The Bone Collector

Lon Sellitto pausing as he dusted ash off his wrinkled shirt. He said, “I don’t believe it.”
    She turned toward the street.
    A large black van was parked a block away. A hydraulic ramp was protruding off the side and something sat on it. She squinted. One of those bomb squad robots, it seemed. The ramp lowered to the sidewalk and the robot rolled off.
    Then she laughed out loud.
    The contraption turned toward them and started to move. The wheelchair reminded her of a Pontiac Firebird, candy-apple red. It was one of those electric models, small rear wheels, a large battery and motor mounted underneath.
    Thom walked along beside it but Lincoln Rhyme himself was driving—in control, she observed wryly—via a straw that he held in his mouth. His movements were oddly graceful. Rhyme pulled up to her and stopped.
    “All right, I lied,” he said abruptly.
    She exhaled a sigh. “About your back? When you said you couldn’t use a wheelchair.”
    “I’m confessing I lied. You’re going to be mad, Amelia. So be mad and get it over with.”
    “You ever notice when you’re in a good mood you call me Sachs, when you’re in a bad mood, you call me Amelia?”
    “I’m not in a bad mood,” he snapped.
    “He really isn’t,” Thom agreed. “He just hates to get caught at anything.” The aide nodded toward the impressive wheelchair. She glanced at the side. It was made by the Action Company, a Storm Arrow model. “He had this in the closet downstairs all the while he spun his pathetic little tale of woe. Oh, I let him have it for that.”
    “No annotations, Thom, thank you. I’m apologizing, all right? I. Am. Sorry.”
    “He’s had it for years,” Thom continued. “Learned the sip-’n’-puff cold. That’s the straw control. He’s reallyvery good at it. By the way, he always calls me Thom. I never get preferential last-name treatment.”
    “I got tired of being stared at,” Rhyme said matter-of-factly. “So I stopped going for joyrides.” Then glanced at her torn lip. “Hurt?”
    She touched her mouth, which was bent into a grin. “Stings like hell.”
    Rhyme glanced sideways. “And what happened to you, Banks? Shaving your forehead now?”
    “Walked into a fire truck.” The young man grinned and touched the bandage again.
    “Rhyme,” Sachs began, smiling no longer. “There’s nothing here. He’s got the little girl and I couldn’t get to the planted PE in time.”
    “Ah, Sachs, there’s always something. Have faith in the teachings of Monsieur Locard.”
    “I saw them burn up, the clues. And if there was anything left at all, it’s all buried under tons of debris.”
    “Then we’ll look for the clues he didn’t mean to leave. We’ll do this scene together, Sachs. You and me. Come on.”
    He gave two short breaths into the straw and started forward. They’d got ten feet nearer the church when she said suddenly, “Wait.”
    He braked to a stop.
    “You’re getting careless, Rhyme. Get some rubber bands on those wheels. Wouldn’t want to confuse your prints with the unsub’s.”
    * * *  
    “Where do we start?”
    “We need a sample of the ash,” Rhyme said. “There were some clean paint cans in the back of the wagon. See if you can find one.”
    She collected a can from the remains of the RRV.
    “You know where the fire started?” Rhyme asked.
    “Pretty much.”
    “Take a sample of ash—a pint or two—as close to the point of origin as you can get.”
    “Right,” she said, climbing up on a five-foot-high wall of brick—all that remained of the north side of the church. She peered down into the smoky pit at her feet.
    A fire marshal called, “Hey, officer, we haven’t secured the area yet. It’s dangerous.”
    “Not as dangerous as the last time I was there,” she answered. And holding the handle of the can in her teeth started down the wall.
    Lincoln Rhyme watched her but he was really seeing himself, three and a half years ago, pull his suit jacket off and climb down into the construction site at the subway entrance near City Hall. “Sachs,” Rhyme called. She turned. “Be careful. I saw what was left of the RRV. I don’t want to lose you twice in one day.”
    She nodded and then disappeared over the edge of the wall.
    After a few minutes Rhyme barked to Banks, “Where is she?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “What I’m saying is, could you go check on her?”
    “Oh, sure.” He walked to the wall, looked over.
    “Well?” Rhyme asked.
    “It’s a