Free The Skin Collector by Jeffery Deaver

more commonly known as iron (III) oxide. Rust is a wonderful trace element since it has adhesive properties and transfers readily from perp to victim and vice versa quite readily. It can be toxic but onlyin massive quantities – more than 2500 mg/m^3. It’s presence seemed to Rhyme didn’t smell weaponized. He instructed Pulaski to call the city works department to find out if ferric oxide dust was common in the tunnels.
    ‘Yep,’ the young officer reported after he’d hung up. ‘The city’s been installing pipes throughout Manhattan – because of the new water tunnel. Some of the fixtures they’re cuttingaway are a hundred and fifty years old. End up with a lot of dust. All their workers’re wearing face masks, it’s so bad.’
    So the unsub had just happened to pick one of those fixtures to mount the flashlight to.
    Sachs coughed some more, drank another gulp or two of water. ‘I’m pissed off I got careless.’
    ‘And, Sachs, we
were
waiting for a phone call.’
    ‘I tried. The lines were out. One of theEMS techs said it was an Internet problem that’s also screwing up the phone switches. Been happening for the past couple of days. Some dispute between the hardwire cable companies and the new fiber-optic ones. Turf wars. Even talking sabotage.’
    Rhyme’s look said, Who cares?
    With another faint, alto cough Sachs suited up for the lab and walked to the evidence cartons.
    ‘Let’s get our charts going.’Rhyme nodded at the cluster of large whiteboards, standing about like herons on their stalky legs. They used these to list the evidence in a case. Only one was filled: the case of the recent mugging turned homicide near City Hall. The man who’d shaved so carefully for his date before stepping out into the street to be robbed and killed.
    Sachs moved that board to the corner and pulled a cleanone front and center. She took an erasable marker and asked, ‘What do we call him?’
    ‘November fifth’s today’s date. Let’s stick with our tradition. Unknown Subject Eleven-Five.’
    Sachs coughed once, nodded, then wrote in her precise script:
     
----
     
237 Elizabeth Street
Victim: Chloe Moore
----
     
    Rhyme glanced at the white space. ‘Now let’s start filling it in.’

CHAPTER 9
    Before they could get to the evidence, though, the doorbell hummed once more.
    With the familiar howl of wind and Gatling gun of falling ice, the door opened and closed. Lon Sellitto walked into the parlor, stomping his feet and missing the rug.
    ‘Getting worse. Man. What a mess.’
    Rhyme ignored the AccuWeather. ‘The security videos?’
    Referring to any surveillance cameras on ElizabethStreet, near the manhole that the perp had used to gain access to the murder site. And where he had apparently been spying on Sachs.
    ‘Zip.’
    Rhyme grimaced.
    ‘But there was a witness.’
    Another sour look from Rhyme.
    ‘I don’t blame you, Linc. But it’s all we got. Guy coming home from his shift saw somebody beside the manhole about ten minutes before nine one one got the call.’
    ‘Home from hisshift,’ Rhyme said cynically. ‘So your wit was tired.’
    ‘Yeah, and a fucking tired witness who sees the perp is better than a fresh one who doesn’t.’
    ‘In which case he wouldn’t be a witness,’ Rhyme replied. A glance at the evidence board. Then: ‘The manhole was open?’
    ‘Right. Orange cones and warning tape around it.’
    Rhyme said, ‘Like I thought. So he pops the cover with a hook, sets up thecones, climbs down, kills the vic and leaves.’ He turned to Sachs. ‘Moisture at the bottom of the ladder, you said. So he kept it open the whole time. What happened to the cones and tape?’
    ‘None there,’ Sachs said. ‘Not when I came out.’
    ‘He’s not going to be leaving them lying around nearby. Too smart for that. Lon, what’d your wit say about him, the perp?’
    ‘White male, stocking cap, thigh-lengthdark coat. Black or dark backpack. Didn’t see a lot of the face. Pretty much the