The Skin Collector(Lincoln Rhyme)

Chapter 16





Near midnight, Billy Haven cleared away his supper dishes, washing everything that wasn’t disposable in bleach to remove DNA.

Which was as dangerous – to him – as some of the poisons he’d extracted and refined.

He sat back down at the rickety table in the kitchen area of his workshop, off Canal Street, and opened the dog-eared, battered notebook, the Commandments.

Delivered, in a way, by the hand of God.

Those stone tablets to Moses.

The notebook, with its dozen or so pages of tightly packed sentences – in Billy’s beautiful, flowing cursive writing – described in detail how the Modification should unfold, who should die, when to do what, the risks to avoid, the risks to take, what advantages to seize, how to cope with unexpected reversals. An exact timetable. If Genesis were a how-to guide like the Modification Commandments, the first book of the Bible would read:

Day Three, 11:20 a.m.: Create deciduous trees. Okay, now You have seven minutes to create evergreens …

Day Six, 6:42 a.m.: Time for salmon and trout. Get a move on!

Day Six, noon: Let’s do the Adam and Eve thing.

Which naturally brought to mind Lovely Girl. He pictured her for a moment, face, hair, pure-white skin, then eased away the distracting image the way you’d set aside a precious snapshot of a departed loved one – carefully, out of a superstitious fear of harming your love if you dropped the frame.

Flipping through the pages, he studied what was coming next. Pausing once again to reflect that the Modification was certainly complicated. At various points in the process he’d wondered if it was too much so. But he thought back to the pages of the chapter he’d stolen from the library earlier that day, Serial Cities, recalling all the surprising – no, shocking – information it had revealed.

Experts in law enforcement universally voice the opinion of Lincoln Rhyme that his greatest skill was his ability to anticipate what the criminals he’s pursuing will do next.

He believed that was the quotation; he wasn’t sure, since Chloe Moore, no longer of this earth, had inconsiderately ripped a portion of that passage from the book.

Anticipate …

So, yes, the plan for the Modification had to be this precise. The people he was up against were too good for him to be careless, to miss a cue in any way.

He reviewed plans for the next attack, tomorrow. He memorized locations, he memorized timing. Everything seemed in order. In his mind he rehearsed the attack; he’d already been to the site. He now pictured it, he smelled it.

Good. He was ready.

Then he glanced at his right wrist, the watch. He was tired.

And what, he wondered, was going on with the investigation into the demise of Ms Chloe?

He turned on the radio, hoping for news.

The earlier reports had been that a young resident of Queens, a woman clerk in a stylish boutique in SoHo, had been found dead in an access tunnel off the cellar. Well, Billy had thought, perplexed, it was hardly very stylish. Chinese crap, overpriced and meant for frothy-hair sluts from Jersey and mothers seared by the approach of middle age.

Initially Chloe’s name had not been released, pending notification of next of kin.


Hearing that, Billy had reflected: How sadistic can one cop be? To release the news that a young woman from Queens has been killed and not divulge the name? How many parents of kids living in that area had started making desperate phone calls?

Now, waiting for an update, all he got were commercials. Didn’t anyone care about poor Chloe Moore?

Chloe Moore, Chloe the whore …

He paced back and forth in front of his terrariums. White leaves, green leaves, red leaves, blue …

Then, as often happened when he looked over the plants who were his companions, he thought of Oleander.

And the Oleander Room.

Billy resented that that thought intruded but there was nothing to do about it. He could—

Ah, now the news. Finally.

A city council scandal, a minor train derailment, an economic report. Then, at last, a follow-up on Chloe Moore’s demise. Additional details were coughed up now, a bit of history. The facts suggested the attack was not sexual in nature. (Of course not; Billy was offended that the subject had even come up. The media. Despicable.) A rough description. So someone had spotted him near the manhole.

He listened as the story wound down.

Still nothing about tattooing. Nothing about poison.

That was typical, Billy knew. He’d read about police procedures in verifying confessions. The cops ask people taking credit for a crime certain unique details and, if they can’t answer, the supposed perpetrators are dismissed as crackpots (a surprising number of people confessed to crimes they hadn’t committed).

Nor had the story mentioned anything about the phrase ‘the second’.

But that would be a thorn in their sides, of course.

What on earth could the message be that their mysterious perp was sending?

The Modification Commandments required, however, that it would be impossible for the police to decipher his message from the first several victims.

He shut the radio off.

Billy yawned. Sleep soon. He checked email, sent some texts, received some, then two hums of the watches told him it was time to get some rest.

When he was through in the bathroom, where he cleaned the basin and toothbrush with bleach – banishing the DNA once more – he returned to his bed, flopping down in it. He tugged his Bible from under the pillow and propped it on his chest.

Billy had had a crisis of faith a few years ago. A serious one. He believed in Jesus and the power of Christ. But he also believed he was meant to put his talents to use as a tattoo artist.

The problem was this: The book of Leviticus warned, You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor tattoo any marks upon you: I am the LORD.

He’d been depressed for weeks upon learning this. He wrestled with how to reconcile the conflict.

One argument was that the Bible was full of such dissonance: In the same chapter, for instance, it was written: ‘Nor shall a garment of mixed linen and wool come upon you.’ Yet God surely had other priorities than sending to hell people wearing blended cloth suits.

Billy had wondered if He intended future generations to reinterpret the Bible, to bring it into line with contemporary society. But that seemed suspect; it was like those Supreme Court justices who said that the Constitution was a living thing and should change to suit the times.

Dangerous, thinking like that.

Finally the answer to this apparent contradiction appeared. Billy had reasoned: The Bible also says, Thou shalt not kill. But the Good Book was filled with instances of outright murder – including a fair amount of carnage by the Almighty Himself. So, it was okay to kill in certain instances. Such as to further the glory of God, eliminate infidels and threats, further the values of truth and justice. Dozens of reasons.

So in Leviticus, it was clear, God had to mean that tattooing too was acceptable under certain circumstances, just like taking lives.

And what better circumstances could there be than the mission Billy was on at the moment?

The Modification.

He opened his Bible. He settled on a verse in Exodus, a well-read page.

And if men strive together, and hurt a woman with child, so that her fruit depart, and yet no harm follow; he shall be surely fined, according as the woman’s husband shall lay upon him; and he shall pay as the judges determine. But if any harm follow, then thou shalt give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.