The Cold Moon

think?”
    She hesitated and then said, “I have to say . . . My feeling is that it’s not just the story about his friend getting killed that’s a problem. I think virtually everything he’s telling you on that tape is a complete lie.”

    Silence in Rhyme’s town house.
    Total silence.
    Finally Rhyme looked up from the image of Gerald Duncan, motionless on the screen, and said, “Go on.”
    “I got his baseline when he was mentioning the details of his plan to get Baker arrested. We know certain aspects of that are true. So when the stress levels change I assume he’s being deceptive. I saw major deviations when he’s talking about the supposed friend. And I don’t think his name’s Duncan. Or he lives in the Midwest. Oh, and he couldn’t care less about Dennis Baker. He has no emotional interest in the man’s arrest. And there’s something else.”
    She glanced at the screen. “Can you cue to the middle? There’s a place where he touches his cheek.”
    Cooper ran the video in reverse.
    “There. Play that.”
    “I’d never hurt anybody. I couldn’t do that. I might bend the law a bit. . . .”
    Dance shook her head, frowning.
    “What?” Sachs asked.
    “His eyes . . .” Dance whispered. “Oh, this’s a problem.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m thinking he’s dangerous, very dangerous. I spent months studying the interview tapes of Ted Bundy, the serial killer. He was a pure sociopath, meaning he could deceive with virtually no outward signs whatsoever. But the one thing I could detect in Bundy was a faint reaction in his eyes when he claimed he’d never killed anyone. The reaction wasn’t a typical deception response; it revealed disappointment and betrayal. He was denying something central to his being.” She nodded to the screen. “Exactly what Duncan just did.”
    “Are you sure?” Sachs asked.
    “Not positive, no. But I think we’ve got to ask him some more questions.”
    “Whatever he’s up to, we better have him moved to level-three detention until we can figure it out.”
    Since he’d been arrested for only minor, nonviolent crimes Gerald Duncan would be in a low-security holding tank down on Centre Street. Escape from there was unlikely but not impossible. Rhyme ordered his phone to call the supervisor of Detention in downtown Manhattan.
    He identified himself and gave instructions to move Duncan to a more secure cell.
    The jailer said nothing. Rhyme assumed this was because he didn’t want to take orders from a civilian.
    The tedium of politics . . .
    He grimaced then glanced at Sachs, meaning that she should authorize the transfer. It was then that the real reason for the supervisor’s silence became clear. “Well, Detective Rhyme,” the man said uneasily, “he was only here for a few minutes. We never even booked him.”
    “What?”
    “The prosecutor, he cut some deal or another, and released Duncan last night. I thought you knew.”

Chapter 35
    Lon Sellitto was back in Rhyme’s lab, pacing angrily.
    Duncan’s lawyer, it seemed, had met with the assistant district attorney and in exchange for an affidavit admitting guilt, the payment of $100,000 for misuse of police and fire resources, and a written guarantee to testify against Baker, all the criminal charges were dropped, subject to being reinstated if he reneged on the appearance in court as a witness against Baker. He’d never even been printed or booked.
    The big, rumpled detective stared at the speakerphone, glowering, hands on his hips, as if the unit itself were the incompetent fool who’d released a potential killer.
    The defensiveness in the prosecutor’s voice was clear. “It was the only way he’d cooperate,” the man said. “He was represented by a lawyer from Reed, Prince. He surrendered his passport. It was all legit. He’s agreed not to leave the jurisdiction until Baker’s trial. I’ve got him in a hotel in the city, with an officer guarding him. He’s not going anywhere. What’s the big deal? I’ve done this a hundred times.”
    “What about Westchester?” Rhyme called into the speakerphone. “The stolen corpse?”
    “They agreed not to prosecute. I said we’d help them out on a few other cases they needed our cooperation for.”
    The prosecutor would see this as a gold ring in his career; bringing down a gang of corrupt cops would catapult him to stardom.
    Rhyme shook his head, livid. Incompetence and selfish ambition infuriated him. It’s hard enough to do this job