The Coffin Dancer

again.”
    The trooper stared at Rhyme for a moment, then nodded at his partner. The Dancer laughed. “Not a problem,” he said, his eye on Rhyme. “Just a factor.”
    The guards gripped him by his good arm and lifted him to his feet. He was dwarfed by the two tall men as they led him to the door. He looked back.
    “Lincoln?”
    “Yes?”
    “You’re going to miss me. Without me, you’ll be bored.” His single eye burned into Rhyme’s. “Without me, you’re going to die.”

    An hour later the heavy footsteps announced the arrival of Lon Sellitto. He was accompanied by Sachs and Dellray.
    Rhyme knew immediately there was trouble. For a moment he wondered if the Dancer had escaped.
    But that wasn’t the problem.
    Sachs sighed.
    Sellitto gave Dellray a look. The agent’s lean face grimaced.
    “Okay, tell me,” Rhyme snapped.
    Sachs delivered the news. “The duffel bags. PERT’s been through ’em.”
    “Guess what was inside,” Sellitto said.
    Rhyme sighed, exhausted, and not in the mood for games. “Detonators, plutonium, and Jimmy Hoffa’s body.”
    Sachs said, “A bunch of Westchester County Yellow Pages and five pounds of rocks.”
    “What?”
    “There’s nothing, Lincoln. Zip.”
    “You’re sure they were phone books, not encrypted business records?”
    “Bureau cryptology looked ’em over good,” Dellray said. “Fuckin’ off-the-shelf Yellow Pages. And the rocks’re nothin’. Just added ’em to make it sink.”
    “They’re gonna release Hansen’s fat ass,” Sellitto muttered darkly. “They’re doin’ the paperwork right now. They’re not even presenting it to the grand jury. All those people died for nothing.”
    “Tell him the rest,” Sachs added.
    “Eliopolos is on his way here now,” Sellitto said. “He’s got paper.”
    “A warrant?” Rhyme asked shortly. “For what?”
    “Oh. Like he said. To arrest you.”

 . . . Chapter Forty
    R eginald Eliopolos appeared at the doorway, backed up by two large agents.
    Rhyme had thought of the attorney as middle aged. But in the daylight he seemed to be in his early thirties. The agents were young too and dressed as well as he was, but they reminded Rhyme of pissed-off longshoremen.
    What exactly did he need them for? Against a man flat on his back?
    “Well, Lincoln, I guess you didn’t believe me when I said there’d be repercussions. Uh-huh. You didn’t believe me.”
    “What the fuck’re you bitchin’ about, Reggie?” Sellitto asked. “We caught him.”
    “Uh-huh . . . uh-huh. I’ll tell you what I’m”—he lifted his hands and made imaginary quotation marksin the air—“bitchin’ for. The case against Hansen is kaput. No evidence in the duffel bags.”
    “That’s not our fault,” Sachs said. “We kept your witness alive. And caught Hansen’s hired killer.”
    “Ah,” Rhyme said, “but there’s more to it than that, right, Reggie?”
    The assistant U.S. attorney gazed at him coldly.
    Rhyme continued, “See, Jodie—I mean, the Dancer—is the only chance they have to make a case against Hansen now. Or that’s what he thinks. But Dancer’ll never dime a client.”
    “Oh, that a fact? Well, you don’t know him as well as you think you do. I just had a long talk with him. He was more than willing to implicate Hansen. Except now he’s stonewalling. Thanks to you.”
    “Me?” Rhyme asked.
    “He said you threatened him. During that little unauthorized meeting you had a few hours ago. Uh-huh. Heads are going to roll because of that. Rest assured.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” Rhyme spat out, laughing bitterly. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? Let me guess . . . you told him that you’d arrest me, right? And he’d agree to testify if you did.”
    The pendulum swing of Eliopolos’s eyes told Rhyme that this was exactly what happened.
    “Don’t you get it?”
    But Eliopolos didn’t get a thing.
    Rhyme said, “Don’t you think he’d like to get me in detention, maybe fifty, sixty feet from where he is?”
    “Rhyme,” Sachs said, frowning with concern.
    “What’re you talking about?” the attorney said.
    “He wants to kill me, Reggie. That’s his point. I’m the only man who’s ever stopped him. He can’t very well go back to work knowing I’m out there.”
    “But he’s not going anywhere. Ever.”
    Uh-huh.
    Rhyme said, “After I’m dead he’ll recant. He’ll never testify against Hansen. And what’re you going to pressure him with? Threaten him with