The Kill Room lr-10
Page 43
She’d debated and finally agreed.
In the waiting room now, Rhyme was looking around at the ten or so others here, the couples, the solitary men or women, the families. Some motionless, some lost in intense dialogue not quite discernible, some jittery, some engaging in rituals of distraction: stirring coffee, opening crisp wrappers of snack food, studying limp magazines, texting or playing video games on phones.
Rhyme noted that, unlike the streets of New York, not a soul paid him more than a millisecond of uninterested attention. He was in a wheelchair; this was a hospital. Here, he was normal.
Thom asked, “You’ve told Dr. Barrington you’ve canceled your surgery?”
“I’ve told him.”
The aide was quiet for a moment. The Times in his hands dipped ever so slightly. For two people joined by circumstance and profession so inextricably and, in a way, intimately, these two had never been comfortable with discussions personal in nature. Lincoln Rhyme least of all. Yet he was surprised to find himself at ease as he confessed to Thom, “Something happened when I was down in the Bahamas.”
His eyes were on a middle-aged couple insincerely reassuring each other. Over the fate of whom? Rhyme wondered. An elderly father? Or a young child?
A world of difference there.
Rhyme continued, “On the spit of land where we thought the sniper nest was.”
“When you went for a swim.”
The criminalist was silent for a moment, reliving not the horrors of the water but the moments leading up to it. “It was an easy deduction for me to make — that the gold Mercury would show up.”
“How?”
“The man in the pickup? Tossing trash into the ditch nearby?”
“The one who turned out to be the ringleader.”
“Right. Why did he drive down to the end of the spit to dump the bags? There was a public trash yard a half mile away, just off SW Road. And who talks on their cell while unloading heavy bags? He was telling the other two in the Mercury where we were. Oh, and he was in a gray T-shirt — which you’d told me one of the men in the Mercury was wearing earlier. But I missed them, all the clues. I saw them but I missed them. And you know why?”
The aide shook his head.
“Because I had the gun. The gun Mychal’d given me. I didn’t need to think through the situation. I didn’t need to use my mind—because I could shoot my way out.”
“Except you couldn’t.”
“Except I couldn’t.”
A doctor in weary, flecked scrubs emerged and sets of eager eyes dropped onto him like Rhyme’s falcon on a pigeon. The man found the family he sought, joined them and delivered what was apparently good news. Rhyme continued to his aide, “I’ve often wondered if the accident enhanced me somehow. Forced me to think better, more clearly, make sharper deductions. Because I had to. I didn’t have any other options.”
“And now you think the answer is yes.”
A nod. “In the Bahamas, I nearly got you, Mychal and me killed because of that lapse. It’s not going to happen again.”
The aide said, “So I think you’re telling me that you’ve had the last surgery you’re going to have.”
“That’s right. What was that line from a movie, something you made me watch? I liked it. Though I probably didn’t admit it at the time.”
“Which one?”
“Some cop film. A long time ago. The hero said something like ‘A man’s got to know his limitations.’”
“Clint Eastwood.” Thom considered this. “It’s true but you could also say, ‘A man’s got to know his strengths.’”
“You’re such a goddamn optimist.” Rhyme lifted his right hand and gazed at his fingers. Lowered the limb. “This is enough.”
“It’s the only choice you could’ve made, Lincoln.”
Rhyme lifted an eyebrow, querying.
“Otherwise I’d be out of a job. And I’d never find anybody equally difficult to work for.”
“I’m glad,” Rhyme grumbled, “I’ve set such a high bar.”
Then the subject, and its awkward accoutrements, vanished like snow on a hot car hood. The men fell silent.
Two hours later the door to the operating suites opened and another doctor emerged. Again, all eyes latched onto the green-scrubbed man but this one was Sachs’s surgeon and he headed directly toward Rhyme and Thom.
As the others in the room returned to their vending-machine coffee and magazines and text messages, the surgeon looked from Thom to Rhyme. He said, “It went well. She’s fine. She’s awake. She’s asking for you.”
The Recipes of Jacob Swann
Readers wishing to experience Jacob Swann’s skills firsthand — culinary, not homicidal — can find a link to recipes for the dishes mentioned in this book, many of them my own variations on classics, at my website: www.jefferydeaver.com.
— J.D.
Acknowledgments
With thanks to Mitch Hoffman, Jamie Raab, Lindsey Rose, David Young and all my friends at Grand Central Publishing — and my cast of regulars: Madelyn Warcholik, Deborah Schneider, Cathy Gleason, Julie Deaver, Jane Davis, Will and Tina Anderson. I couldn’t do it without you!
About the Author
A former journalist, folksinger and attorney, Jeffery Deaver is an international number-one bestselling author. His novels have appeared on bestseller lists around the world, including the New York Times, the Times of London, Italy’s Corriere della Sera, the Sydney Morning Herald and the Los Angeles Times. His books are sold in 150 countries and translated into twenty-five languages.
The author of thirty novels, two collections of short stories and a nonfiction law book, he’s received or been shortlisted for a number of awards around the world. His The Bodies Left Behind was named Novel of the Year by the International Thriller Writers Association, and his Lincoln Rhyme thriller The Broken Window and a stand-alone, Edge, were also nominated for that prize. He has been awarded the Steel Dagger and the Short Story Dagger from the British Crime Writers’ Association and the Nero Wolfe Award, and he is a three-time recipient of the Ellery Queen Readers Award for Best Short Story of the Year and a winner of the British Thumping Good Read Award. The Cold Moon was recently named the Book of the Year by the Mystery Writers Association of Japan, as well as by Kono Mystery Wa Sugoi magazine. In addition, the Japanese Adventure Fiction Association awarded The Cold Moon and Carte Blanche their annual Grand Prix award.
His most recent novels are XO, a Kathryn Dance thriller, for which he wrote an album of country-western songs, available on iTunes and as a CD; and before that, Carte Blanche, the latest James Bond continuation novel, a number-one international bestseller.
Deaver has been nominated for seven Edgar Awards from the Mystery Writers of America, an Anthony Award and a Gumshoe Award. He was recently shortlisted for the ITV3 Crime Thriller Award for Best International Author.
His book A Maiden’s Grave was made into an HBO movie starring James Garner and Marlee Matlin, and his novel The Bone Collector was a feature release from Universal Pictures, starring Denzel Washington and Angelina Jolie. And, yes, the rumors are true; he did appear as a corrupt reporter on his favorite soap opera, As the World Turns.
He was born outside Chicago and has a bachelor of journalism degree from the University of Missouri and a law degree from Fordham University.
Readers can visit his website at www.jefferydeaver.com.
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