‘There’s a famous watch on display here in Manhattan. It’s made entirely out of bone. Some Russian, I think. I wondered if stealing that was on your agenda.’

‘There’s a Mikhail Semyonovitch Bronnikov in town?’

‘I think that was it. And you didn’t know?’

The Watchmaker said, ‘I’ve been rather … preoccupied lately. But I’m familiar with the piece. It’s quite astonishing. Mid-1860s. And you’re right: made entirely of bone, one hundred percent.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t make sense for you to risk getting caught – and waste the time, so to speak – trying to break into a Manhattan antiques store to steal a watch.’

‘No, but it was creative thinking, Lincoln. Just what I’d expect of you.’ Another pause. Rhyme imagined that he was checking his own timepiece. ‘Now I think it’s best to say goodbye, Lincoln. I’ve been on the line a little too long. Sometimes those proxies and phone switches can be traced, you know. Not that you’d ever try.’ A chuckle. ‘Till we meet again …’

Next week, next month, next year.

The line went dead.

VI
SKIN AND BONE

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 12
1:00 P.M.

CHAPTER 79

Ron Pulaski had assumed the job of scouring the Berkowitz Funeral Home for evidence and witnesses, searching for any clues that might lead to the Watchmaker.

He seemed to take the failure of his undercover mission to heart, though he could hardly be blamed; the Watchmaker had recognized him immediately. He’d seen the young officer as part of his project in New York a few years ago.

Moreover, Rhyme knew, even if it had been a righteous set, the kid was a pretty bad actor. The best thespians didn’t play characters; they became them.

Gielgud …

So the young officer had collected trace from the documents at the funeral home that Richard Logan – or whatever his real name might be – had signed and where he’d collected the box containing the ashes of the unidentified homeless man from the city morgue. He’d interviewed everyone who’d been at the parlor when the Watchmaker had, including the relatives of someone named Benjamin Ardell, also known as Jonny Rodd, whoever he was. But he’d uncovered no leads.

Nor were there any among the New York Bureau of Investigation agents, who’d also been scammed by the Watchmaker. The agents hadn’t had much contact with ‘Dave Weller’, other than phone calls. And the mobile he’d contacted them on, diming out Pulaski, was, of course, long gone. Batteries in one sewer, snapped-in-half handset in another.