The Burning Wire (35 page)

--Algonquin Control Center software accessed by internal codes, not outside hackers.

DEMAND NOTE

--Delivered to Andi Jessen at home.

--No witnesses.

--Handwritten.

--Sent to Parker Kincaid for analysis.

--Generic paper and ink.

--Untraceable.

--No friction ridge prints, other than A. Jessen, doorman, messenger.

--No discernible trace discovered in paper.

CRIME SCENE: BATTERY PARK HOTEL
AND SURROUNDINGS

--Victims (deceased):

--Linda Kepler, Oklahoma City, tourist.

--Morris Kepler, Oklahoma City, tourist.

--Samuel Vetter, Scottsdale, businessman.

--Ali Mamoud, New York City, waiter.

--Gerhart Schiller, Frankfurt, Germany, advertising executive.

--Remote control switch for turning on current.

--Components not traceable.

--Bennington cable and split bolts, identical to first attack.

--Galt's Algonquin uniform, hard hat and gearbag with his friction ridge prints, no others.

--Wrench with tool marks that can be associated with tool marks on bolts at first crime scene.

--Rat-tail file with glass dust that can be associated with glass from bottle found at substation scene in Harlem.

--Probably working alone.

--Trace from Algonquin worker Joey Barzan, assault victim of Galt.

--Alternative jet fuel.

--Attack at military base?

CRIME SCENE: GALT'S APARTMENT,
227 SUFFOLK ST., LOWER EAST SIDE

--Bic SoftFeel fine-point pens, blue ink, associated with ink used in demand letter.

--Generic 81/2 x 11" white computer paper, associated with demand letter.

--Generic No. 10 size envelope, associated with envelope containing demand letter.

--Bolt cutter, hacksaw with tool marks matching those at initial scene.

--Computer printouts:

--Articles about medical research on cancer linked to high-power electric lines.

--Blog postings by Galt Re: same.

--Albertson-Fenwick Model E-20 boots for electrical work, size 11, with treads the same as prints at initial scene.

--Additional traces of alternative jet fuel.

--Attack at military base?

--No obvious leads as to where he might be hiding, or location of future attacks.

CRIME SCENE: ALGONQUIN SUBSTATION MH-7,
E. 119TH STREET, HARLEM

--Molotov cocktail: 750-ml wine bottle, no source.

--BP gas used as accelerant.

--Cotton cloth strips, probably white T-shirt, used as fuse, no source determined.

SECOND DEMAND NOTE

--Delivered to Bernard Wahl, Algonquin security chief.

--Assaulted by Galt.

--No physical contact; no trace.

--No indication of whereabouts or site of next attack.

--Paper and ink associated with those found in Galt's apartment.

--Additional traces of alternative jet fuel embedded in paper.

--Attack on military base?

CRIME SCENE: OFFICE BUILDING AT
235 W. 54TH STREET

--Victims (deceased):

--Larry Fishbein, New York City, accountant.

--Robert Bodine, New York City, attorney.

--Franklin Tucker, Paramus, New Jersey, salesman.

--One friction ridge of Raymond Galt.

--Bennington cable and split bolts, same as at other scenes.

--Two hand-made remote relay switches:

--One to shut off power to elevator.

--One to complete circuit and electrify elevator car.

--Bolts and smaller wires connecting panel to elevator, not traceable.

--Victims had water on shoes.

--Trace:

--Chinese herbs, ginseng and wolfberry.

--Hairspring (planning on using timer, rather than remote for future attacks?).

--Dark green cotton heavy-duty clothing fiber.

--containing trace of aviation jet fuel.

--Dark brown cotton heavy-duty clothing fiber.

--Containing trace of diesel fuel.

--Containing additional Chinese herbs.

CRIME SCENE: ABANDONED SCHOOL, CHINATOWN

--Bennington cable, identical to that at other scenes.

--Generator, Power Plus by Williams-Jonas Manufacturing, stolen from job site in Manhattan.

--Digital voice recorder, Sanoya brand, on which was recorded segment from TV show or film. Cable TV.

--Additional traces of taramasalata.

--Brite-Beam Flashlight.

--Untraceable.

--Six-foot string holding flashlight.

--Untraceable.

--Trace evidence, associated with the area around City Hall:

--Quartz and ammonium chloride copper cleaner.

--Terra-cotta dust, similar to building facades in area.

--White marble stone dust.

--Hair, 9 inches long, blond, sprayed, person under 50, probably woman's.

--Hair,
³
/
₈
inches long, brown, person under 50.

THIRD DEMAND

--Sent via email.

