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Authors: Jeffery Deaver
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plan the way flats or round shader needles filled in the space between the outlines of a tattoo.
Billy had worried about getting the book out of the library – he couldn’t check it out, of course. And there’d been security cameras near the photocopiers. In the end he’d decided to slice out the chapter he wanted with a razor blade. He’d cut deep and carefully before hidingthe book away so no one else could find it. He knew that the book itself probably contained a chip in the spine that would have set off the alarm at the front doors if he’d tried to walk out with the entire thing. Still, he’d flipped through all the pages he’d stolen, one by one, to search for a second chip. There’d been none and he’d walked out of the library without a blare of alarms.
Now hewas eager to study the pages in depth, to help with the rest of the plans for the Modification. But as he spread them out before him, he frowned. What was this? The first page was damaged, the corner torn off. But he was sure that he’d extracted all of them intact from the spine without any tearing. Then he glanced at his shirt breast pocket and noted it too was torn. He remembered that Chloe’dripped his coveralls when she’d fought back. That’s what had happened. She’d torn both the clothing and the page.
But the damage wasn’t too bad though and only a small portion was missing. He now read carefully. Once, twice. The third time he took notes and tucked them into the Commandments.
Helpful. Good. Real helpful.
Setting the pages aside, he answered some texts, received some. Stayingin touch with the outside world.
Now it was cleaning time.
No one appreciates germs, bacteria and viruses more than a skin artist. Billy wasn’t the least concerned about infecting his victims – that was, really, the whole point of the Modification – but he was very concerned about infecting
himself
, with whatever tainted the blood of his clients and, in particular, with the wonderful substanceshe was using in place of ink.
He walked to the sink and unzipped his backpack. Pulling on thick gloves, he took the American Eagle tattoo machine to the sink and dismantled it. He drained the tubes of liquid and washed them in two separate gallon buckets of water, rinsing them several times and drying them with a Conair. The water he poured into a hole he’d cut in the floor, letting it soak intothe earth beneath the building. He didn’t want to flush or pour the water down the drain. That little matter of evidence, once again.
This bath was just the start, however. He cleaned each piece of the machine with alcohol (which sanitizes only; it doesn’t sterilize). He placed the parts in an ultrasonic bath of disinfectants. After that he sealed them in bags and popped them into the autoclave– a sterilization oven. Normally needles are disposed of but these were very special ones and hard to come by. He autoclaved these too.
Of course, only part of this was sanitizing to protect himself from poisons and infection. There was a second reason as well: What better way to sever any link between you and your victims than to burn it away at 130 degrees Celsius?
Might even make hash ofyour ‘dust’ theory, don’t you think, Monsieur Locard?
CHAPTER 8
Lincoln Rhyme was waiting impatiently.
He asked Thom, ‘And Amelia?’
The aide hung up the landline. ‘I can’t get through.’
‘Goddamn it. What do you mean you can’t get through? Which hospital?’
‘Manhattan General.’
‘Call them again.’
‘I just did. I can’t get through to the main line. There’re some problems.’
‘That’s ridiculous. It’s a hospital. Call nine one one.’
‘You can’t callemergency to find out the status of a patient.’
‘I’ll call.’
But just then the front door buzzer sounded. Rhyme bluntly ordered Thom to ‘answer the damn bell’ and a moment later he heard footsteps in the front hall.
Two crime scene officers, the ones who’d assisted Sachs at
Billy had worried about getting the book out of the library – he couldn’t check it out, of course. And there’d been security cameras near the photocopiers. In the end he’d decided to slice out the chapter he wanted with a razor blade. He’d cut deep and carefully before hidingthe book away so no one else could find it. He knew that the book itself probably contained a chip in the spine that would have set off the alarm at the front doors if he’d tried to walk out with the entire thing. Still, he’d flipped through all the pages he’d stolen, one by one, to search for a second chip. There’d been none and he’d walked out of the library without a blare of alarms.
Now hewas eager to study the pages in depth, to help with the rest of the plans for the Modification. But as he spread them out before him, he frowned. What was this? The first page was damaged, the corner torn off. But he was sure that he’d extracted all of them intact from the spine without any tearing. Then he glanced at his shirt breast pocket and noted it too was torn. He remembered that Chloe’dripped his coveralls when she’d fought back. That’s what had happened. She’d torn both the clothing and the page.
But the damage wasn’t too bad though and only a small portion was missing. He now read carefully. Once, twice. The third time he took notes and tucked them into the Commandments.
Helpful. Good. Real helpful.
Setting the pages aside, he answered some texts, received some. Stayingin touch with the outside world.
Now it was cleaning time.
No one appreciates germs, bacteria and viruses more than a skin artist. Billy wasn’t the least concerned about infecting his victims – that was, really, the whole point of the Modification – but he was very concerned about infecting
himself
, with whatever tainted the blood of his clients and, in particular, with the wonderful substanceshe was using in place of ink.
He walked to the sink and unzipped his backpack. Pulling on thick gloves, he took the American Eagle tattoo machine to the sink and dismantled it. He drained the tubes of liquid and washed them in two separate gallon buckets of water, rinsing them several times and drying them with a Conair. The water he poured into a hole he’d cut in the floor, letting it soak intothe earth beneath the building. He didn’t want to flush or pour the water down the drain. That little matter of evidence, once again.
This bath was just the start, however. He cleaned each piece of the machine with alcohol (which sanitizes only; it doesn’t sterilize). He placed the parts in an ultrasonic bath of disinfectants. After that he sealed them in bags and popped them into the autoclave– a sterilization oven. Normally needles are disposed of but these were very special ones and hard to come by. He autoclaved these too.
Of course, only part of this was sanitizing to protect himself from poisons and infection. There was a second reason as well: What better way to sever any link between you and your victims than to burn it away at 130 degrees Celsius?
Might even make hash ofyour ‘dust’ theory, don’t you think, Monsieur Locard?
CHAPTER 8
Lincoln Rhyme was waiting impatiently.
He asked Thom, ‘And Amelia?’
The aide hung up the landline. ‘I can’t get through.’
‘Goddamn it. What do you mean you can’t get through? Which hospital?’
‘Manhattan General.’
‘Call them again.’
‘I just did. I can’t get through to the main line. There’re some problems.’
‘That’s ridiculous. It’s a hospital. Call nine one one.’
‘You can’t callemergency to find out the status of a patient.’
‘I’ll call.’
But just then the front door buzzer sounded. Rhyme bluntly ordered Thom to ‘answer the damn bell’ and a moment later he heard footsteps in the front hall.
Two crime scene officers, the ones who’d assisted Sachs at
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