Page 66 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

She stopped and turned to face him.

The ferret approached, eyeing Spencer’s bulk. Speaking quickly, he said to Sachs, “I see your eyes, you’re thinking. But, no. We haven’t met. Among cops, you’re a celeb. Can I say ‘cop’? Nothing offensive about that, right?” He talked a mile a minute. “Sheldon Gibbons. I’m withInsideLook Magazine.” He displayed a press badge. She noted the last name, which added another mammal to the equation. Wasn’t that a monkey or orangutan?

“Is this your partner?”

Neither Sachs nor Spencer answered.

“Can I help you?”

Gibbons said, “And sorry, it’s ‘Detective’ Sachs. I called you ‘Officer.’”

She was going to give him a few seconds’ worth of polite but that was it. She cocked her head.

He brandished a digital recorder, much like hers.

“Were you seeing Averell Whittaker about the Locksmith?”

She said, “I’m asking permission to see that.”

Gibbons frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Can I see your recorder?”

“I guess.” He handed it over.

She hit Stop. And gave it back to him.

He offered a conspiratorial—and maybe admiring—grin.

Sachs asked, “What do you want?”

“Whittaker Media is one of my beats. I was asking if you were talking to Averell about the Locksmith.”

“Why do you think I was seeing him? It’s a big building.”

“You came out of the south hallway. There’s only one elevator there and it goes directly to his suite.”

She said nothing.

“Come on. This is a great story. A guy breaks into apartments and leaves one of Whittaker’s papers? Like a journalistic Batman villain? What angle are you following? Do you think the Locksmith’s a former employee?”

“I have no comment. On that. On anything.”

“Is Whittaker himself in any danger? How about his niece, Joanna? Was she there? She visits a lot.” A coy smile. “Maybe the Locksmith’s extorting her charity. It’s well endowed.”

“On anything,” she repeated.

Gibbons offered a card. “I tell it like it is, Detective. I don’t trash cops in my stories. I report the facts, unlike some news institutions.” He nodded toward the skyscraper. “Threats against Whittaker and Joanna, that’s a valid story. I want to report it. Help me out. Who knows, maybe publicity’ll drum up some witnesses for you.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Gibbons.” She slipped the business card away, thinking that if she threw it out now, a scene might ensue.

“Take care, Detective Sachs. Keep me in mind.”

She and Spencer continued to the entrance. She looked back and noted that Gibbons did not circle back to the crowd to fish for stories. He’d apparently given up on his reporting duties for the time being and had vanished from sight.

35

So the Locksmithhadreturned to the Bechtel Building.

---