The Cold Moon (51 page)

Good and bad were words whose definitions were different for Charles Vespasian Hale. Good was mental stimulation. Bad was boredom. Good was an elegant plan well executed. Bad was either a sloppy plan or one carelessly carried out.

But his current plot — certainly his most elaborate and far-reaching — was humming along perfectly.

God created the complex mechanism of the universe, then wound it up and started it running...

Hale got off the subway and climbed to the street, his nose stinging from the cold, his eyes watering, and started along the sidewalk. He was about to push the button that would set the hands of his real chronograph in motion.

Lon Sellitto's phone rang and he took the call. Frowning, he had a brief conversation. "I'll look into it."

Rhyme glanced up expectantly.

"That was Haumann. He just got a call from the manager of a delivery service on the same floor as the company that the Watchmaker broke into in Midtown. He said a customer just called. A package they were supposed to deliver yesterday never showed up. Looks like somebody broke in and stole it around the time that we were sweeping the offices looking for the perp. The manager asked if we knew anything about it."

Rhyme's eyes slipped to the photographs that Sachs had taken of the hallway. Bless her, she'd taken pictures of the entire floor. Below the name of the delivery service were the words
High Security — Valuable Deliveries Guaranteed. Licensed and Bonded.

Rhyme heard the white noise of people talking around him. But he didn't hear the words themselves. He stared at the photograph and then at the other evidence.

"Access," he whispered.

"What?" Sellitto asked, frowning.

"We were so focused on the Watchmaker and the fake killings — and then on his scheme to flush out Baker — we never looked at what else was going on."

"Which was?" Sachs asked.

"Breaking and entering. The crime he
actually
committed was trespass. All of the offices on that floor were unguarded for a time. When they evacuated the building, they left the doors unlocked?"

"Well, yeah, I suppose," the big detective said.

Sachs said, "So while we were focused on the flooring company the Watchmaker might've put on a uniform or just hung a badge over his neck then strolled right inside the delivery service and helped himself to that package."

Access...

"Call the service. Find out what was in the package, who sent it and where it was going. Now."

Chapter 36

A taxicab pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, on Fifth Avenue. The huge building was decorated for Christmas, dolled up in the tasteful Victorian regalia that you'd expect on the Upper East Side. Subdued festive.

Out of this cab climbed Charles Vespasian Hale, who looked around carefully on the remote chance that the police were following him. It would have been exceedingly unlikely that he'd be under surveillance. Still, Hale took his time, looked everywhere for anyone showing him the least attention. He saw nothing troubling.

He leaned down to the open taxi window and paid the driver — tendering the cash in gloved hands — and, hooking a black canvas bag over his shoulder, he climbed the stairs into the large cathedral-like lobby, which echoed with the sound of voices, most of them young; the place was lousy with kids freed from school. Evergreens and gold and ornaments and tulle were everywhere. Bach two-part inventions plucked away cheerily on a recorded harpsichord, echoing in the cavernous entryway.

'Tis the season...

Hale left the black bag at the coat check, though he kept his coat and hat. The clerk looked inside the bag, noted the four art books, then zipped it back up and told Hale to have a nice day. He took the claim check and paid admission. He nodded a smile at the guards at the entrance and walked past them into the museum itself.

"The Delphic Mechanism?" Rhyme was talking to the director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art via speakerphone. "It's still on display there?"

"Yes, Detective," the man replied uncertainly. "We've had it here for two weeks. It's part of a multicity tour —"

"Fine, fine, fine. Is it guarded?"

"Yes, of course. I —"

"There's a possibility that a thief's trying to steal it."

"Steal it? Are you sure? It's a one-of-a-kind
objet.
Whoever took possession could never show it in public."

"He doesn't intend to sell it," Rhyme said. "I think he wants it for himself."

The criminalist explained: The package stolen from the delivery service in the building on Thirty-second Street was from a wealthy patron of the arts and was destined for the Metropolitan Museum. It contained a large portfolio of some antiques being offered to the museum's furniture collection.

The Metropolitan Museum? Rhyme had wondered. He'd then recalled the museum programs found in the church. He'd asked Vincent Reynolds and the clock dealer, Victor Hallerstein, if Duncan had mentioned anything about the Met. He had, apparently — spending considerable time there — and he'd expressed particular interest in the Delphic Mechanism.

Rhyme now told the director, "We think he may have stolen the package to smuggle something into the museum. Maybe tools, maybe software to disable alarms. We don't know. I can't figure it out at this point. But I think we have to be cautious."

"My God... All right. What do we do?"

Rhyme looked up at Cooper, who typed on his keyboard and gave a thumbs-up. Into the microphone the criminalist said, "We've just emailed you his picture. Could you print it out and get a copy to all the employees, the security surveillance room and the coat check? See if they recognize him."

"I'll do it right now. Can you hold for a few minutes?"

"Sure."

Soon the director came on the line. "Detective Rhyme?" His voice was breathless. "He's here! He checked a bag about ten minutes ago. The clerk recognized the picture."

"The bag's still there?"

"Yes. He hasn't left."

Rhyme nodded at Sellitto, who picked up the phone and called Bo Haumann at ESU, whose teams were on their way to the museum, and told him this latest news.

"The guard at the Mechanism," Rhyme asked, "is he armed?"

