The cosmetic surgery had been very good. Still, there were familiar landmarks in the man's face. Besides, how could Rhyme possibly fail to recognize Richard Logan, the Watchmaker, the man who was supposedly hiding out at that very moment in an unsavory part of Mexico City?
Chapter 76
LOGAN SHUT OFF the cell phone that Lincoln Rhyme had apparently been trying in his desperation to knock into service.
"I don't understand," the criminalist said.
Logan sloughed a gear bag off his shoulder and set it on the floor, crouching and opening it. His quick fingers dug into the bag and he extracted a laptop computer and two wireless video cameras. One he took into the kitchen and pointed into the alley. The other he set in a front window. He booted up the computer and placed it on a nearby table. He typed in some commands. Immediately images of the alley and sidewalk approaches to Rhyme's town house came on the screen. It was the same system he'd used at the Battery Park Hotel to spy on Vetter and determine the exact moment to hit the switch: when flesh met metal.
Then Logan looked up and gave a faint laugh. He walked to the dark oak mantelpiece where a pocket watch sat on a stand.
"You still have my present," he whispered. "You have it . . . have it out, on display." He was shocked. He'd assumed the ancient Breguet had been dismantled and every piece examined to determine where Logan lived.
Though they were enemies, and Logan would soon kill him, he admired Rhyme a great deal and was oddly pleased that the man had kept the timepiece intact.
When he thought about it, however, he decided that, of course, the criminalist had indeed ordered it taken apart, down to the last hairspring and jewel, for the forensics team but then had it reassembled perfectly.
Making Rhyme a bit of a watchmaker too.
Next to the pocket watch was the note that had accompanied the timepiece. It was both an appreciation of Rhyme, and an ominous promise that they'd meet again.
A promise now fulfilled.
The criminalist was recovering from his shock. He said, "People'll be back here any minute."
"No, Lincoln. They won't." Logan recited the whereabouts of everyone who'd been in the room fifteen minutes ago.
Rhyme frowned, "How did you . . . ? Oh, no. Of course, the generator. You have a bug in it." He closed his eyes in disgust.
"That's right. And I know how much time I have."
Richard Logan reflected that whatever else occurred in his life, he always knew exactly how much time he had.
The dismay on Rhyme's face then faded into confusion. "So it wasn't Randall Jessen masquerading as Ray Galt. It was you."
Logan fondly studied the Breguet. Compared the time to a watch on his own wrist. "You keep it wound." Then he replaced it. "That's right. I've been Raymond Galt, master electrician and troubleman, for the past week."
"But I saw you in the airport security video. . . . You were hired to kill Rodolfo Luna in Mexico."
"Not exactly. His colleague Arturo Diaz was on the payroll of one of the big drug cartels out of Puerto Vallarta. Luna is one of the few honest cops left in Mexico. Diaz wanted to hire me to kill him. But I was too busy. For a fee, though, I did agree to pretend I was behind it, to keep suspicion off him. It served my purposes too. I needed everyone--especially you--to believe I was someplace other tha
n New York City."
"But at the airport . . ." Rhyme's voice fell to a confused whisper. "You were on the plane. The security tape. We saw you get in that truck, hide under the tarp. And you were spotted in Mexico City and on the road there from the airport. You were seen in Gustavo Madero an hour ago. Your fingerprints and . . ." The words dissolved. The criminalist shook his head and gave a resigned smile. "My God. You never left the airport at all."
"No, I didn't."
"You picked up that package and got onto the truck in front of the camera, on purpose, but it just drove out of view. You handed the package off to somebody else and got a flight headed to the East Coast. Diaz's men kept reporting you in Mexico City--to make everybody think you were there. How many of Diaz's people were on the take?"
"About two dozen."
"There was no car fleeing to Gustavo Madero?"
"No." Pity was an emotion that to Logan was inefficient and therefore pointless. Still, he could recognize, without being moved personally, that there was something pitiable about Lincoln Rhyme at the moment. He also looked smaller than when last they met. Nearly frail. Perhaps he'd been sick. Which was good, Logan decided; the electricity coursing through his body would take its toll more quickly. He certainly didn't want Rhyme to suffer.
He added, as if in consolation, "You anticipated the attack on Luna. You stopped Diaz from killing him. I never thought you'd figure it out in time. But, on reflection, I shouldn't have been surprised."
"But I didn't stop you."