The door to the main office swung open. A deputy she didn’t recognize stood there. “You’ve got a call.” He opened the cell door, shackled her and led her to a small metal table on which sat a phone. It would be her mother, she supposed. Rhyme was going to call the woman and give her the news. Or maybe it was her best friend in New York, Amy.

But when she picked up the receiver, the thick chains clinking, she heard Lincoln Rhyme’s voice. “How is it in there, Sachs? Cool?”

“It’s all right,” she muttered.

“That lawyer’ll be here tonight. He’s good. He’s been doing criminal law for twenty years. He got off a suspect in a burglary I made a case against. Anybody does that, you know they have to be good.”

“Rhyme, come on. Why even bother? I’m an outsider who broke a murderer out of jail and killed one of the local cops. It doesn’t get any more hopeless than that.”

“We’ll talk about your case later. I’ve got to ask you something else. You spent a couple of days with Garrett. Did you talk about anything?”

“Sure we did.”

“What?”

“I don’t know Insects. The woods, the swamp.” Why was he asking her these things? “I don’t remember.”

“I need you to remember. I need you to tell me everything he said.”

“Why bother, Rhyme?” she repeated.

“Come on, Sachs. Humor an old crip, will you?”

… chapter forty

Lincoln Rhyme was alone in the impromptu lab, at the evidence charts.

FOUND AT PRIMARY CRIME SCENE—BLACKWATER LANDING

Kleenex with Blood
Limestone Dust
Nitrates
Phosphate
Ammonia
Detergent
Camphene

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE-GARRETT’S ROOM

Skunk Musk
Cut Pine Needles
Drawings of Insects
Pictures of Mary Beth and Family
Insect Books
Fishing Line
Money
Unknown Key
Kerosene
Ammonia
Nitrates
Camphene

FOUND AT SECONDARY CRIME SCENE—QUARRY

Old Burlap Bag—Unreadable Name on It
Corn—Feed and Grain?
Scorch Marks on Bag
Deer Park Water
Planters Cheese Crackers

FOUND AT THE SECONDARY CRIME SCENE—MILL

Brown Paint on Pants
Sundew Plant
Clay
Peat Moss
Fruit Juice
Paper Fibers
Stinkball Bait
Sugar
Camphene
Alcohol
Kerosene
Yeast

Then he studied the map, eyes tracing the course of the Paquenoke River as it made its way from the Great Dismal Swamp through Blackwater Landing and meandered west.

There was a peak in the stiff paper of the map—a wrinkle that made you itch to smooth it.

That’s been my life for the past few years, Lincoln Rhyme thought: itches that can’t be scratched.

Maybe, soon, I’ll be able to do that. After Dr. Weaver cuts and stitches and fills me up with her magic potions and youthful shark … maybe then I’ll be able to run my hand over maps like this, flatten out a little crinkle.

An unnecessary gesture, pointless, really. But what a victory it would be.