The Bone Collector

what?”
    “Hanna,” Sachs repeated into the mike. “Do you know why?” she asked the girl.
    “No. But that’s all he call me. He seemed to like saying the name.”
    “Did you get that, Lincoln.”
    “Yes, I did. Now do the scene. Time’s awasting.”
    As Sachs stood, Monelle suddenly reached up and gripped her wrist.
    “Miss . . . Sachs. You are German?”
    She smiled and answered, “A long time ago. A couple generations.”
    Monelle nodded. She pressed Sachs’s palm to her cheek. “ Vielen Dank. Thank you, Miss Sachs. Danke schön. ”

FIFTEEN
    T he three ESU halogens clicked to light, bringing an eerie tide of white glare to the grim tunnel.
    Alone now at the scene Sachs gazed at the floor for a moment. Something had changed. What?
    She drew her weapon again, dropped into a crouch. “He’s here,” she whispered, stepping behind one of the posts.
    “What?” Rhyme asked.
    “He’s come back. There were some dead rats here. They’re gone.”
    She heard Rhyme’s laughter.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “No, Amelia. Their friends took the bodies away.”
    “Their friends?”
    “Had a case up in Harlem once. Dismembered, decomposed body. A lot of the bones were hidden in a big circle around the torso. The skull was in an oil drum, toes underneath piles of leaves . . . Had the borough in an uproar. The press was talking about Satanists, serial killers. Guess who the perp turned out to be?”
    “No idea,” she said stiffly.
    “The vic himself. It was a suicide. Raccoons, rats and squirrels made off with the remains. Like trophies. Nobody knows why but they love their souvenirs. Now, where are you?”
    “At the foot of the ramp.”
    “What do you see?”
    “A wide tunnel. Two side tunnels, narrower. Flat ceiling, supported by wooden posts. The posts’re all battered and nicked. The floor’s old concrete, covered with dirt.”

    “And manure?”
    “Looks like it. In the center, right in front of me’s the post she was tied to.”
    “Windows?”
    “None. No doors either.” She looked over the wide tunnel, the floor disappearing into a black universe a thousand miles away. She felt the crawl of hopelessness. “It’s too big! There’s too much space to cover.”
    “Amelia, relax.”
    “I’ll never find anything here.”
    “I know it seems overwhelming. But just keep in mind that there’re only three types of PE that we’re concerned about. Objects, body materials and impressions. That’s all. It’s less daunting if you think of it that way.”
    Easy for you to say.
    “And the scene isn’t as big as it looks. Just concentrate on the places they walked. Go to the post.”
    Sachs walked the path. Staring down.
    The ESU lights were brilliant but they also made the shadows starker, revealing a dozen places the kidnapper could hide. A chill trickled down her spine. Stay close, Lincoln, she thought reluctantly. I’m pissed, sure, but I wanna hear you. Breathe or something.
    She paused, shone the PoliLight over the ground.
    “Is it all swept?” he asked.
    “Yes. Just like before.”
    The body armor chafed her breasts despite the sports bra and undershirt and as hot as it was outside it was unbearable down here. Her skin prickled and she felt a ravenous desire to scratch under her vest.
    “I’m at the post.”
    “Vacuum the area for trace.”
    Sachs ran the Dustbuster. Hating the noise. It covered up any sound of approaching footsteps, guns cocking, knives being drawn. Involuntarily she looked behind her once, twice. Nearly dropped the vacuum as her hand strayed to her gun.
    Sachs looked at the impression in the dust of where Monelle’s body had lain. I’m him. I’m dragging her along. She kicks me. I stumble . . .
    Monelle could have kicked in only one direction, awayfrom the ramp. The unsub didn’t fall, she’d said. Which meant he must’ve landed on his feet. Sachs walked a yard or two into the gloom.
    “Bingo!” Sachs shouted.
    “What? Tell me?”
    “Footprints. He missed a spot sweeping up.”
    “Not hers?”
    “No. She was wearing running shoes. These are smooth soles. Like dress shoes. Two good prints. We’ll know what size feet he’s got.”
    “No, they won’t tell us that. Soles can be larger or smaller than the uppers. But it may tell us something. In the CS bag there’s an electrostatic printer. It’s a small box with a wand on it. There’ll be some sheets of acetate next to it. Separate the paper, lay the acetate on the print and run the