"No. Do you think the thief is? We don't have metal detectors at the entrance. He could've brought a gun in."

"It's possible." Rhyme looked at Sellitto with a lifted eyebrow.

The detective asked, "Move a team in slow? Undercover?"

"He checked a bag... and he knows clocks." He asked the museum director, "Did anybody look in the bag?"

"I'll check. Hold on." A moment later he came back. "Books. He has art books inside. But the coat-check clerk didn't examine them."

"Bomb for diversion?" Sellitto asked.

"Could be. Maybe it's only smoke but even then people'll panic. Could be fatalities either way."

Haumann called in on his radio. His crackling voice: "Okay, we've got teams approaching all the entrances, public and service."

Rhyme asked Dance, "You're convinced he's willing to take lives."

"Yes."

He was considering the man's astonishing plot-making skills. Was there some other deadly plan he'd put into play if he realized he was about to be arrested at the museum? Rhyme made a decision. "Evacuate."

Sellitto asked, "The entire museum?"

"I think we have to. First priority — save lives. Clear the coatroom and front lobby and then move everybody else out. Have Haumann's men check out everybody who leaves. Make sure the teams have his picture."

The museum director had heard. "You think that's necessary?"

"Yes. Do it now."

"Okay, but I just don't see how anyone could steal it," the director said. "The Mechanism's behind inch-thick bullet-proof glass. And the case can't be opened until the day the exhibit closes, next Tuesday."

"What do you mean?" Rhyme asked.

"It's in one of our special display cases."

"But why won't it open until Tuesday?"

"Because the case has a computerized time lock, with a satellite link to some government clock. They tell me nobody can break into it. We put the most valuable exhibits in there."

The man continued speaking but Rhyme looked away. Something was nagging him. Then he recalled, "That arson earlier, the one that Fred Dellray wanted us to help out on. Where was it again?"

Sachs frowned. "A government office. The Institute of Standards and Technology or something like that. Why?"

"Look it up, Mel."

The tech went online. Reading from the website, he said, "NIST is the new name for the National Bureau of Standards and —"

"Bureau of Standards?" Rhyme interrupted. "They maintain the country's atomic clock... Is
that
what he's up to? The time lock at the Met has an uplink to the NIST. Somehow he's going to change the time, convince the lock that it's next Tuesday. The vault'll open automatically."

"Can he do that?" Dance asked.

"I don't know. But if it's possible, he'll find a way. The fire at NIST was to cover up the break-in, I'll bet... " Then Rhyme stopped talking, as the full implications of the Watchmaker's plan became clear. "Oh, no..."

"What?"

Rhyme was thinking about Kathryn Dance's observation: That to the Watchmaker, human life was negligible. He said, "Time everywhere in the country is governed by the U.S. atomic clock. Airlines, trains, national defense, power grids, computers... everything. Do you have any idea what's going to happen if he resets it?"

In a cheap Midtown hotel, a middle-aged man and woman sat on a small couch that smelled of mildew and old food. They were staring at a television set.

Charlotte Allerton was the stocky woman who'd pretended to be the sister of Theodore Adams, the first "victim" in the alley on Tuesday. The man beside her, Bud Allerton, her husband, was the man masquerading as the lawyer who'd secured Gerald Duncan's release from jail by promising that his client would be a spectacular witness in the crooked cop scandal.

Bud really was a lawyer, though he hadn't practiced for some years. He'd resurrected some of his old skills for the sake of Duncan's plan, which called for Bud's pretending to be a criminal attorney from the big, prestigious law firm of Reed, Prince. The assistant district attorney had bought the entire charade, not even bothering to call the firm to check up on the man. Gerald Duncan had believed, correctly, that the prosecutor would be so eager to make a name for himself on a police corruption case that he'd believe what he wanted to. Besides, who ever asks for a lawyer's ID?

The Allertons' attention was almost exclusively on the TV screen, showing local news. A program about Christmas tree safety. Yadda, yadda, yadda... For a moment Charlotte's gaze slipped to the master bedroom in the suite, where her pretty, thin daughter sat reading a book. The girl looked through the doorway at her mother and stepfather with the same dark, sullen eyes that had typified her expression in recent months.

That girl...

Frowning, Charlotte looked back to the TV screen. "Isn't it taking too long?"

Bud said nothing. His thick fingers were intertwined and he sat forward, hunched, elbows on knees. She wondered if he was praying.

A moment later the reporter whose mission was to save families from the scourge of burning Christmas trees disappeared and on the screen came the words
Special News Bulletin.

Chapter 37

In doing his research into watchmaking, so that he could be a credible revenge killer, Charles Hale had learned of the concept of "complications."

A complication is a function in a watch or clock other than telling the time of day. For instance, those small dials that dot the front of expensive timepieces, giving information like day of the week and date and time in different locations, and repeater functions (chimes sounding at certain intervals). Watchmakers have always enjoyed the challenge of getting as many complications into their watches as possible. A typical one is the Patek Philippe Star Calibre 2000, a watch featuring more than one thousand parts. Its complications offer the owner such information as the times of sunrise and sunset, a perpetual calendar, the day, date and month, the season, moon phases, lunar orbit and power reserve indicators for both the watch's movement and the several chimes inside.