Read Online The Burning Wire by Jeffery Deaver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeffery Deaver
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Rhyme. That’s how he got in.”
“Must be a sewer or utility tunnel on the other side. But leave it. Pulaski can trace it from the street. Just get out.”
“No, Rhyme, look at it—it’s really tight. He’d have to squeeze through. It’s got some good trace on it, has to. Fibers, hair, maybe DNA. Why else would he want to destroy it?”
Rhyme was hesitating. He knew she was right about preserving the evidence but didn’t want her caught in another arc flash explosion.
She waded closer to the access door. But as sheapproached, a tiny wake rose from the disturbance of her legs and the waves nearly crested the battery.
She froze.
“Sachs!”
“Shhh.” She had to concentrate. By moving a few inches at a time she was able to keep the waves below the top of the power source. But she could see she had no more than one or two minutes until the water hit the leads.
With a straight-bladed screwdriver she began to remove the frame holding the access door.
The water was now nearly to the top of the battery. Every time she leaned forward to get leverage to unscrew the paint-stuck hardware, another small tide rose and the murky water sloshed up onto the top of the battery before receding.
The battery’s voltage was certainly smaller than the hundred-thousand-volt line that had produced the arc flash outside, but the UNSUB probably didn’t need to cause that much damage. His point was to create a big enough explosion to destroy the access door and whatever evidence it contained.
She wanted the damn door.
“Sachs?” Rhyme whispered.
Ignoring him. And ignoring the image of the cauterized holes in the smooth flesh of the victim, the molten teardrops . . .
Finally the last screw came out. Old paint held the door frame in place. She jammed the tip of the screwdriver into the edge and slammed her hand onto the butt of the tool. With a crack, the metal came away in her hands. The door and frame were heavier than she’d thought and she nearly dropped it. But then she steadied herself, without sending a tsunami over the battery.
In the opening she saw the narrow utility tunnel that the suspect would have used to sneak into the substation.
Rhyme whispered urgently, “Into the tunnel. It’ll protect you. Hurry!”
“I’m trying.”
Except the access door wouldn’t fit through the opening, even diagonally, because the frame was attached. “Can’t do it,” she said, explaining the problem. “I’ll go back up the stairs.”
“No, Sachs. Just leave the door. Get out through the tunnel.”
“It’s too good a piece of evidence.”
Clutching the access door, she began her escape, wading toward the stairs, glancing back from time to time to keep an eye on the battery. She moved agonizingly slowly. Even so, every step sent another wave cresting to the edge of the battery terminals.
“What’s going on, Sachs?”
“I’m nearly there,” she whispered, as if too loud a voice would create more turbulence in the water.
She was halfway to the steps when the water rose in tiny eddies and swirled around first one terminal, then the next.
No arc flash.
Nothing.
Her shoulders sagged, heart thumping.
“It’s a dud, Rhyme. We didn’t have to worr—”
A burst of white light filled her vision, accompanied by a huge cracking roar, and Amelia Sachs was flung backward, under the surface of the grim ocean.
Chapter 9
“THOM!”
The aide hurried into the room, looking Rhyme over carefully. “What’s wrong? How’re you feeling?”
“It’s not me ,” his boss snapped, eyes wide, nodding his head at the blank screen. “Amelia. She was at a scene. A battery . . . another arc flash. The audio and video are out. Call Pulaski! Call somebody!”
Thom Reston’s eyes narrowed with concern but he had practiced the art of caregiving for a long time; no matter what the crisis, he would coolly go about his necessary tasks. He calmly picked up a landline phone, regarded the number pad nearby and hit a
“Must be a sewer or utility tunnel on the other side. But leave it. Pulaski can trace it from the street. Just get out.”
“No, Rhyme, look at it—it’s really tight. He’d have to squeeze through. It’s got some good trace on it, has to. Fibers, hair, maybe DNA. Why else would he want to destroy it?”
Rhyme was hesitating. He knew she was right about preserving the evidence but didn’t want her caught in another arc flash explosion.
She waded closer to the access door. But as sheapproached, a tiny wake rose from the disturbance of her legs and the waves nearly crested the battery.
She froze.
“Sachs!”
“Shhh.” She had to concentrate. By moving a few inches at a time she was able to keep the waves below the top of the power source. But she could see she had no more than one or two minutes until the water hit the leads.
With a straight-bladed screwdriver she began to remove the frame holding the access door.
The water was now nearly to the top of the battery. Every time she leaned forward to get leverage to unscrew the paint-stuck hardware, another small tide rose and the murky water sloshed up onto the top of the battery before receding.
The battery’s voltage was certainly smaller than the hundred-thousand-volt line that had produced the arc flash outside, but the UNSUB probably didn’t need to cause that much damage. His point was to create a big enough explosion to destroy the access door and whatever evidence it contained.
She wanted the damn door.
“Sachs?” Rhyme whispered.
Ignoring him. And ignoring the image of the cauterized holes in the smooth flesh of the victim, the molten teardrops . . .
Finally the last screw came out. Old paint held the door frame in place. She jammed the tip of the screwdriver into the edge and slammed her hand onto the butt of the tool. With a crack, the metal came away in her hands. The door and frame were heavier than she’d thought and she nearly dropped it. But then she steadied herself, without sending a tsunami over the battery.
In the opening she saw the narrow utility tunnel that the suspect would have used to sneak into the substation.
Rhyme whispered urgently, “Into the tunnel. It’ll protect you. Hurry!”
“I’m trying.”
Except the access door wouldn’t fit through the opening, even diagonally, because the frame was attached. “Can’t do it,” she said, explaining the problem. “I’ll go back up the stairs.”
“No, Sachs. Just leave the door. Get out through the tunnel.”
“It’s too good a piece of evidence.”
Clutching the access door, she began her escape, wading toward the stairs, glancing back from time to time to keep an eye on the battery. She moved agonizingly slowly. Even so, every step sent another wave cresting to the edge of the battery terminals.
“What’s going on, Sachs?”
“I’m nearly there,” she whispered, as if too loud a voice would create more turbulence in the water.
She was halfway to the steps when the water rose in tiny eddies and swirled around first one terminal, then the next.
No arc flash.
Nothing.
Her shoulders sagged, heart thumping.
“It’s a dud, Rhyme. We didn’t have to worr—”
A burst of white light filled her vision, accompanied by a huge cracking roar, and Amelia Sachs was flung backward, under the surface of the grim ocean.
Chapter 9
“THOM!”
The aide hurried into the room, looking Rhyme over carefully. “What’s wrong? How’re you feeling?”
“It’s not me ,” his boss snapped, eyes wide, nodding his head at the blank screen. “Amelia. She was at a scene. A battery . . . another arc flash. The audio and video are out. Call Pulaski! Call somebody!”
Thom Reston’s eyes narrowed with concern but he had practiced the art of caregiving for a long time; no matter what the crisis, he would coolly go about his necessary tasks. He calmly picked up a landline phone, regarded the number pad nearby and hit a
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