The Coffin Dancer

The pendulum swing of Eliopolos’s eyes told Rhyme that this was exactly what happened.

“Don’t you get it?”

But Eliopolos didn’t get a thing.

Rhyme said, “Don’t you think he’d like to get me in detention, maybe fifty, sixty feet from where he is?”

“Rhyme,” Sachs said, frowning with concern.

“What’re you talking about?” the attorney said.

“He wants to kill me, Reggie. That’s his point. I’m the only man who’s ever stopped him. He can’t very well go back to work knowing I’m out there.”

“But he’s not going anywhere. Ever.”

Uh-huh.

Rhyme said, “After I’m dead he’ll recant. He’ll never testify against Hansen. And what’re you going to pressure him with? Threaten him with the needle? He won’t care. He’s not afraid of anything. Not a single thing.”

What was nagging? Rhyme wondered. Something seemed wrong here. Very wrong.

He decided it was the phone books…

Phone books and rocks.

Rhyme was lost in thought, staring at the evidence chart on the wall. He heard a jingle, glanced up. One of the agents with Eliopolos actually pulled out his handcuffs and was proceeding toward the Clinitron. Rhyme laughed to himself. Better shackle the old feet. Might run away.

“Come on, Reggie,” Sellitto said.

The green fiber, phone books, and rocks.

He remembered something the Dancer had told him. Sitting in the very chair Eliopolos stood beside now.

A million dollars…

Rhyme was vaguely aware of the agent trying to figure out how to best subdue a crip. And he was vaguely aware of Sachs stepping forward trying to figure out how to subdue the agent. Suddenly he barked, “Wait,” in a voice commanding enough to freeze everyone in the room.

The green fiber…

He stared at it on the chart.

People were talking to him. The agent was still eyeing Rhyme’s hands, brandishing the tinkling cuffs. But Rhyme ignored them all. He said to Eliopolos, “Give me a half hour.”

“Why should I?”

“Come on, what’s it going to hurt? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” And before the attorney could agree or disagree, Rhyme was shouting, “Thom! Thom, I need to make a phone call. Are you going to help me, or not? I don’t know where he gets to sometimes. Lon, will you call for me?”

Percey Clay had just returned from burying her husband when Lon Sellitto tracked her down. Wearing black she sat in the crinkly wicker chair beside Lincoln Rhyme’s bed. Standing nearby was Roland Bell, in a tan suit, badly cut – thanks to the size of the two guns he wore. He pushed his thi

Eliopolos was gone, though his two goons were outside, guarding the hallway. Apparently they actually did believe that, given a chance, Thom would wheel Rhyme out the door and he’d make a getaway in the Storm Arrow, top speed 7.5 miles per hour.

Percey’s outfit chafed at collar and waist, and Rhyme bet that it was the only dress she owned. She began to lift ankle to knee as she sat back, realized a skirt was wrong for this pose, and sat up formally, knees together.

She eyed him with impatient curiosity and Rhyme realized that no one else – Sellitto and Sachs had fetched her – had delivered the news.

Cowards, he thought grumpily.

“Percey… They won’t be presenting the case against Hansen to the grand jury.”

For an instant there was a flash of relief. Then she understood the implication. “No!” she gasped.

“That flight Hansen made? To dump those duffel bags? The bags were fake. There was nothing in them.”

Her face grew pallid. “They’re letting him go?”

“They can’t find any co

Her hands rose to her face. “It was all a waste then? Ed… and Brit? They died for nothing.”

He asked her, “What’s happening to your company now?”

Percey wasn’t expecting the question. She wasn’t sure she heard him. “I’m sorry?”

“Your company? What’s going to happen to Hudson Air now?”

“We’ll sell it, probably. We’ve had an offer from another company. They can carry the debt. We can’t. Or maybe we’ll just liquidate.” It was the first time he’d heard resignation in her voice. A Gypsy in defeat.

“What other company?”

“I frankly don’t remember. Ron’s been talking to them.”

“That’s Ron Talbot, right?”

“Yes.”

“Would he know about the financial condition of the Company?”

“Sure. As much as the lawyers and accountants. More than me.”

“Could you call him, ask him to come down here as soon as possible?”

“I suppose I could. He was at the cemetery. He’s probably home by now. I’ll call him.”

“And, Sachs?” he said, turning to her, “We’ve got another crime scene. I need you to search it. As fast as possible.”

Rhyme looked over the big man coming through the doorway, wearing a dark blue suit. It was shiny and had the color and cut of a uniform about it. Rhyme supposed it was what he’d worn when he flew.

Percey introduced them.

“So you got that son of a bitch,” Talbot grumbled. “Think he’ll get the chair?”

“I collect the trash,” Rhyme said, pleased as always when he could think up a melodramatic line. “What the DA does with it is up to him. Did Percey tell you we’ve had trouble with the evidence implicating Hansen?”

“Yeah, she said something about that. The evidence he dumped was fake? Why’d he do that?”

“I think I can answer that, but I need some more information. Percey tells me you know the Company pretty well. You’re a partner, right?”

Talbot nodded, took out a pack of cigarettes, saw no one else was smoking, replaced them in his pocket. He was even more rumpled than Sellitto and it looked as if it had been a long time since he’d been able to button his jacket around his ample belly.

“Let me try this out on you,” Rhyme said. “What if Hansen didn’t want to kill Ed and Percey because they were witnesses?”

“But then why?” Percey blurted.

Talbot asked, “You mean, he had another motive? Like what?”

Rhyme didn’t respond directly. “Percey tells me the Company hasn’t been doing well for a while.”

Talbot shrugged. “Been a tough couple years. Deregulation, lots of small carriers. Fighting UPS and FedEx. Postal Service too. Margins’ve shrunk.”

“But you still have good – what is that, Fred? You did some white-collar crime work, right? Money that comes in. What’s the word for it?”

Dellray snorted a laugh. “Revy-nue, Lincoln.”

“You had good revenue.”

Talbot nodded. “Oh, cash flow’s never been a problem. It’s just that more goes out than comes in.”

“What do you think about the theory that the Dancer was hired to murder Percey and Ed so that the killer could buy the Company at a discount?”

“What company? Ours?” Percey asked, frowning.

“Why would Hansen do that?” Talbot said, wheezing again.

Percey added, “And why not just come to us with a big check? He never even approached us.”

“I didn’t actually say Hansen,” Rhyme pointed out. “The question I asked before was what if Hansen didn’t want to kill Ed and Percey? What if it was somebody else?”

“Who?” Percey asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s just… well, that green fiber.”

“Green fiber?” Talbot followed Rhyme’s eyes to the evidence chart.

“Everyone seems to’ve forgotten about it. Except me.”

“Man never forgets a single thing. Do you, Lincoln?”

“Not too often, Fred. Not too often. That fiber. Sachs – my partner -”

“I remember you,” Talbot said, nodding toward her.

“She found it in the hangar that Hansen leased. It was in some trace materials near the window where Stephen Kall waited before he planted the bomb on Ed Carney’s plane. She also found bits of brass and some white fibers and envelope glue. Which tells us that somebody left a key to the hangar in an envelope somewhere for Kall. But then I got to thinking – why did Kall need a key to break into an empty hangar? He was a pro. He could’ve broken into the place in his sleep. The only reason for the key was to make it look like Hansen had left it. To implicate him.”