Governmental/Legal
Dossier 3A. Vital records
Dossier 3B. Voter registration
Dossier 3C. Legal history
Dossier 3D. Criminal history
Dossier 3E. Compliance
Dossier 3F. Immigration and naturalization
The information contained herein is the property of Strategic Systems Datacorp, Inc. (SSD). The use hereof is subject to the Licensing Agreement between SSD and Customer, as defined in the Master Client Agreement. (c) Strategic Systems Datacorp, Inc. All rights reserved.
Instructing the turning frame to flip through the pages, he skimmed the dense document, all thirty pages of it. Some categories were full, some sparse. The voter registration was redacted, and the compliance and portions of the credit history referred to separate files, presumably because of legislation limiting access to such information.
He paused at the extensive lists of the consumer products bought by Arthur and his family (they were described by the creepy phrase "tethered individuals"). There was no doubt that anybody reading the dossier could have learned enough about his buying habits and where he shopped to implicate him in the murder of Alice Sanderson.
Rhyme learned about the country club Arthur belonged to, until he had quit several years ago, presumably because he'd lost his job. He noted the package vacations he'd bought; Rhyme was surprised he'd taken up skiing. Also, he or one of the children might have a weight problem; somebody had joined a dieting program. A health club membership for the entire family too. Rhyme saw a lay-away purchase for some jewelry around Christmastime; a chain jewelry store in a New Jersey mall. Rhyme speculated: small stones socketed in a large setting--a make-do gift, until times were better.
Seeing one reference, he gave a laugh. Like him, Arthur seemed to favor single-malt whisky--Rhyme's new favorite brand, in fact, Glenmorangie.
His cars were a Mercedes and a Cherokee.
The criminalist's smile faded at that reference, though, as he recalled another vehicle. He was picturing Arthur's red Corvette, the car he'd received from his parents on his seventeenth birthday--the car in which Art
hur had driven off to Boston to attend M.I.T.
Rhyme thought back to the boys' respective departures for college. It was a significant moment for Arthur, and for his father too; Henry Rhyme was ecstatic that his son had been accepted by such a fine school. But the cousins' plans--rooming together, jousting over girls, outshining the other nerds--didn't work out. Lincoln wasn't accepted by M.I.T. but went instead to the University of Illinois-Urbana-Champaign, which offered Lincoln a full scholarship (and had some panache back then because it was located in the town where HAL, the narcissistic computer in Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, was born).
Teddy and Anne were pleased their son was going to a home-state school, as was his uncle; Henry had told his nephew that he hoped the boy would return to Chicago often and continue to help him with his research, possibly even assist in his classes from time to time.
"Sorry you and Arthur won't be rooming together," Henry said. "But you'll see each other summers, holidays. And I'm sure your father and I can swing some trips out to Bean Town for a visit."
"That might work out," Lincoln had said.
Keeping to himself that while he was devastated he hadn't been accepted by M.I.T., there was an upside to the rejection--because he wanted never to see his goddamn cousin ever again.
All because of the red Corvette.
The incident had occurred not long after the Christmas Eve party at which he'd won the concrete piece of history, on a breathlessly cold day in February, which, sun or cloud, is Chicago's most heartless month. Lincoln was competing in a science fair at Northwestern in Evanston. He asked Adrianna if she wanted to accompany him, thinking that he might go for the marriage proposal afterward.
But she couldn't make it; she was going shopping with her mother at Marshall Field's department store in the Loop, lured by a big sale. Lincoln had been disappointed but thought nothing more of it and concentrated on the fair. He won first place in the senior division, then he and his friends packed up their projects and carted everything outside. Fingers blue and breath clouding around them in the painful air, they loaded the gear in the belly of the bus and sprinted for the door.
It was then that somebody called, "Hey, check it out. Excellent wheels."
A red Corvette was streaking through campus.
His cousin Arthur was at the wheel. Which wasn't odd; the family lived nearby. What did surprise Lincoln, though, was that the girl beside Arthur, he believed, was Adrianna.
Yes, no?
He couldn't be sure.
The clothes matched: a brown leather jacket and a fur hat, which looked identical to the one Lincoln had given her at Christmas.
"Linc, Jesus, get your ass in here. We gotta close the door."