The Burning Wire

he might be changing his approach to the attacks.”
    “How?” Sachs wondered aloud.
    “They’re used in timers. . . . I’d bet he’s worried we’re getting close to him. And he’s going to start using a timed device instead of a remote control. When the next attack happens, he could be in a different borough.”
    Rhyme had Sachs bag the spring and mark a chain-of-custody card.
    “He’s smart,” Cooper observed. “But he’ll slip up. They always do.”
    They often do, Rhyme corrected silently.
    The tech then said, “Got a pretty good print from one of the remote’s switches.”
    Rhyme hoped it was from somebody else, but, no, it was just one of Galt’s—he didn’t need to be diligent about obscuring his identity now that they’d learned his name.
    The phone buzzed and Rhyme blinked to see the country code. He answered at once.
    “Commander Luna.”
    “Captain Rhyme, we have, perhaps, a development.”
    “Go ahead, please.”
    “An hour ago there was a false fire alarm in a wing of the building Mr. Watchmaker was observing. On that floor is an office of a company that brokers real estate loans in Latin America. The owner’s a colorful fellow. Been under investigation a few times. It made me suspicious. I looked into the background of this man and he’s had death threats made before.”
    “By whom?”
    “Clients whose deals turned out to be less lucrative than they would have wanted. He performs some other functions too, which I cannot find out about too easily. And if I cannot find out about them the answer is simple: He’s a crook. Which means he has a very large and efficient security staff.”
    “So he’s the sort of target that would require a killer like the Watchmaker.”
    “Exactly.”
    “But,” Rhyme continued, “I would also keep in mind that the target could be at the exact opposite end of the complex from that office.”
    “You think the fire alarm was a feint.”
    “Possibly.”
    “I’ll have Arturo’s men consider that too. He’s put his best—and most invisible—surveillance people on the case.”
    “Have you found anything more about the contents of the package that Logan received? The letter I with the blanks? The circuit board, the booklet, the numbers?”
    “Nothing but speculation. And, as I think you would too, Captain, I feel speculation is a waste of time.”
    “True, Commander.”
    Rhyme thanked the man again and they disconnected. He glanced at the clock. The time was 10 p.m. Thirty-five hours since the attack at the substation. Rhyme was in turmoil. On the one hand, he was aware of the terrible pressure to move forward with a case in which the progress was frustratingly slow. On the other, he was exhausted. More tired than he remembered being in a long time. He needed sleep. But he didn’t want to admit it to anyone, even Sachs. He was staring at the silent box of the phone, considering what the Mexican police commander had just told him, when he was aware of sweat dotting his forehead. This infuriated him. He wanted to wipe it before anyone noticed, but of course that was a luxury not available to him. He jerked his head from side to side. Finally the motion dislodged the drop.
    But it also caught Sachs’s attention. He sensed she was about to ask if he was feeling all right. He didn’t want to talk about his condition, since he’d either have to admit that he wasn’t, or lie to her. He wheeled abruptly to an evidence whiteboard and studied the script intently. Without seeing the words at all.
    Sachs was starting toward him when the doorbell rang. A moment later there was some motion from the doorway and Thom entered the room with a visitor. Rhyme easily deduced the person’s identity; she was in a wheelchair made by the same company that had produced his.

Chapter 52
    SUSAN STRINGER HAD a pretty, heart-shaped face and a singsongy voice. Two adjectives stood out: pleasant and sweet.
    Her eyes were quick, though, and lips taut, even when smiling, as befit somebody who had to maneuver her way through the streets of New York using only the power of her arms.
    “An accessible town house on the Upper West Side. That’s a rarity.”
    Rhyme gave her a smile in return—he was reserved. He had work to do, and very little of it involved witnesses; his comments to Sachs earlier about his interviewing Susan Stringer were, of course, facetious.
    Still, she’d nearly been killed by Ray Galt—in a particularly horrible way—and might have some