The Skin Collector(Lincoln Rhyme)

Chapter 61





‘How are you feeling, Uncle Matthew?’

‘All right,’ the man muttered. ‘In the hospital you could count on one hand the number of people who spoke English. Lord have mercy.’

That, Billy was sure, wasn’t accurate. And was typical of exactly the attitude that the AFFC had to guard against. The issue wasn’t that the hospital workers didn’t speak English; of course they did. It was that they spoke it with thick accents, and not very well. And that, like the color of their skin, was proof that they came from cultures and nations that didn’t represent proper values. And that they hadn’t bothered to assimilate.

‘Well, you’re back and looking good.’ He sized up the older man – 190 pounds, slightly damaged cardiac system, but healthy otherwise. Yep, it seemed he’d live forever … or until Billy put a bullet in his uncle’s head and then propped the gun in the hand of some hapless day laborer, whom Billy and a half-dozen others had already clubbed to death in ‘self-defense’.

‘He’s doing just fine,’ Harriet said, her voice light as mist as she stowed freshly washed and folded laundry. ‘Back to normal.’

‘Hey, bro.’ Joshua Stanton joined them from the bedroom in the small suite. When Joshua heard voices from nearby he tended to appear quickly, as if he couldn’t stand the thought that a conversation was occurring without his presence. He may also have worried that people were saying things about him, though really there was very little to say about Joshua, except that the twenty-two-year-old was a competent plumber’s assistant whose main talent was killing birds and deer and abortion doctors.

Still the solidly built man, strawberry blond, was dependable to the point of irritation, doggedly doing what he’d been told and reporting regularly in great depth about his progress. Billy wasn’t quite sure how he’d found a wife and managed to father four children.

Well, dogs and salamanders were capable of the same. Though then he had trouble dislodging the image of Josh as a lizard.

Joshua hugged his cousin, which Billy would have preferred he not do. Not germs; that transfer of evidence matter.

I try, M. Locard.

No, Joshua wasn’t the brightest bulb. But he’d been key in the Modification. After Billy had killed the victims, and the bodies had been discovered, Joshua, dressed in medical coveralls and face mask, had quickly appeared, carting into the tunnels the lights and batteries containing the bombs, set them up and vanished. Nobody thought twice about him. An emergency worker.

The young man now prattled on about his success in the masquerade, smuggling the devices into the crime scenes. He kept looking Billy’s way for approval, which his younger cousin gave in the form of a nod.

Harriet glanced at her son with a dip of eyelid, which Billy knew meant Quiet. But Joshua missed it. And kept talking.

‘It was pretty close at the Belvedere. I mean really. There were cops everywhere! I had to go through a different manhole than was in the plan. It added another six minutes but I don’t think it was a problem.’

The look from Aunt Harriet again.

Matthew didn’t need the patience that women in the AFFC were required to display. He snapped, ‘Shut up, son.’

‘Yessir.’

Billy was troubled by his uncle’s and aunt’s treatment of his cousin. Matthew was just plain mean and it was pathetic how Josh simply took it. As for Harriet, she largely ignored him. Billy sometimes wondered if she ever took her own son to the Oleander Room. He’d concluded no. Not because that would be too perverse. Rather because Josh probably didn’t have the stamina to meet his mother’s needs; even Billy could manage only three times an afternoon and Harriet occasionally seemed disappointed by that low sum.

Billy liked Joshua. He had fond memories of the years spent with him, his de facto brother. They’d tossed footballs and played catch because they thought they ought to. They’d flirted with girls for the same reason. They’d tinkered with cars. Finally in a moment of adolescent candor they admitted they didn’t really like sports or cars and were lukewarm about dating. And took up more enjoyable activities – stalking faggots and beating the crap out of them. Illegals, too. Or legals (they still weren’t white). Graffiti’ing crosses on synagogues and swastikas on black churches. They’d burned an abortion clinic to the ground.


Billy’s watch hummed. ‘It’s time.’ A few seconds later, another vibration.

Uncle Matthew looked at the backpack and gear bag. He announced, ‘We’ll pray.’

The family got down on their knees, even unsteady Matthew, and Harriet and Joshua took positions on either side of Billy. They all held hands. Harriet was gripping Billy’s. She squeezed his once. Hard.

Matthew’s voice – a bit weak but still powerful enough to split open sinners’ hearts – intoned, ‘Lord, we thank You for giving us the wisdom and the courage to do what we are about to do, in Your name. We thank You for the vision You put into our souls and for the plans You’ve delivered into our hands. Amen.’

‘Amen’ echoed through the room.