Chapter 25 twenty four

Can this be considered music? First there was the sound of drums, followed by repeated and simple blowing of brass instruments, bursting into Rhyme's living room.The sound came from the park across the street. It was from the Fantastic Circus. The music was harsh, and the tune was vulgar and urgent.Rhyme tried to ignore it and continued with Charles.Grady on the phone. The prosecutor had just called to thank Rhyme for his help in arresting the pastor who had come to town trying to murder him. Bell had just been to the detention center to question Constable.The prisoner said he knew Svensson but had excommunicated him a year earlier because he had an unhealthy habit of hanging out with the daughters of certain people in the parish.After Swensen left the Comrade, Constable never contacted him again, and he himself has been with the militiamen in those remote areas since then.The inmate utterly denied knowing any details about the murder.

Nevertheless, Grady had someone bring a box to Rhyme, which was full of evidence from the crime scene in front of the community elementary school and from the hotel room where Pastor Swenson stayed.Rhyme looked it over quickly, but found nothing of Constable.He explained the results to Grady, then added: What's the name of the town where we have to send the evidence to the forensics guy? Kendong Falls. They could do some comparisons of soil or microscopic evidence, and maybe there would be something that could link Svensson to Constable.I don't have samples from that place at all here.

Thank you for your help, Lincoln, I'll send someone over there as soon as possible. If you want me to write some expert opinion, I'm more than happy to do it.Rhyme said, but it must be repeated; the latter part of the sentence had been overshadowed by a particularly loud trumpet solo.God, what is this, he thought, if I come to compose music, it must be better than this music. Thomas asked Rhyme to rest for a while and took his blood pressure, which turned out to be a bit high.I don't like this blood pressure.Thomas said. Well, strictly speaking, there are a lot of things I don't like.Rhyme replied petulantly, exasperated by the slow progress of the case: an FBI expert called from Washington to say they would have to wait until tomorrow morning at the earliest before they could turn over the piece of black art. report of the metal sheet found in the sorcerer's bag; Beddy and Saul have visited more than fifty hotels in Manhattan and have yet to find a single one using the American Plastics card found in the pocket of the sorcerer's jogging jacket. The key card; Sellitto also called the police officers who were on duty outside the Fantastic Circus (the police officers on duty in the morning were off duty at this time and replaced by two other new police officers), but they also reported that there was no suspicious situation .

And, worst of all, they still haven't been able to find Larry.Buck, he couldn't find the policeman who once arrested the sorcerer near the trade fair.Dozens of police officers investigated in the West District, but they could not find any witnesses, could not find any evidence, and knew nothing about his whereabouts.The only bit of good news: Buck's body wasn't in the Mazda.Although the stolen car has not yet been salvaged, a diver braved the rapids and went deep into the water. After careful inspection, he reported that there were no dead bodies in the car or the luggage compartment.

What about our food?Sellitto asked, walking to the window and looking out.Sachs and Carla were out on the street, planning to pack some food from a nearby Cuban restaurant (Carla wasn't interested in dinner, but was rather looking forward to her first cup of Cuban coffee. Thomas said Cuban coffee was half A cup of espresso, half a cup of condensed milk, and half a cup of sugar. Although the proportions are questionable, Thomas mentions coffee, which makes Carla very happy). The portly detective turned to Rhyme and said: Have you ever had a Cuban sandwich?They are the tastiest. However, neither the food nor the case mattered to Thomas.It's time to sleep.

It's only nine-thirty-eight, Thomas, Rhyme pointed out, and it's only mid-afternoon, really.So, it's not yet the time to ︱sleep︱sleep︱.Rhyme drawled out singingly, trying to sound both boyish and menacing.Now that bastard killer is still at large, thinking about how often he should kill someone.Maybe four hours, maybe two hours.He glanced at the clock.At this moment he might be working on his 9:38 murder plan.I know you don't like it, but I still have work to do. No, you can't do that.If you don't want to call it a day, I can agree, but we have to go upstairs and I'll help you with some errands, and then you can take a nap, maybe an hour or two.

