The Skin Collector(Lincoln Rhyme)

Chapter 52





Lincoln Rhyme was back in his parlor.

He’d awakened several times, wrestling with the puzzle of the tattoos. No insights had blossomed. Then he’d fallen back to a sleep filled with dreams as pointless as most were. He was fully awake at six a.m. and summoned Thom for an expedited morning routine.

Pulaski, Cooper and Sachs were back too and they huddled in the parlor, wrestling with the same mysteries that had refused to unravel when the hour hit midnight.

Rhyme heard the buzz of a mobile and looked across the room to see Pulaski pulling his phone from his pocket. It was the prepaid, not his own iPhone, that was humming.

Which meant the undercover operation.

The young man looked down at the screen. And that deer-in-the-headlights look formed. The officer had changed from his funereal outfit but had dressed undercover nonetheless: jeans, a T-shirt and a V-neck sweater, dark blue. Running shoes. Not exactly a Mafia thug attire but better than a Polo shirt and Dockers.

The criminalist said, ‘It’s the lawyer? From the funeral home?’

Pulaski said, ‘Right. Should I let him leave a message?’

‘He won’t. Answer it. Everybody else, quiet!’

For a moment Rhyme thought Pulaski was going to freeze. But the young man’s eyes grew focused and he lifted the phone. For some reason he turned away from the others so he could carry on a more or less private conversation.

Rhyme wanted to hear but he’d delegated the job of finding the deceased Watchmaker’s associates – whether innocent or lethal – to Pulaski and it was no longer Rhyme’s job to micromanage. It wasn’t even his position to tell the officer what to do or how to do it. Rhyme was merely a civilian consultant; Pulaski was the official law enforcer.

After a few minutes Pulaski disconnected and turned back. ‘Weller wants to see me. One of his clients, too.’

Rhyme lifted his eyebrow. That was even better.

‘He’s staying at the Huntington Arms. West Fifty-Sixth.’

Rhyme shook his head. He didn’t know the hotel. But Mel Cooper looked up the place. ‘One of those boutiques on the West Side.’

It was just north of Hell’s Kitchen, that neighborhood of the city – named after a dangerous ’hood in Victorian London – that had at one point been a thug-infested den of crime. Now it was gentrification personified, though occasional blocks of decrepit color remained. The hotel the man described, Cooper explained, was in a block in which were tucked overpriced restaurants and hotels.

Pulaski said, ‘We’re going to meet in a half hour. How should I handle it?’

‘Mel, what’s the layout of the neighborhood and the hotel?’

The tech went to Google Earth on one computer and the New York Department of Buildings on another. In less than sixty seconds he slapped onto the main monitor an overhead view of the street and a blueprint of the hotel itself.

There was an outdoor patio, on 56th, which would have been a great place for surveillance if the weather had been less Arctic, but the meeting would take place inside today.

‘Sachs, can we get a surveillance team in the lobby?’

‘I’ll call. See what I can do.’ After a few minutes on the phone, she said, ‘No time to go through channels. But I pulled some strings at Major Cases. There’ll be two undercovers inside in twenty minutes.’

‘We’ll need a bigger operation in place, Pulaski. You’ve got to buy time. A couple of days. What did he sound like? Did he make it seem urgent?’

Running a hand through his blond hair, the officer said, ‘Not really. He’s got an idea he wants to pitch, I got the impression. He told me not to park in front of the hotel if I was driving. He was pretty, you know, mysterious. Wasn’t going to say anything on the phone.’

Rhyme looked him over. ‘You have an ankle holster?’

‘Ankle – oh, for a backup piece? I don’t even own one.’

‘Not for backup. Your only piece. You may be frisked. And most friskers stop at the thigh. Sachs?’

Sachs said, ‘I’ll hook him up. A Smith and Wesson Bodyguard. A three eighty. It’s got a laser built in but don’t bother with that. Use the iron sights.’ She dug into a drawer and handed him a small, black automatic. ‘I put nail polish on the sights. Easier to seat a target in bad light. You okay with fiery pink?’

‘I can cope.’

She handed him a small cloth holster with a buckling leather strap. Rhyme recalled she never liked Velcro to secure her weapons. Amelia Sachs left very little to chance.

Pulaski lifted his foot onto a nearby chair and strapped on the holster. It was invisible. Then the officer examined the small, boxy gun. He chambered a round, took another bullet from Sachs and loaded it into the magazine. Six in the hallway, one in the bedroom. He snapped the mag back in.

‘What’s the pull?’

‘It’s heavy. Nine pounds.’

‘Nine. Well.’

‘And double-action only. Your finger’s almost all the way back before it fires. But it’s small as a minnow. Leave the safety off. I don’t even know why they added one. With a pull like that.’

‘Got it.’

Pulaski looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got twenty-five minutes. No time for a wire.’

‘No, there isn’t,’ Rhyme agreed. ‘But the surveillance team’ll have microphones up. You want body armor?’

Shaking his head. ‘They’ll spot that faster than a piece. No, I’ll go in clean.’

‘You sure?’ Sachs asked. ‘Entirely up to you.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘You need to draw them out, rookie. Tell them you want to meet again. Act coy and cautious but insist. Even if it’s in a different state. We’ll get Fred Dellray involved. Federal backup. They do spying right. And don’t go anywhere with them now. We won’t be able to keep tabs on you.’

Pulaski nodded. He walked into the hallway and looked at himself in the mirror. He mussed his hair a bit. ‘Am I inscrutable enough?’

Rhyme said, ‘You are the epitome of unscrupulousness.’

‘Dangerous too,’ Mel Cooper said.

The officer smiled and pulled on his overcoat then disappeared into the front hallway of the town house.


The criminalist called, ‘Keep us posted.’

As he heard the door open to the howling wind, Rhyme asked himself, And what kind of pointless request was that?