The Steel Kiss

“Seems to be working pretty well.” He tooled around the parlor. “Turns are off slightly.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Thank you!” Rhyme called to the aide’s receding back.

Stepping back and eyeing the intern’s face, the EMT said to Archer, “Mostly superficial. Dizzy?”

She rose from the rattan chair where she’d been sitting and paced up and down the parlor. “A little but not any worse than what I usually have.” She returned and lowered herself into her Storm Arrow wheelchair. Then she restrapped her left arm to the rest of the chair by herself.

The tech said, “Okay. Stable. Good. You’re moving pretty good there. Got to say.” He regarded the power chair. He was understandably confused.

Neither Rhyme nor Archer explained to the man how she had come to use as her sole means of conveyance a wheelchair rigged for someone who was a full quad when she in fact was not. Not yet, in any event. As she’d explained to Rhyme in class the first week—and to Thom when she’d started her internship here—she was only partially disabled at this point. Yes, there was a tumor embracing her spinal cord. But the consequences of the condition were not, at this point, complete debilitation. However, she had decided to prepare for the day when, after her surgery, she would most likely be rendered a full quad, C4, just as Rhyme was.

Thom had indeed played the role of caregiver, but only up to a point; she returned to the non-disabled world for bathroom detail at home and at Rhyme’s, and she would dress herself. Rhyme had noted too that her golden bracelet, with the runic characters, might appear on one arm in the morning and the other in the afternoon; she would swap the accessory from time to time if it was irritating her skin. The jewelry had been a present from her son and, accordingly, she insisted on wearing it constantly.

The only other time she had forsaken the playacting was, of course, just moments ago to rise to her unsteady feet and save Rhyme’s and her own life.

After the EMT signed off and left, she piloted closer to Rhyme.

“You didn’t miss a beat,” he said, of her performance in front of Alicia. When he’d mentioned to Alicia Morgan that Archer’s condition was worse than his and suggested she should get some rest, she’d deduced immediately that something was wrong regarding their visitor—since, of course, she had no condition, at least not one as grave as Rhyme had suggested.

Archer nodded. “I was going to call the police as soon as I was out of the parlor.”

Rhyme sighed. “I didn’t think she’d tackle you. I knew she was here to kill me—and anyone else—but I thought we could buy some time.”

Archer added, “I saw where Amelia keeps that guns on your shelf, but I don’t really know how to use one. And, with the tumor, my hands aren’t very steady.”

“And you don’t need to cock a lamp or make sure it’s loaded,” Rhyme conceded.

Archer said, “But we still have one more perp.”

“You like that word, don’t you?”

“Nice feel to it. Perp.” Archer added, “Alicia said she didn’t know where Griffith is. He was going to contact her. I suppose we could monitor her phone.”

Rhyme shook his head. “He’ll use a burner phone. And in a few hours he’ll know she was busted. He’ll go to ground.”

“So where do we look to find him?”

“Where else?” Rhyme asked, nodding toward the evidence boards.

The answer is there…

CHAPTER 55

He wasn’t going to propose.

Nick Carelli was tempted to, felt that draw, that urge within. Just say it, fast. And, if Ame said no, which of course she would, back off.

But he’d keep at it. If it took a long time then it would take a long time. But one way or the other he’d ease his way back into Amelia’s heart.

Thinking of Freddy’s words:

Find a lady, Nick. Man needs a woman in his life.

Oh, I’m working on that…

Nick was heading home, walking down the tree-lined sidewalk in BK, his gym bag over his shoulder. Odd, but he was pretty close to whistling. He didn’t; actually he didn’t know many people who whistled (though when he was inside he read in the papers about a case Amelia had run in which a professional killer was an accomplished whistler).