'More or less.'
'Must have been pricey.'
'Twenty million cash total.'
'And the funeral home charade? With you as Weller. Why that?'
'I knew you'd send somebody to see who was collecting the ashes. I had to make you believe in your heart that the Watchmaker was dead. The best way to do that was to have the family's indignant lawyer come to town to collect his ashes ... and report your undercover officer to the authorities. That was a wonderful turn. Didn't anticipate that.'
Rhyme then said, 'But one thing I don't understand: Lon Sellitto. You poisoned him, of course. You borrowed a fireman's outfit at the site of the Belvedere Apartment attack and gave him the laced coffee.'
'You figured that out too?'
'Arsenic is metalloid poison. Billy used only plant-based toxins.'
'Hm. Missed that. Mea culpa. Tell me, Lincoln, were you one of those boys who read children's puzzle books and could always spot what was wrong with this picture?'
Yes, he had been, and, yes, he could.
Rhyme added, 'And you slipped the doctored painkillers into Amelia Sachs's purse.'
A dense pause. 'You found those?'
The minute Rhyme had deduced the Watchmaker was still alive and was probably behind Lon's attack, he'd told Sachs, Pulaski and Cooper to be on the lookout for any attacks. She'd recalled that someone had sat near her in a coffeehouse where she'd been meeting with a witness in the Metropolitan Museum case. She'd found a second bottle of painkillers in the bag.
Rhyme asked, 'Arsenic as well? The results aren't back yet.'
; 'I'll tell you, since you've figured it out. Antimony.'
Lincoln Rhyme said, 'See, that's what I don't follow: trying to kill Lon and Amelia and blame the deaths on the Stantons? It was you dressed up like Billy Haven at the scenes? Looking at her through the manhole cover on Elizabeth Street? Outside the restaurant in Hell's Kitchen? In the building near the Belvedere?'
'That's right.'
'So why ...?' His voice faded. The thoughts were coming fast, exploding like firecrackers. 'Unless ...'
'Catching on, are you, Lincoln?'
'Twenty million dollars,' he whispered. 'To buy your freedom. There is no way the Stantons and the AFFC could have gotten you that much money to bribe the guards and medics. No, no - they're a shoestring operation at best. Someone else financed your escape. Yes! Somebody who needed you for another job. You used the AFFC as a cover for something else.'
'Ah, that's my Lincoln,' said the Watchmaker.
The voice was condescending and a moment's anger burst. But then the thought landed and he laughed out loud. 'Lon. Lon Sellitto! He was the whole point of this. You needed him killed or out of commission, and you used the AFFC as a scapegoat.'
'Exactly,' the man whispered. And the tone of his voice taunted: Keep going.
'The case he'd been working on. Of course. The breakin at the Metropolitan museum. He was getting close to finding out what it was all about and your employer needed to stop him.' He considered other facts. 'And Amelia too. Because she'd taken over the Met case ... But you're admitting it all now,' Rhyme said slowly, troubled. 'Why?'
'I think I'll let it go at that, Lincoln. Probably not good to say much more. But I will tell you that nobody is at risk anymore. Amelia's safe. The only reason to poison her or Ron or your brilliant nerdy assistant, Mel Cooper, would be to shift the blame to the AFFC. And obviously that's pointless now. Besides, I've changed tack.'
Rhyme pictured the man shrugging.
'You're safe too, of course. You always have been.'
Always have been?
Rhyme gave a laugh. 'The anonymous phone call about somebody's breaking into my town house through the back door. When Billy snuck in to poison my whisky. That was you.'