Byrne's phone rang. He belted his handset, answered. It was David Sinclair.
'I'm going to put you on speaker,' Byrne said. He put the cell phone on the hood of the car.
'I got your e-mail,' Sinclair said. 'I think I know what's going on here.'
'What is it?'
'This is a pretty famous tangram. The puzzle is in the shape of a bird. A problem invented by Sang-hsia- k'o.'
Byrne told Sinclair of the most recent crime scene. He left out the gruesome details.
'Was this anywhere near the other buildings?'
'Yes,' Byrne said. 'Another corner building.'
'Is it northwest of the Shiloh Street address?'
'It is.'
'East of Fifth?'
'Just.'
'So that makes five triangles.'
'Yes.'
'And this was the largest so far, so I'm thinking it is the central part of the problem.'
Suddenly, the night fell quiet. For a few electrifying moments there was no music, no traffic, no barking dogs, just the sound of a distant barge on the river, just the buzz of the streetlamps overhead. Byrne looked at Jessica. Their eyes met in wordless understanding, and they knew.
They were on the phone with the killer.
The man who called himself David Sinclair was Mr. Ludo.
Jessica walked quickly away, out of earshot. She opened her cell phone, dialed the communications unit. They would begin to triangulate this call.
The killer spoke first.
'In the world of magic, do you know what a flash is, Detective Byrne?'
Byrne remained silent. He let the man continue.
'A flash is where the audience has seen something it was not supposed to see. I know that I just flashed. You did not give me the address of the latest crime scene, so I could not have known it was the largest. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about just so you can buy some time to trace this call. If you do, I will kill the next girl now, while you're listening.'
'Okay.' Byrne thought of the man sitting across from him at the Magnolia Grill in Chester County. His anger built. He fought it. 'What do you want?'
There was no hesitation. 'What does any puzzle master want? To be solved. But only by the best and the brightest. Are you the best and brightest?'
Byrne had to keep the man talking. 'Hardly. I'm just another flat- foot.'
'I doubt that. A flatfoot wound not have seen the Jeremiah Crosley clue and followed it to the Girl Without a Middle.'
Thunder rumbled above. A second later, Byrne heard the thunder on the cell phone. The killer was not in Atlanta. The killer was in North Philadelphia.
'Did you see the clock tower?'
'I did,' Byrne said. 'Nice trick.'
The man drew a short breath. There was a nerve here somewhere. Byrne had found it. The first crack.
'Trick?'
'Yeah,' Byrne said. 'Like that stuff we used to see on the commercials during those late night horror movies. Remember those? The deck of cards that turn into all aces. The multiplying little foam bunnies. 'Tricks anyone can do,' the guy said. 'Magic is easy, once you know the secret.' I bought that cheap plastic wand that turns into a flower. It fell apart.'
There was a long moment of hesitation. Good and bad. Good because Byrne was getting to the man. Bad because he was unpredictable. And he held all the cards.
'And this is what you think I've done? A trick?'
Byrne glanced at Jessica. She twirled a finger in the air. Keep him talking.
'Pretty much.'
'And yet you are there, and I am here. Between us, pretty maids all in a row.'
'You have us there,' Byrne said. 'No argument.'
'The question is, can you solve the puzzle in time, Detective? Can you save the last two maidens?'
The man's composure was back.
'Why don't you just tell me where they are, and you and I can meet somewhere, work this out?' Byrne asked.
'What, and give up show business?'
Byrne heard a loud hiss, a crackle in the connection. The storm was moving in. Jessica took out her pad, wrote on it, dropped it on the car. It's a land line. We have him.
'By the way. You said the puzzle was a bird. What sort of bird?' Byrne asked.
'The sort that can fly away,' the killer said. 'Can you hang on for a second? I have to produce a flower.'
The man laughed, and the line went dead.
SEVENTY-NINE
2:38 AM
The address was a small, run-down florist on Frankford. A half dozen sector cars arrived at the same time. Four departmental cars, eight detectives, Jessica and Byrne among them. In less than a minute they flanked the stand-alone building. It was dark inside. When Jessica and Byrne went around back, they saw the back door wide open. With plenty of probable cause to enter, they did.
Soon the small building was clear. No one was inside. The team stood down.
In a small back room, which doubled as an office and a prep area, was a huge oak desk and an old style desk phone. The receiver was off the hook, lying on its side. Next to the phone, a flower. A white lily.
The owner of the shop, a man named Ernest Haas, looked like he was going to vibrate to death. Despite the number of ADT stickers on doors and windows-stickers he readily admitted he had color-copied and put on the windows, hoping they looked authentic enough to fool burglars-he had no security system, no cameras. They had rousted him and his wife in their small apartment over the shop. Ernest and Ruth Ann Haas had no idea what was going on just below them.
The killer had simply picked the lock on the back door and used the phone. There were myriad prints on the receiver and glass doors that led to the cooler containing the lilies. They had been dusted and rushed back to the crime lab.
Before leaving the Jefferson Street scene Byrne had contacted the communications unit. The phone number 'David Sinclair' had given him was a disposable cell phone. Untraceable. Byrne had also given Tony Park the information on Sinclair's publisher. Park was tracking it down now.
Jessica and Byrne stood on the corner of Frankford and Lehigh. Byrne's cell rang. It was Hell Rohmer.
'I've been monitoring the GothOde page. There have been another four hundred viewings of the last video. This thing has gone viral. There've also been a few comments, mostly nutcases. What's new, eh? I'm not sure this one guy who posted is any different, but he responded to the 'here's a clue' line.' 'What was it?'
'The commenter on the page wrote 'Begichev and Geltser? Swan Lake? This guy rox!' It was signed phillybadbwoi. I looked it up. He was right. Begichev and Geltser collaborated with Tchaikovsky on Swan Lake. And the lead part in the ballet?' 'What about it?' Byrne asked. 'Her name is Odette.'
At 2:50,Ike Buchanan's car drove up in front of the florist shop. Arthur Lake stepped out. He had a handful of e-mail printouts.
'I've contacted a number of my colleagues,' Lake said. 'The man in the video is known by reputation to some
