The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme #13)

Sachs said, “Still, even if nobody questioned your cover story, picking Stefan was risky—he was committed for kidnapping, assault and attempted murder.”


“Those are the bald facts,” McKenzie said. “But it’s more complicated than that. A few years ago, while Stefan was an outpatient at a facility in Philadelphia, he saw a male nurse abusing patients, some very disabled. The nurse was reported but the executives at the hospital did nothing about it, and he went on abusing women, but was just more careful.

“Stefan found out where the man lived and broke in. He taped the man to a chair—that was the kidnapping charge—and put homemade earphones on the man. He hooked them to a sound generator and turned up the volume so high that it ruptured the man’s eardrums. He’s permanently deaf.”

“The attempted murder?”

“Apparently if you play sound loud enough for a long-enough period of time, it can be fatal. Stefan’s lawyers claimed that wasn’t his intention. I’m sure it wasn’t. To Stefan, being deaf is worse than dying. His psych evaluation led the judge to rule he wasn’t fit for trial, and he was committed indefinitely.”

“How did you find him?” Spiro asked.

“We wanted a functioning mental patient, with a history of schizophrenic behavior. We searched, okay, hacked medical records. Stefan seemed like a good possibility. The deal you were talking about, Lincoln? I told him if he helped us, I guaranteed he’d be moved to a nicer facility. He’d have access to music, the Internet. He’d get an electronic keyboard. He was starved for his music, for his collection of sounds. He’d be in Harmony if I’d do that, he said.”

Rhyme recalled that Stefan’s doctor, the director of the mental facility, had said much the same.

McKenzie said, “No, Stefan is unsettling but he’s not dangerous. He’s actually quite timid. Shy. He met a girl the other day. He was having an episode, so he went to downtown Naples. The noise, the chaos in the streets helps him. Calms him down. It’s silence that’s bad for him. Anyway, he met this girl. Her name was Lilly. He went with her to the Fontanelle Cemetery—an underground cavern here.”

Rossi and Spiro nodded, obviously familiar with it.

She said, “An unstable person might have hurt her, assaulted her. But you know what he did? He secretly recorded her footsteps. Apparently he loved the sound her boots made in the cavern. After, he drove her home. That’s the kind of ‘danger’ Stefan Merck represents. And, yes, the rifle shots? Only to scare you off.”

Sachs said, “But Garry Soames? He could have been convicted.”

“No. That wouldn’t’ve happened. We have absolute proof that Natalia Garelli assaulted Frieda. As soon as the operation was completed here—”

Sachs shook her head with dawning awareness. “You have the goddamn CCTV video from the hotel across the street.”

McKenzie was nodding. “We hacked the security system and downloaded it, then overwrote their drive. It clearly showed Natalia committed the crime. I’ll send it to the police tomorrow.”

The comment about the security tape reminded Rhyme of something. “And the videos Stefan made? You had him do that?”

“No, no. His own idea, actually. We thought he might leave a noose and maybe a note to the press. But he thought the video would make the world think he was truly psychotic.”

“Why the waltz?” Spiro asked.

“He loves them, for some reason. He’s never told me why. Something about his parents, I think. This might be too tidy, but they weren’t married when he was born. He was ten when they got married. I saw a picture of them dancing together. Stefan was there, watching them. She had problems too, drinking and prescription drugs—and serial affairs. She eventually killed herself. His father just vanished. disappeared. Maybe he associates waltzes with a happier time. Or a sad time. I don’t know. He told me he found his mother’s body in the family cellar.”

“She hanged herself?”

“That’s right.” McKenzie shook her head. “What a terrible thing for a child to see.”

Explains a few things, Rhyme reflected. In this line of work you reject the obvious, and dig for unnecessary subtlety, at your peril.

“He wouldn’t say anything more. No reason for him to. We’re close in some ways. Close enough so that he does whatever I ask him to. Well, whatever Euterpe tells him.”

Sachs said, “You’re Euterpe. His muse.”

“That’s what he calls me. When I said I could get him access to music and computers, he hugged me and said I was his muse. I’m his inspiration to get to Heaven—well, he calls it Harmony. Stefan has a very complex worldview. It’s based on the medieval concept of the music of the spheres. And I’m helping him on his way to enlightenment—Harmony.” McKenzie’s face broke into a smile. “And you, Detective, are Artemis. The goddess of the hunt. We’re half sisters, by the way.”

Ah, that was Stefan’s meaning not long ago.

Rhyme said, “Okay. The big question: How successful was AIS here?”

“Very. We found out through our techniques that Ali Maziq’s terrorist assignment was to travel to Vienna, collect explosives from a garage outside of town and detonate them in a shopping mall.”

Rhyme recalled that Henry Musgrave, the consulate general, had told them about a foiled attack.

“The calls to Bolzano,” Spiro said. “The Trenitalia trip, six hours to get him there.”

“Yes. He’d meet a German-speaking contact who would drive him into Austria. We didn’t have a chance to interrogate Malek Dadi before he was killed. His target was in Milan. But you helped us there—finding the Post-it note with the address of the warehouse in Milan.”

Sachs shook her head. “Ah. Your quote ‘legal liaison,’ Prescott? He’s with AIS too. Of course. Before Mike Hill’s private plane landed at Linate, I gave Prescott the address of the warehouse. But he didn’t drive me right there. He took me all over Milan, complaining about the traffic—but that was to give your team time to raid the place. I found a broken beer bottle on the driveway apron. Your people must’ve finished removing the explosives just before we got there.”

McKenzie said, “That’s right. We recovered another half kilo of C4. We don’t know what the target was, somewhere in Milan. But that’s one attack that’s not going to happen.”

Rossi asked, “And Khaled Jabril? The third terrorist you interrogated?”

Her face tightened. “That was bad intel. Our asset in Libya gave us his name but he turned out to be innocent. We interrogated him thoroughly but he didn’t know about any plots. Our techniques are very, very good. If there’d been anything, we would have found it.” McKenzie looked from one to the other. “So, I’ve told you everything. Hypothetically, of course. Now I need your help. There’s a problem.”

Rossi said, “I must say, Signorina, I have met many criminals in my day but no one who is as immune to contrizione…contrition, as you.”