Page 99 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

Well, it’s Lincoln Rhyme.”

Turning the chair, he found himself looking at two men approaching. They appeared troubled, but Rhyme’s impression was that they were affecting that expression artificially.

Maybe they thought he was here in an official capacity.

The speaker was big, tanned Richard Beaufort. Rhyme now realized he looked like some star he’d seen on a TV show—about police, as a matter of fact. Also present was Abe Potter, the mayor’s aide, a slim, balding man with dark tufts of straight hair above each ear. He resembled no one memorable.

Sachs glared toward them, but Rhyme said, “It’s okay,” and drove to meet them.

“Detective Beaufort … Congratulations.”

“On …?” The officer frowned.

“Your assignment to the mayor’s office security. I assume it’s new. You said you were working follow-up on the Buryak case just theother day, out of the One One Two House.” Rhyme remembered Sachs told him Beaufort had been transferred some time ago.

“Well, I have several assignments.” He rubbed his fingers together, a sign of stress probably. Once again Rhyme thought of Sachs’s edginess, though in her case it didn’t arise because she lied.

“I remember, from my days on the force, it was always a challenge. All that juggling.”

Potter wasn’t a physical force but his voice was firm. “Mr. Rhyme, it was made clear to you that you can’t work on any case for the NYPD.”

Nice touch, the “Mr.,” reminding that Rhyme was a civilian. At least Willis had captained him.

He cast a querying look toward the two men.

“There’s been an arrest in the Gregorios murder.”

The killing in Queens.

“A homeless man?”

“That’s right. And this was displayed on the brag board at the press conference.” Potter looked at Beaufort, who brandished his phone.

The photo depicted a table and a whiteboard, on which were a mug shot of the homeless suspect, looking dazed, and pictures of a bloody wallet, a filleting knife, also crimson, and of a bottle of cherry-flavored Miracle Sav. Beneath the bottle of the gut-destroying “medicine” was a printout of Rhyme’s email to Detectives Kelly and Wilson.

When mixed together, sodium chlorite and citric acid combine to create chlorine dioxide, ClO2, a common disinfectant and cleanser. However, note that the ClO2also is used as a fraudulent cure-all for a number of diseases, including AIDS and cancer. When used as a quack cure, ClO2generally has added to it a flavoring agent, such as lemon, cinnamon, or—as is present here—cherry syrup …

Rhyme had never approved of brass’s showing off at press conferences: the stacks of drugs, the bags of money, the pictures of SWAT apprehending the suspect, the evidence. It was arrogant and unseemly. It also gave away techniques. Bad guys owned TVs too.

Beaufort muttered, “Dep Com Willis and the mayor feel this is a violation of the prohibition you are well aware of. It was highly embarrassing. And it was an insult to the chain of command. Not taking them seriously.”

Rhyme looked up at Potter and asked, “Did the mayor make a statement condemning my involvement in the Gregorios case?”

“Well, he did, yes.”

“What’s his opponent’s name, again, in the race for governor?”

Potter regarded Beaufort but finally answered, “Edward Roland.”

That’s right, the billionaire.

“Who, in turn, issued a statement attacking the mayor.”

“I don’t know what your point is here, Mr. Rhyme.”

He asked, “Do either of you play chess?”

They exchanged glances once more. Frowning, Beaufort asked, “I’m sorry?”

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