The Steel Kiss

Archer would not back down. “Lincoln, when we do medical investigations in epidemiology, tracing infectious diseases, the worst thing you can do is draw a conclusion prematurely. Do you know the myopia study?”

Nearsightedness was relevant why? Rhyme wondered. “Missed it.” His own eyes were on the single-malt whisky bottle hovering just out of reach.

Archer continued, “A few years ago some doctors noticed that children who slept with the lights on were more likely to develop myopia. The MDs began to create programs to modify children’s sleeping habits, change the lighting in the room, arrange for counseling if children were anxious in the dark. Lots of money was spent on campaigns to reduce myopia.”

“And?”

“The researchers got the causation fixed in their head at the beginning. Lights on leads to myopia.”

Despite his impatience he was intrigued. “But that wasn’t the case.”

“Nope. Myopia is genetic. Because of their vision problems, parents with severe myopia tended to leave the lights on in their children’s rooms more frequently than parents with normal eyesight. Leaving lights on didn’t cause myopia; it followed from myopia. And that causation error set research back years. My point, in our case, is that if we’re convinced he has a connection with Queens, we’ll stop looking at the other possibilities. Once you get something into your head do you know how hard it is to dislodge?”

“Like the Pachelbel Canon? I truly dislike that piece of music.”

“I find it lovely.”

Rhyme said stridently, “We know for a fact he has a Queens connection. White Castle burgers and the car service he used there. Probably some shops he goes to.”

“That’s western Queens. By the East River. The soil and fertilizer are from miles away, east. Look, I’m not saying ignore Queens but give it gradiently less importance.”

He didn’t believe he’d ever heard that adverb.

Archer persisted. “Look for other locales in the New York City area where landscaping supplies from Queens were delivered. That’s all. He might’ve picked up the trace in the Bronx or Newark, New Jersey.”

“Or Montana,” Rhyme mused with the cool, sardonic tone he quite loved. “Let’s get a dozen officers together and have them canvass Helena for somebody who visited an eastern Queens landscaping company for a lawn gnome.”

Patience finally depleting, Mel Cooper brandished the marker again and asked, “What do you want me to write up on the board?”

Rhyme said, “Put the humus originated in Queens but that our perp might have picked it up in Montana. No, let’s start alphabetically. Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas… ”

“Lincoln. It’s getting late,” Cooper said.

He asked Archer, “Can you live with Queens with a question mark?”

“Two question marks,” she countered.

Ridiculous. Did the woman ever back down? “All right. Two goddamn question marks.”

Cooper wrote.

Rhyme said, “And don’t forget the ‘well-tended lawn.’ ” He glanced at Archer, who seemed to have no objections.

The fact was that he enjoyed this. Debate was the heart-and-soul of crime scene work, the back-and-forth. He and Sachs used to do this all the time.

Thom appeared in the doorway. “Lincoln.”

“Oh, I know that tone. You better get used to it, Juliette: the caregiver of the iron fist. Make sure you brush the little teeth and tinkle and hit the hay.”

“You’ve been up for too many hours today,” Thom said. “And your blood pressure’s been high lately.”

“It’s high because you hound me to check my blood pressure.”

“Whatever the reason,” the aide said with infuriating cheer, “we can’t afford it to be so high. Can we?”

In fact, no, he couldn’t. A quad’s physical condition leads to several maladies that could be life threatening. Sepsis from bedsores, respiratory problems, blood clots and the ace of spades: autonomic dysreflexia. When an even minor irritation—like a full bladder—goes unrelieved, because the brain’s unaware of it, various changes occur as the body tries to regulate itself. Often the heart rate slows and, in compensation, the blood pressure rises. It can lead to strokes and death.

“All right,” he said, surrendering. He would have fought longer but it occurred to him that he had to be a reasonable model for Archer. She too would be at risk from dysreflexia and she’d have to take the threat seriously.

“My brother’ll be here any minute, anyway,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She wheeled into the front hallway.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Rhyme muttered, staring at the evidence charts. Thinking: What do the clues tell us—where is your next move going to be, Unsub 40? And where do you hang your hat?

Is it Montana, Alabama, Westchester…  the Bronx?

Or is it Queens??

* * *

“Man walks into a bar. Says, ‘Hell, that hurt.’ ”

Nick was speaking to the back of a man he’d snuck up behind, sitting at a bar—the other kind.

Freddy Caruthers didn’t turn. He kept his eyes on the TV above the premium booze. This was happening in a somewhat classy pub in Brooklyn, Park Slope. “Hell. I know that voice. No. No way. Nick?”

“Hey.”