The Bone Collector

continued, “and the whole world’s watching. It’s unfair. People don’t talk about crime in Washington. Or Detroit. Well, Detroit they do. Say, Chicago. Never. No, it’s New York that people thump on. Richmond, Virginia, had more murders per capita than we did last year. I looked it up. And I’d rather parachute unarmed into Central Harlem than drive windows-up through South East D.C. any day.”
    “Yessir.”
    “Understand they found that girl dead. It was on all the news. Those reporters.”
    “Downtown. Just now.”
    “Now that’s a pity.”
    “Yessir.”
    “They just killed her? Like that? No ransom demand or anything?”
    “I didn’t hear about any ransom.”
    “What’s this complaint?”
    “I was first officer in a related homicide this morning.”
    “You’re Patrol?” Eckert asked.
    “I was Patrol. I was supposed to be transferring to Public Affairs today at noon. For a training session.” She lifted her hands, tipped with flesh-colored Band-Aids, and dropped them in her lap. “But they shanghaied me.”
    “Who?”
    “Detective Lon Sellitto, sir. And Captain Haumann. And Lincoln Rhyme.”
    “Rhyme?”
    “Yessir.”
    “Not the fellow was in charge of IRD a few years ago?”
    “Yessir. That’s him.”
    “I thought he was dead.”
    Egos like that will never die.
    “Very much alive, sir.”
    The dep com was looking out his window. “He’s not on the force anymore. What’s he doing involved in this?”
    “Consultant, I guess. It’s Lon Sellitto’s case. Captain Polling’s overseeing it. I’ve been waiting for this reassignment for eight months. But they’ve got me working crime scene. I’ve never done crime scene. It doesn’t make any sense and frankly I resent being assigned to a job I’ve had no training for.”
    “Crime scene?”
    “Rhyme ordered me to run the whole scene. By myself.”
    Eckert didn’t understand this. The words weren’t registering. “Why is a civilian ordering uniformed officers to do anything ?”
    “My point, sir.” She set the hook. “I mean, I’ll helpup to a point. But I’m just not prepared to dismember victims . . .”
    “What?”
    She blinked as if surprised he hadn’t heard. She explained about the handcuffs.
    “Lord in heaven, what the hell’re they thinking of? Pardon my French. Don’t they know the whole country’s watching? It’s been on CNN all day, this kidnapping. Cutting off her hands? Say, you’re Herman Sachs’s daughter.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Good officer. Excellent officer. I gave him one of his commendations. The man was what a beat cop ought to be. Midtown South, right?”
    “Hell’s Kitchen. My beat.”
    My former beat.
    “Herman Sachs probably prevented more crime than the entire detective division solves in a year. Just calming everything down, you know.”
    “That was Pop. Sure.”
    “Her hands?” Eckert snorted. “The girl’s family’ll sue us. As soon as they find out about it. They sue us for everything. There’s a rapist suing us now ’cause he got shot in the leg coming at an officer with a knife. His lawyer’s got this theory he’s calling the ‘least deadly alternative.’ Instead of shooting, we’re supposed to taze them or use Mace. Or ask them politely, I don’t know. I better give the chief and the mayor a heads-up on this one. I’ll make some calls, officer.” He looked at a wall clock. It was a little after four. “Your watch over for the day?”
    “I have to report back to Lincoln Rhyme’s house. That’s where we’re working out of.” She thought of the hacksaw. She said coolly, “His bedroom really. That’s our CP.”
    “A civilian’s bedroom is your command post?”
    “I’d appreciate anything you can do, sir. I’ve waited a long time for that transfer.”
    “Cut her hands off. My good Lord.”
    She stood and walked to the door and out into one of the corridors that would soon be her new assignment.The feeling of relief took only a little longer to arrive than she’d expected.
      * * *
    He stood at the bottle-glass window, watching a pack of wild dogs prowl though the lot across the street.
    He was on the first floor of this old building, a marble-clad Federal dating to the early 1800s. Surrounded by vacant lots and tenements—some abandoned, some occupied by paying tenants though most by squatters—this old mansion had been empty for years.
    The bone collector took the piece of emery paper in his hand once more and continued to rub. He