Haha, you're trying to trick me into sleeping until dawn.I won't, I'm going to stay up all night today. Thomas had an idea, turned around and announced to everyone in a firm tone: Lincoln is going upstairs now, and he will come down in a few hours. How about your break from get off work now?Rhyme growled in displeasure. How about you go to sleep now?Thomas yelled back. What is this?He grunted, but finally surrendered.He understands the danger.Autonomy can occur in paralyzed individuals who sit too long in one position, or have compressions on terminal blood vessels, or go too long without urinating or scribbling (a swear word Lyme is always fond of uttering in front of strangers). Nervous abnormalities reflect a sudden, rapid spike in blood pressure, which can cause a stroke that can lead to more severe paralysis or death.Abnormal autonomic reflexes don't happen very often, but when they do, they can send you to the hospital or the grave very quickly. That's why Lyme reluctantly agreed to go upstairs to settle some personal private matters, Then rest a little longer.After his physical incapacity, what he hates most is the interruption of normal life at times like this.This often made him angry, and, despite his best efforts to resist it, he could not help feeling the deepest depression.

Upstairs in the bedroom, Thomas took care of the necessary physical chores for Rhyme.OK, rest for two hours, go to sleep now. Only one hour.Rhyme snapped. Thomas wanted to argue, but now he looked into Rhyme's face, and at the same time (what he saw on Rhyme's face at the time may have been angry and don't provoke me, but it didn't move him a bit) he found himself He even cared about the next victim on the sorcerer's murder list.So Thomas conceded and said: OK, just one hour, but you must sleep. An hour is an hour, Rhyme replied, and then winked and said: I will have a good dream. But, you know, a small cup will help the quality of sleep.

Thomas adjusted his pretty purple tie, a sign of giving in, and Rhyme was like a shark, sniffing out the location of prey with just a hint of blood.One cup is fine.He begged hard. All right.Thomas picked up the glass, poured a little aged Macallan whiskey, put the straw in Rhyme's mouth.Rhyme took a deep sip.Ah, what a paradise, he said, looking at the empty glass.Another day I'll teach you how to pour a glass of wine well. I'll be back in an hour.Thomas said. Command, alarm clock, Rhyme said gravely.A picture of an alarm clock appeared on the LCD screen, and he gave voice instructions to set the alarm clock to ring one hour later.

I'll come up and call you.Thomas said. Oh, I'm just in case you suddenly get stuck or forget something, Rhyme said sheepishly: That way I'm sure I'll be up when the time comes, no? The nurse left, he closed the door gently, and Rhyme immediately cast his gaze to the window, looking at the two falcons nesting on the window sill.They looked up at the city with disdain, turning their heads in a way that seemed convulsive but graceful.Then one of them (the female with the better hunting skill) took a quick glance at him and blinked its elongated eyes as if it had caught his gaze.It turned its head to one side, and continued to stare at the fantasy circus that was performing in the park from the source of the noise.Rhyme closed his eyes, but his thoughts were still racing quickly among the evidence, trying to figure out the magician's motive for the murder.What is the meaning of the copper plates, hotel keys, passports, ink, etc.?Thinking about one mystery after another, his eyes suddenly opened.It was ridiculous, he didn't feel tired at all, he just wanted to hurry down and get on with his work.At this point he doesn't need any sleep at all.

He felt a gust of wind brush his cheek, and suddenly he felt angry at Thomas for not turning off the air conditioner.When a paralyzed man has a runny nose, it's better to have someone fucking around to wipe it off.Rhyme called out the temperature control panel on the screen, thinking that he could tell Thomas that the reason he couldn't sleep was because the room was too cold.However, as soon as he saw the display on the panel, he realized that the air conditioner in the room was not turned on at all. Where did that breeze come from? The door was still shut. coming!He felt it again, definitely the movement of air, this time scratching his right cheek.He quickly turned his head to the right.Is this gust of wind coming from the window?Impossible, the windows are all closed.unless there is only one possibility But at this moment, he turned his attention to the door again. God, he thought, feeling a chill in his chest.The door to his bedroom had a latch which could only be pulled from the inside, and could not be controlled from the outside. But now, the latch is locked. He felt another breeze on his skin.This time, the airflow was a little warmer, and it felt very close.Then, he heard a faint gasp. Who are you?Rhyme whispered. A hand suddenly appeared in front of him, which took him by surprise.Two fingers of this hand were deformed, as if they had melted and then stuck together.This hand also held a razor, pointed at Rhyme's eyes. If you dare to ask for help, the sorcerer said softly that if you dare to make a sound, I will stab you blind immediately.Understand? Lincoln.Rhyme nodded.