--Untraceable; used a proxy in Europe.

But it turned out that Rhyme was wrong.

It was true that, as he'd felt all along, the evidence--as much else in this case--just didn't add up. But he was wrong in that the key to unraveling the mystery wasn't to be found on the charts surrounding him. Rather, it came blustering into the lab just now, accompanied by Thom, in the form of a tall, lanky sweating man, skin black, clothing bright green.

Catching his breath, Fred Dellray nodded fast to everybody in the room, then proceeded to ignore them as he strode up to Rhyme. "I need to throw something out, Lincoln. And you gotta tell me if it works or not."

"Fred," McDaniel began. "What the hell--"

"Lincoln?" Dellray persisted.

"Sure, Fred. Go ahead."

"What do you think of the theory that Ray Galt's a fall guy. He's dead, been dead for a couple of days, I think. It's somebody
else
who's put this whole thing together. From the beginning."

Rhyme paused for a moment--the disorientation from the attack was slowing his analysis of Dellray's idea. But finally he offered a faint smile and said, "What do I think? It's brilliant. That's what."

Chapter 69

TUCKER MCDANIEL'S RESPONSE,
however, was, "Ridiculous. The whole investigation's based on Galt."

Sellitto ignored him. "What's your theory, Fred? I want to hear it."

"My CI, a guy named William Brent. He was following up on a lead. He was on to somebody who was connected with--maybe behind--the grid attacks. But then he vanished. I found out that Brent was interested in somebody who'd just come to town, was armed with a forty-five and was driving a white van. He'd recently kidnapped and killed somebody. He'd been staying at an address on the Lower East Side for the past couple of days. I found out where. It turned out to be a crime scene."

"Crime scene?" Rhyme asked.

"You betcha. It was Ray Galt's apartment."

Sachs said, "But Galt didn't just come to town. He's lived here all his adult life."

"Ex-
actly.
"

"So what's this Brent have to say?" McDaniel asked skeptically.

"Oh, he ain't tellin' anybody anything. 'Cause yesterday he was in the alley behind Galt's and got himself run over by an NYPD patrolman. He's in the hospital, still unconscious."

"Oh my God," Ron Pulaski whispered. "St. Vincent's?"

"Right."

Pulaski said in a weak voice, "That was me who hit him."

"You?" Dellray asked, voice rising.

The officer said, "But, no, it can't be. The guy I hit? His name's Stanley Palmer."

"Yep, yep . . . That's him. 'Palmer' was one of Brent's covers."

"You mean, he didn't have warrants on him? He didn't do time for attempted murder, aggravated assault?"

Dellray shook his head. "The rap sheet was fake, Ron. We put it into the system so anybody who checked'd find out he had a record. The worst we got him for was conspiracy and then I turned him. Brent's a stand-up guy. He snitched for the money mostly. One of the best in the business."

"But what was he doing with groceries? In the alley?"

"Undercover technique a lot of us use. You cart around groceries or shopping bags, you look less suspicious. Baby carriage is the best. With a doll in it, course."

"Oh," Pulaski muttered. "I . . . Oh."

But Rhyme couldn't be concerned about his officer's psyche. Dellray had raised a credible theory that explained the inconsistencies that Rhyme had been sensing in the case all along.

He'd been looking for a wolf, when he should have been hunting a fox.

But could it be? Was somebody else behind the attacks and Galt just a fall guy?

McDaniel looked doubtful. "But there've been witnesses . . ."

His brown eyes locked on his boss's blue ones, Dellray said, "Are they reliable?"

"What do you mean, Fred?" An edge now in the slick ASAC's voice.

"Or were they people who
believed
it was Galt because
we
told the media that's who it was? And the media told the world?"

Rhyme added, "You wear safety goggles, you wear a hard hat and a company uniform . . . If you're the same race and same build, and you've got a fake name badge with your
own
picture on it and Galt's name . . . sure, it could work."

Sachs too was considering the evidence. "The lineman in the tunnel, Joey Barzan, said he identified him because of the name badge. He'd never met Galt. And it was real dark down there."

"And the security chief, Bernie Wahl," Rhyme added, "never saw him when he delivered the second demand note. The perp got him from behind."

Rhyme said, "And Galt was the one he kidnapped and killed. Like your CI found out."

"That's right," Dellray said.

"But the evidence?" McDaniel persisted.

Rhyme stared at the board, shaking his head. "Shit. How could I've missed it?"

"What, Rhyme?"

"The boots in Galt's apartment? A pair of Albertson-Fenwicks."

"But they matched," Pulaski said.

