Back The Cold Moon Save as PDF
Chapters (53)
  1. Cover
  2. Contents
  3. Epigraph
  4. I
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Chapter 22
  27. II
  28. Chapter 23
  29. Chapter 24
  30. Chapter 25
  31. Chapter 26
  32. Chapter 27
  33. Chapter 28
  34. Chapter 29
  35. Chapter 30
  36. Chapter 31
  37. Chapter 32
  38. Chapter 33
  39. III
  40. Chapter 34
  41. Chapter 35
  42. Chapter 36
  43. Chapter 37
  44. Chapter 38
  45. Chapter 39
  46. Chapter 40
  47. Chapter 41
  48. Chapter 42
  49. IV
  50. Chapter 43
  51. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  52. About Jeffery Deaver
  53. Copyright

Rhyme didn’t laugh. He was still furious about the man’s escape—and furious too that he apparently had no desire to retire. “When you get tired of making bad jokes, Lon, you might want to notice that his grammar and syntax are perfect. That tells us something else about him. Good education. Private school? Classically trained? Scholarships? Valedictorian? Put those on the chart, Thom.”

Sellitto was unfazed. “Fucking semicolons.”

“Got something here,” Cooper said, looking up from the computer. “The green material from his place in Brooklyn? I’m pretty sure it’s Caulerpa taxifolia. A noxious weed.”

“A what?”

“It’s a seaweed that spreads uncontrollably. Causes all kinds of problems. It’s been banned in the U.S.”

“And presumably, if it spreads, you can find it everywhere,” Rhyme said sourly. “Useless as evidence.”

“Actually, no,” Cooper explained. “So far, it’s been found only on the Pacific Coast of North America.”

“Mexico to Canada?”

“Pretty much.”

Rhyme added sarcastically, “That’s virtually a street address. Call out the SWAT team.”

It was then that Kathryn Dance frowned. “The West Coast?” She considered something for a moment. Then she asked, “Where’s the interview with him?”

Mel Cooper found the file. He hit PLAY and for the dozenth time they watched the killer look into the camera and lie to them all. Dance leaned forward intently. She reminded Rhyme of himself gazing at evidence.

He’d been through the interview so often he was numb to the words; it provided nothing helpful now that he could tell. But Dance gave a sudden laugh. “Got a thought.”

“What?”

“Well, I can’t give you an address but I can give you a state. My guess is that he comes from California. Or lived there for some time.”

“Why do you think that?”

She backed up with the rewind command. Then played part of the interview again, the portion where he talked about driving to Long Island to take delivery of the confiscated SUV.

Dance stopped the tape and said, “I’ve studied regional expressions. People in California usually refer to their interstate highways with the article ‘the.’ The four-oh-five in L.A., for instance. In the interview he referred to ‘the four ninety-five’ here in New York. And did you hear him say freeway? That’s common in California too, more so than expressway or interstate. Which is what you hear on the East Coast.”

Possibly helpful, Rhyme thought. Another brick in the wall of evidence. “On the chart,” he said.

“When I get back I’ll open a formal investigation in my office,” she said. “I’ll put out everything we’ve got statewide. We’ll see what happens. Okay, I better be going. . . . Oh, I’ll be expecting you both out in California sometime soon.”