The Stone Monkey

differentiation, individuation . . . that’s criminalistics in a nutshell.
    But there was more to blood than linking it to an individual. The way it fell on surfaces at crime scenes—spatter, it was called—provided great information about the nature of the attack. And Lincoln Rhyme often examined the content of blood to determine what it could tell about the individual who’d shed it.
    “Let’s see if our injured woman’s got a drug habit or’s taking some rare medicine. Call the M.E.’s office and have them do a complete workup. I want to know everything that’s in her bloodstream.”
    As Cooper was talking to the office Sellitto’s phone rang and he took the call.
    Rhyme could see in the detective’s face that he was receiving some bad news.
    “Oh, Jesus . . .oh, no . . . ”
    The criminalist sensed an odd fibrillation in the core of his body—an area where he could by rights feel nothing at all. People who are paralyzed often feel phantom pain from limbs and parts of their body that cannot have any sensation. Rhyme not only had experienced this feeling but he’d felt shock and adrenaline rushes too, when his logical mind knew that this was impossible.
    “What, Lon?” Sachs asked.
    “Fifth Precinct again. Chinatown,” he said, wincing. “Another killing. This time it’s definitely the Ghost.” He glanced at Rhyme and shook his head. “Man, it’s not good.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, they’re saying it’s fucking unpleasant, Linc.”
    Unpleasant was not a word that one heard often from an NYPD homicide detective, especially Lon Sellitto, as hardened a cop as you’d ever find.
    He wrote down some information then hung up the phone and glanced at Sachs. “Suit up, Officer, you’ve got a scene to run.”

GHOSTKILL
----
    Easton, Long Island, Crime Scene
    • Two immigrants killed on beach; shot in back.
    • One immigrant wounded—Dr. John Sung.
    • “Bangshou” (assistant) on board; identity unknown.
    • Ten immigrants escape: seven adults (one elderly, one injured woman), two children, one infant. Steal church van.
    • Blood samples sent to lab for typing.
         • Injured woman is AB negative. Requesting more information about her blood.
    • Vehicle awaiting Ghost on beach left without him. One shot believed fired by Ghost at vehicle. Request for vehicle make and model sent out, based on tread marks and wheelbase.
         • Vehicle is a BMW X5. Checking registered owners.
    • No vehicles to pick up immigrants located.
    • Cell phone, presumably Ghost’s, sent for analysis to FBI.
         • Untraceable satellite secure phone. Hacked Chinese gov’t system to use it.
    • Ghost’s weapon is 7.62mm pistol. Unusual casing.
         • Model 51 Chinese automatic pistol.
    • Ghost is reported to have gov’t people on payroll.
    • Ghost stole red Honda sedan to escape. Vehicle locator request sent out.
    • Three bodies recovered at sea—two shot, one drowned. Photos and prints to Rhyme and Chinese police.
    • Fingerprints sent to AFIS.
         • No matches on any prints but unusual markings on Sam Chang’s fingers and thumbs (injury, rope burn?).
    • Profile of immigrants: Sam Chang and Wu Qichen and their families, John Sung, baby of woman who drowned, unidentified man and woman (killed on beach).
    Stolen Van, Chinatown
    • Camouflaged by immigrants with “The Home Store” logo.
    • Blood spatter suggests injured woman has hand, arm or shoulder injury.
    • Blood samples sent to lab for typing.
         • Injured woman is AB negative. Requesting more information about her blood.
    • Fingerprints sent to AFIS.
         • No matches.

Chapter Eighteen
    Amelia Sachs had left the Camaro on the street near Rhyme’s town house and was driving a crime scene bus downtown on the FDR Drive.
    The vehicle was functional city property—a Ford station wagon—but she drove it pretty much the same as if she’d been behind the wheel of her gaudy yellow sports car. The time was 2:45 P.M ., before rush hour, but the roads were still crowded and maneuvering through traffic took all her skill.
    “Hey, Hongse,” Sonny Li began nervously as she skidded around a taxi at 70 m.p.h. But he apparently preferred she keep her attention on the road and fell silent.
    In the backseat were Eddie Deng, who wasn’t concerned about her driving, and agent Alan Coe, who, like the Chinese cop, clearly was. He gripped the