Page 59 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

The man shrugged. “Technically, being within a defined crime scene isn’t an offense. Guilty of civil trespass, yes, but the complaining witness is the owner of the place and he’s busy with bankruptcy, it looks like. The only crimeyou’dbe interested in is tampering with evidence, which is to alter, destroy, conceal or remove it with the purpose of hiding the truth or making it unavailable for a proceeding or investigation.”

The recitation told her a great deal about Lyle P. Spencer.

“We’ll move on,” she said. “Why’re you here?”

Spencer explained that when his boss heard that somebody’d leftHeralds at both of the intrusions, he wanted him to investigate. “His—for the time being I’ll go with male—his MO, from what I’ve heard, paints him an organized offender. That means he would have surveilled the building before the intrusions. I couldn’t find any sites he might’ve done that from for the first incident, on the West Side. Annabelle Talese’s.”

“He was probably in a deli across the street, but it’d been scrubbed by the time I figured that out.”

He nodded, then looked around. “But this was a perfect spot to stage for the intrusion last night.”

“We found brick dust at the prior scene. That’s what got us here.”

“Sure. Picked it up in his shoe and left it at the first scene, and you narrowed it down to the Bechtel Building. Smart.” He seemed impressed. “And he came back.”

“The candy wrapper. You noticed that?” Sachs asked.

“No crime scene officer’d miss it first time around. If it was his, he probably was here to watch the operation, check out who was after him.”

“Why I’m here now. Where were you L.E.?”

“Albany. Patrol after the navy, then got my gold shield. But, with a family, I decided private security made sense. I basically doubled my income and haven’t been shot at.” He glanced at the Glock on her hip.

“Military police?”

“No. I was special ops, a SEAL.”

“You searched the entire place?”

“Ground floor. No way to get upstairs, not safely, but that would be true for him too. I didn’t see any other footprints or evidence, other than the wrapper.”

“Does Mr. Whittaker have any thoughts on who the Locksmith might be?”

“We’ve talked about it and, no, he doesn’t.”

Sachs said, “We’ve been in touch with your legal department. They’re pulling together a list of threats and complaints.”

“I know. Doug Hubert’s people’re doing it. They’ll be thorough.”

Sachs said, “Can you get me in to see Averell Whittaker himself?”

“I can. Yes.”

They completed a walk-around and she saw no suggestion theLocksmith had been anywhere else but in the front. Spencer had been careful to stick to the gravel, avoiding the flat portions of the floor, thick with telltale reddish brick dust.

She’d been watching his eyes and noted his alert body language when a rat nosed out of a pile of rocks, regarded the two visitors and retreated slowly, with apparent irritation.

They returned to the front of the building and she stepped outside—away from the cringey sense that the whole place was about to come down and bury them alive.

She said, “Oh, here’s something else I have to ask.”

Spencer preempted. “What time was the break-in? Early, wasn’t it?”

“Around four a.m.”

“I have an apartment in Whittaker Tower.” He withdrew a notebook and pen and jotted a name and phone number. He tore off the sheet and handed it to her. “That’s the head of building security. He’ll show you RFID entry records and video. I got home at one a.m. and left for work at six.”

She pocketed the sheet.