Page 97 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

Spencer tugged himself upward as Ron pulled fiercely.

Then he was tumbling on top of the officer.

“We’ve only got minutes. We need to move.”

He turned on the oxygen and slapped the mask on Pulaski’s face. The officer inhaled deeply and his color returned. After thirty seconds, Pulaski handed it back and Spencer too inhaled the sweet nothing.

He mounted the gray and red Sterling FCX around Pulaski’s waist, then showed him how the lever worked to release tension on the rope and lower himself slowly.

“You cool with it?” The smoke was getting worse even in the time Spencer had been here. Sparks and heat flowed from the stairwell.

He nodded.

Spencer put on the mask and inhaled deeply, blinked away the tears from the smoke. He saw a crowbar on the floor and he used it to crush the rest of the broken glass on the bottom of the frame. He then clamped the hook of the FCX to the radiator and helped Pulaski into the window, and, gripping the man’s belt tightly, eased him around so that the front of his body was facing the building. “I’ve got you. Okay …” He saw that the device was properly rigged. And let go of the belt. “You’re free. Easy with the lever. Down you go.”

“Hey, look, Lyle … I don’t know what to say. I—”

“Later. Now get the hell out of here.”

51

Ipark the glistening black Audi A6 at the curb and climb out, cautious. Looking around.

Police.

Fire.

Responding to what I’m responsible for.

The conflagration within the Sandleman Building.

It’s not burning as fast as I’d hoped but it’s fast enough. Flames are crawling up the core and I’m sure no one will get to Dev Swensen’s shop in time to save anything incriminating against me.

But I’m not here because of the building.

I have another mission.

To take some photographs.

I need a set of keys. Many people are sooooo careless, and leave them in glove compartments, in cup holders, tucked above sun visors.

Or, in this instance, in the ignition itself.

Shame on you, driver. What’s the good of locks if you leave the keys within the fox’s grasp.

Of course, he’s not a complete fool. He’s kept the engine running for the air-conditioning and taken a second set with him to lock the door.

I look up and down the street.

I’m invisible. Who wouldn’t be when there’s a burning high-rise and a thousand flashing lights? Crouching, I open the door with the jiggler. I pluck the keys out and I take dozens of pictures from all angles. People think you make a wax impression of a key—they’ve seen that on TV. In fact, that works only for the most rudimentary skeleton keys. For pin and tumbler, you need high megapixel pictures.

To augment my efforts, I take a sixty-second video.

I have enough.

I slide them back into the ignition, start the engine, lock the door with the button inside and ease it shut.

In sixty seconds I’ve fired up the Audi and am headed away from the excitement. As much as I’d love to watch the building come down, I have some pressing errands.

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