'Bad,' the detective repeated, toasting his hands on the mug the way Sachs had. Eyes toward the window, on the other side of which, beyond the falcons, you could see sleet and mist and black branches. And little else of Central Park.
Rhyme didn't get out much and in any event weather meant nothing to him, unless it was a factor in a crime scene.
Or it helped his early warning system detect visitors.
'It's pretty much finished,' Rhyme said, nodding at the City Hall mugging/murder crime scene report.
'Yeah, yeah, that's not why I'm here.' Spoken nearly as one word.
Rhyme's attention hovered. Sellitto was a senior officer in Major Cases and if he wasn't here to pick up the report, then maybe something else, something more interesting, was on the horizon. More propitious was that Sellitto had seen a tray of pastry, homemade by Thom, and had turned away as if the crullers were invisible. His mission here had to be urgent.
And, therefore, engaging.
'We got a call, a homicide down in SoHo, Linc. Earlier today. We drew straws and you got picked. Hope you're free.'
'How can I get picked if I never drew a straw?'
A sip of coffee. Ignoring Rhyme. 'It's a tough one.'
'I'm listening.'
'Woman was abducted from the basement of the store where she worked. Some boutique. Killer dragged her through an access door and into a tunnel under the building.'
Rhyme knew that beneath SoHo was a warren of tunnels, dug years ago for transporting goods from one industrial building to another. He'd always believed it was just a matter of time before somebody used the place as a killing zone.
'Sexual assault?'
'No, Amelia,' Sellitto said. 'The perp's a tattoo artist, seems. And from what the respondings said a pretty fucking good one. He gave her a tat. Only he didn't use ink. He used poison.'
Rhyme had been a forensic scientist for many years; his mind often made accurate deductions from scant preliminary details. But inferences work only when the facts presented echo those from the past. This information was unique in Rhyme's memory and didn't become a springboard for any theories whatsoever.
'What was t
he toxin he used?'
'They don't know. This just happened, I was saying. We're holding the scene.'
'More, Lon. The design? That he tattooed on her?'
'It was some words, they said.'
The intrigue factor swelled. 'Do you know what they were?'
'The respondings didn't say. But they told me it looked like only part of a sentence. And you can guess what that means.'
'He's going to need more victims,' Rhyme said, glancing Sachs's way. 'So he can send the rest of his message.'
CHAPTER 4
Sellitto was explaining:
'Her name was Chloe Moore, twenty-six. Part-time actress - had a few roles in commercials and some walk-ons in thrillers. Working in the boutique to pay the bills.'
Sachs asked the standard questions: Boyfriend trouble, husband trouble, triangle troubles?
'Naw, none of the above that we could tell. I just started uniforms canvassing around the area but the prelim from the clerks in the store and her roommate is that she hung with a good crowd. Was pretty conservative. No boyfriend presently and no bad breakups.'
Rhyme was curious. 'Any tattoos, other than the one he killed her with?'