Dance of Death by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Page A
Authors: Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child
Ads: Link
a minor functionary in India during the Raj." Pendergast took another sip. "Duchamp was hung from a noose, which then parted, plunging him twenty stories to his death. My Great-Great-Uncle Maurice died in precisely the same manner. He was hanged in New Orleans in 1871 for murdering his wife and her lover. Because the gibbet had been badly damaged in recent riots, they hung him instead from one of the upper courthouse windows on Decatur Street. But Maurice's violent struggles, combined with a defective rope, caused it to part, sending him plummeting to his death."
D'Agosta stared at his friend in horror.
"These deaths, and the manner in which they were staged, were Diogenes's way of attracting my attention. Perhaps now, Vincent, you can understand why Diogenes needs me alive."
"You can't mean that he's-"
"Precisely. I had always assumed his crime would be against humanity. But now I know I am his target. My brother's so-called perfect crime is to murder everyone close to me. That's the real reason he rescued me from Fosco's castle. He doesn't want me dead, he wants me alive-alive so he can destroy me in a far more exquisite way, leaving me filled with misery and self-reproach, torturing myself with the knowledge that I was unable to save those few people on earth..." Pendergast paused, took a steadying breath. "Those few people on earth I truly care about."
D'Agosta swallowed. "I can't believe this monster's related to you."
"Now that I know the true nature of his crime, I've been forced to abandon my initial plan and develop a new one. It's not an ideal plan, but it is the best possible under the circumstances."
"Tell me."
"We must prevent Diogenes from killing again. That means locating him. And here's where I'll need your help, Vincent. You must use your access as a law enforcement officer to glean as much as you can from the crime scene evidence."
He handed a cell phone to D'Agosta. "Here's a phone I'll use to keep in contact with you. Because time is of the essence, we'll need to start locally, with Charles Duchamp. Dig up whatever evidence you can find and bring it to me. No crumb is too small. Find out everything you can from Laura Hayward-but for God's sake don't tell her what you're up to. Not even Diogenes can leave a totally clean crime scene."
"Good as done." D'Agosta paused. "So what's with the date on the letter? January 28?"
"I no longer have any doubt that is the day he plans to complete his crime. But it is vital you keep in mind that the crime has already begun. Today is the twenty-second. My brother has been planning this infamy for years, maybe decades. All his preparations are in place. I shudder to think who he might kill in the next six days." And at this, Pendergast sat forward and stared at D'Agosta, his eyes glittering in the dim room. "Unless Diogenes can be stopped, everyone close to me-and that would certainly include you, Vincent-may die."
THIRTEEN
Smithback took his usual place in the darkest corner of the Bones, the dingy restaurant behind the museum favored as an after-hours hangout by museum employees who-it seemed-never tired of the sight of bones. The official name of the place was the Blarney Stone Tavern; it had acquired its nickname from the owner's penchant for hammering bones of all shapes, sizes, and sources onto the walls and ceiling.
Smithback looked at his watch. Miracle of miracles, he was ten minutes early. Maybe Nora would be early, too, and they could have a few extra minutes to talk. He felt like he hadn't seen his new wife in ages. She had promised to meet him here for a burger and beer before she returned to the museum to work late on the big upcoming show. And he himself had a story of sorts to write up and file before the 2 a.m. deadline.
He shook his head. What a life: two months married and he hadn't been laid in a week. But it wasn't so much making love he missed as Nora's companionship. Talk. Friendship. The truth was, Nora was Smithback's best friend, and
D'Agosta stared at his friend in horror.
"These deaths, and the manner in which they were staged, were Diogenes's way of attracting my attention. Perhaps now, Vincent, you can understand why Diogenes needs me alive."
"You can't mean that he's-"
"Precisely. I had always assumed his crime would be against humanity. But now I know I am his target. My brother's so-called perfect crime is to murder everyone close to me. That's the real reason he rescued me from Fosco's castle. He doesn't want me dead, he wants me alive-alive so he can destroy me in a far more exquisite way, leaving me filled with misery and self-reproach, torturing myself with the knowledge that I was unable to save those few people on earth..." Pendergast paused, took a steadying breath. "Those few people on earth I truly care about."
D'Agosta swallowed. "I can't believe this monster's related to you."
"Now that I know the true nature of his crime, I've been forced to abandon my initial plan and develop a new one. It's not an ideal plan, but it is the best possible under the circumstances."
"Tell me."
"We must prevent Diogenes from killing again. That means locating him. And here's where I'll need your help, Vincent. You must use your access as a law enforcement officer to glean as much as you can from the crime scene evidence."
He handed a cell phone to D'Agosta. "Here's a phone I'll use to keep in contact with you. Because time is of the essence, we'll need to start locally, with Charles Duchamp. Dig up whatever evidence you can find and bring it to me. No crumb is too small. Find out everything you can from Laura Hayward-but for God's sake don't tell her what you're up to. Not even Diogenes can leave a totally clean crime scene."
"Good as done." D'Agosta paused. "So what's with the date on the letter? January 28?"
"I no longer have any doubt that is the day he plans to complete his crime. But it is vital you keep in mind that the crime has already begun. Today is the twenty-second. My brother has been planning this infamy for years, maybe decades. All his preparations are in place. I shudder to think who he might kill in the next six days." And at this, Pendergast sat forward and stared at D'Agosta, his eyes glittering in the dim room. "Unless Diogenes can be stopped, everyone close to me-and that would certainly include you, Vincent-may die."
THIRTEEN
Smithback took his usual place in the darkest corner of the Bones, the dingy restaurant behind the museum favored as an after-hours hangout by museum employees who-it seemed-never tired of the sight of bones. The official name of the place was the Blarney Stone Tavern; it had acquired its nickname from the owner's penchant for hammering bones of all shapes, sizes, and sources onto the walls and ceiling.
Smithback looked at his watch. Miracle of miracles, he was ten minutes early. Maybe Nora would be early, too, and they could have a few extra minutes to talk. He felt like he hadn't seen his new wife in ages. She had promised to meet him here for a burger and beer before she returned to the museum to work late on the big upcoming show. And he himself had a story of sorts to write up and file before the 2 a.m. deadline.
He shook his head. What a life: two months married and he hadn't been laid in a week. But it wasn't so much making love he missed as Nora's companionship. Talk. Friendship. The truth was, Nora was Smithback's best friend, and
Similar Books
