Page 106 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

“No, what’s that?”

“Buryak’s name came up. Remember, Sachs?”

She nodded. “When we were working the Murphy case, a CI mentioned him. Buryak. Something about shipments of product at the Red Hook piers next few weeks. It wasn’t part of the homicide so we just sent it to Narcotics.”

Rhyme said, “Couple hundred kilos.”

Sachs corrected, “Bigger, I remember.”

Douglass shook his head. “Well, Buryak never touches product himself. You’ll never catch him buying or selling anything other than information. But maybe we’ll catch somebody in the net who’ll dime him out.” He gave a wry smile. “I’ve spent six months of my life trying to roll up Buryak and I’ve got nothing. Then this tip comes out of left field and maybethat’show he’s going to get collared. Hell of a line of work we’re in, don’t you think? Hell of a line.”

56

Four people were in on the conversation.

Lincoln Rhyme was supposedly off the case, yes, but since those on the call were only Sachs, Averell Whittaker and his niece, he’d decided to take the chance of an appearance, though he let Sachs handle the lead.

She explained about their discovery that Kitt was the Locksmith.

The gasp was from Averell Whittaker. “No.”

Joanna Whittaker said, “That’s not possible.”

Sachs explained about the evidence she’d found in his apartment—the shoes, the victims’ underwear, picking tools, theDaily Heralds.

“It can’t be …” His voice faded.

Then Joanna was whispering, “Jesus. I just realized something.”

Her uncle was saying, “What is it, Jo?”

“The newspapers. Page three, February seventeenth. Aunt Mary died March second, two thousand seventeen.”

Rhyme said, “It’s acode. Damn it. Missed it completely. Page three represents the third month, March. The February issue?February’s the second month, so we get the number two. And the date, the seventeenth, is the year. Three/two/seventeen.”

Sachs said, “We were focusing on the content. It had nothing to do with the Apollos or Russian hacks or anything else on the page.”

“Oh my God …” Averell Whittaker cleared his throat. “I didn’t mention this, but the reason Kitt walked out of my life, our lives. It’s my fault—”

“Uncle—”

“No, it is! I was busy buying that damn TV station and wasn’t at Mary’s bedside when she passed.”

Silence between uncle and niece. Finally Joanna said, “She wasn’t alone. Kitt was there. And—how could you know? The doctors themselves couldn’t say for sure how long she had.”

“I … I feel that it’s my fault. The way I treated him. The neglect …” Did the man choke a sob? Rhyme could only imagine the shock of a father learning his son was a felon and potentially a murderer.

“Averell …” Joanna coddled. “Don’t think that way. Nobody forced him to go off the grid, to do the things he’s done.”

Rhyme glanced Sachs’s way, and the look meant that they needed to move things along.

She said, “We’re pretty sure he’s living out of a workshop in the city. Do you have an idea where he might have some place like that?”

Silence again. Joanna spoke. “No, like we said, we’ve been wholly out of touch … seems like forever. Uncle Averell?”

The man was struggling to speak. “No, nothing.”

“Is your fiancé there?” Sachs asked Joanna.