The Steel Kiss

Mel Cooper swung from scaffolding to floor, looking toward Archer. She blinked as the beam of his flashlight stabbed her eyes.

“Oh, so sorry. Mel Cooper.” A nod, rather than an offered hand, considering the wheelchair situation.

Archer introduced her brother and then, returning her attention to Cooper, said, “Oh, Detective Cooper. Lincoln said some nice things about you. He holds you up as a shining example of a forensic lab—”

“Okay,” Rhyme said quickly, ignoring the inquiring but pleased glance from Cooper. “We’re in the midst of something here.”

She eased forward, looking over other equipment. “When I was doing epidemiology, we used a GC/MS sometimes. Different model. But still. Voice-activated?”

“Uhm. Well. No. Mel or Amelia usually run it. But—”

“Oh, but there’s a voice system that works well. RTJ Instrumentation. Based in Akron.”

“Is there?”

“Just mentioning it. An article in Forensics Today about hands-free in the lab. I could send it to you.”

“We subscribe,” Cooper said. “I’ll look forward to—”

Rhyme muttered, “As I was saying, this case we’re working on, very time-sensitive. Came up suddenly.”

“Involving, let me guess, an escalator to nowhere.”

Rhyme was irritated at the humor. He said, “Probably would have been best to call. Could have saved you both the trouble—”

Archer said evenly, “Yes. Well, we did agree for me to be here today. You never got back to me about the exact time. I emailed.”

The corollary was that if anyone was to have called it should have been he. He tried a new tack. “My error. Entirely. I apologize for your wasted trip.”

Drawing a dry gaze from Thom at the rampant insincerity. Rhyme pointedly ignored him.

“So, we’ll have to reconvene. A different time. Later.”

Randy said, “So, Jule, let’s head back. Wait for me in the hallway. I’ll guide you down the ramp and—”

“Oh, but everything’s scheduled. Will Senior’s got Billy for the next few days. And Button’s got a playdate with Whiskers. I’ve changed all my doctors’ appointments. So.”

Button? Whiskers? Rhyme thought. Jesus H. Christ. What’ve I got myself into? “See, when I agreed you could come, there was a lull. I could be more…  instructive. Now, I wouldn’t be able to be very helpful. So much going on. This is really a very pressing matter.”

Pressing matter? I actually said that? Rhyme wondered.

She nodded but was staring at the escalator. “This would have to be that accident. In Brooklyn, right? The mall. A civil case. There didn’t seem to be any thinking it was criminal. That means, I’d guess, lawsuits against a number of defendants. Manufacturer, real estate company owning the mall, maintenance crews. We know what those are like.” She wheeled about. “Who doesn’t love Boston Legal? And The Good Wife?”

Who know what the hell they are?

“I really think it’s best—”

Archer said, “And this is a mock-up. You couldn’t have the actual escalator here? Off limits to civil lawyers?”

“Removed and impounded,” Cooper said, drawing a glare from Rhyme.

“Again, I apologize, but—”

Archer continued. “What’s so pressing? Other plaintiffs clamoring for a piece of the pie?”

Rhyme said nothing. He simply watched her wheel closer to the scaffolding. Now his eyes took her in more closely. She was dressed quite stylishly. A long forest-green hounds tooth skirt, a starched white blouse, short sleeved. Black jacket. An elaborate gold bracelet of what seemed to be runic characters was on her left wrist, the one that was strapped, immobile, to the arm of her wheelchair. She maneuvered the Storm Arrow with a touchpad, using her right hand. The chestnut hair was up in a bun today. Archer had apparently already begun to learn that when your extremities are out of commission, you do all you can to minimize tickles and irritations from hair and sweat. Rhyme presently used far more mosquito repellent—organic, at Thom’s insistence—than he had before his accident.

“Jule,” Randy said. “Mr. Rhyme is busy. Don’t overstay your welcome.”

Already have, he thought. But his smile was smeared with regret. “Sorry. Really would be best for everybody concerned. Next week, two weeks.”

Archer herself was staring at Rhyme, eyes unwavering. He stared right back as she said, “Don’t you think another body would be helpful? Sure, I’m a newbie at forensics but I’ve done epidemiologic investigation for years. Besides, without any real evidence, doesn’t look like fingerprints and density gradient analysis’ll be called for. You’ll be doing a lot of speculative work on issues of mechanical failure. We did that all the time in sourcing infections—speculation, not mechanics, of course. I could do some of the legwork.” A smile. “So to speak.”

“Jule,” Randy said, blushing. “We talked about that.”

Referring, Rhyme guessed, to a prior conversation on joking about her disability. Rhyme himself delighted in baiting the condescenders, the overly sensitive and the politically correct, even—especially—within the disabled community. “Gimp” was a favorite noun of his; “cringe” a verb.