each other. That takes years.’

Pam shot back, ‘We’re right for each other. It’s simple.’

‘Have you met his family?’

‘I’ve talked to his mother. She’s totally sweet.’

‘Talked to?’

‘Yes,’ the girl snapped. ‘Talked to. And his father knows all about me.’

‘But you haven’t met them?’

A cool chill. ‘This’s about me and Seth. Not his parents. And this cross-examination is pissing me off.’

‘Pam.’ Sachs leaned forward. She reached for the girl’s hand. It was, of course, eased out of reach. ‘Pam, have you told him about what happened to you?’

‘I have. And he doesn’t care.’

‘Everything? Have you told him everything?’

Pam fell silent and looked down. Then she said defensively, ‘There’s no need to … No, not everything. I told him my mother was crazy and did some bad things. He knows she’s in jail and will be there forever. He’s totally fine with it.’

Then he was from The Walking Dead, Sachs reflected. ‘And where you grew up? How you grew up? Did you tell him any of that?’

‘Not really. But that’s in the past. That’s over with.’

‘I don’t think you can ignore it, Pam. He has to know. Your mother did a lot of damage—’

‘Oh, I’m crazy too? Like my mother? That’s how you look at me?’

Sachs was stung by this comment but she tried to keep a light tone. ‘Come on, you’re saner than any politician in Washington.’ She smiled. It wasn’t reciprocated.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’ Pam’s voice rose.

‘Of course not, no! I’m just concerned about you.’

‘No. You’re saying I’m too f*cked up, I’m too immature to make decisions on my own.’

Sachs was growing angry herself. The defensive didn’t suit her. ‘Then make smart ones.’ If you really love him and it’s going to work out, a year or so of dating won’t mean anything.’

‘We’re going away, Amelia. And then we’re moving in when we get back. I mean, Get over it.’

‘Don’t talk that way to me,’ Sachs snapped back. She knew she was losing it but couldn’t stop herself.

The young woman rose abruptly, knocking her cup over and spilling it onto the silver tray.

‘Shit.’

She bent forward and angrily mopped it up. Sachs leaned in to help but Pam pulled the tray away and continued cleaning by herself, then tossed down the brown, saturated napkin. She glared at Sachs with shockingly feral eyes. ‘I know exactly what’s going on. You want to break us up. You’re looking for any excuse.’ A cold grin. ‘It’s all about you, isn’t it, Amelia? You want to break us up just so you can have the daughter you were too busy being a cop to have.’

Sachs nearly gasped at the searing accusation – perhaps, she admitted silently, because there was a splinter of truth in it.

Pam stormed to the door, paused and said, ‘You’re not my mother, Amelia. Remember that. You’re the woman who put my mother in prison.’

Then she was gone.