"Of course they matched. But that's not the point, Rookie. The boots were
in
Galt's apartment. If they were his, they wouldn't've been there; he'd be
wearing
them! Workers wouldn't have two pairs of
new
boots. They're expensive and employees usually have to buy their own. . . . No, the real perp found out what kind Galt wore and bought another pair. Same with the bolt cutter and hacksaw. The real perp left them in Galt's apartment to find. The rest of the evidence implicating Galt, like the hair in the coffee shop across from the substation on Fifty-seventh Street? That was planted too.

"Look at the blog posting," Rhyme continued, nodding at the documents Pulaski had wrested from Galt's printer.

My story is typical of many. I was a lineman and later a troubleman (like a supervisor) for many years working for several power companies in direct contact with lines carrying over one hundred thousand volts. It was the electromagnetic fields created by the transmission lines, that are uninsulated, that led to my leukemia, I am convinced. In addition it has been proven that power lines attract aerosol particles that lead to lung cancer among others, but this is something that the media doesn't talk about.

We need to make all the power companies but more important the public aware of these dangers. Because the companies won't do anything voluntarily, why should they? if the people stopped using electricity by even half we could save thousands of lives a year and make them (the companies) more responsible. In turn they would create safer ways to deliver electricity. And stop destroying the earth too.

People, you need to take matters into your own hands!

--Raymond Galt

"Now look at the first couple of paragraphs of the first demand letter."

At around 11:30 a.m. yesterday morning there was an arc flash incident at the MH-10 substation on W 57 Street in Manhattan, this happened by securing a Bennington cable and bus bar to a post-breaker line with two split bolts. By shutting down four substations and raising the breaker limit at MH-10 an overload of close to two hundred thousand volts caused the flash.

This incident was entirely your fault and due to your greed and selfishness. This is typical of the industry and it is reprehensable. Enron destroyed the financial lives of people, your company destroys our physical lives and the life of the earth. By exploiting electricity without regard for it's consequences you are destroying our world, you insideously work your way into our lives like a virus, until we are dependent on what is killing us.

"What's distinctive?" Rhyme asked.

Sachs shrugged.

Pulaski pointed out, "No misspellings in the blog."

"True, Rookie, but that's not my point; the computer's spell checker would have picked up any mistakes in the blog and corrected them. I'm talking about word choice."

Sachs nodded vigorously. "Sure. The blog language is a lot simpler."

"Exactly. The blog was written by Galt himself. The letters were
transcribed
by him--it was his handwriting--but they were dictated by the real perp, the man who kidnapped Galt and forced him to write what he was saying. The perp used his own language, which Galt wasn't familiar with so he misspelled the big words. In the blog he never used any words like 'reprehensible.' . . . And in the other letters there're similar misspellings. In the last letter--no misspellings because the perp wrote that himself in an email."

Sellitto paced; the floor creaked. "Remember what Parker Kincaid said? Our handwriting guy? That the letter was written by somebody who was emotional, upset--because he was being threatened to take the dictation. That'd make anybody upset. And he also forced Galt to handle the switches and hard hat so they'd have his prints on them."

Rhyme nodded. "In fact, I'll bet the blog postings were real. Hell, they were probably how the perp picked Galt in the first place. He'd read how angry Galt was about the power industry."

A moment later his eyes took in the physical evidence itself: the cables, the nuts and bolts.

And the generator. He gazed at it for a moment.

Then he called up word processing software on his computer and began to type. His neck and temple throbbed--this time, though, not as a prelude to an attack, but a sign that his heart was pounding hard with excitement.

Hunt lust.

Foxes, not wolves . . .

"Well," McDaniel muttered, ignoring an incoming phone call. "If that's right, I don't think it is, but
if
it's right, who the hell's behind it?"

Typing slowly, the criminalist continued, "Let's think about the facts. We'll discount all the evidence specifically implicating Galt; for the moment let's assume it's been planted. So, the short blond hair is out, the tools are out, the boots are out, his uniform, gear bag, hard hat, friction ridges. All of those are out.

"Okay, so what else do we have? We've got a Queens connection--the taramasalata. He tried to destroy the access door we found it on so we know that evidence is real. We've got the handgun. So the real perp has access to weapons. We've got a geographic connection to the City Hall area--the trace we found in the generator. We've got hair--long blond and short brown. That suggests two perps. One definitely male, rigging the attacks. The other unknown, but probably a woman. What else do we know?"

"He's from out of town," Dellray pointed out.

Pulaski said, "Knowledge of arc flashes and how to create the booby traps."

"Good," Rhyme said.

Sellitto said, "One of them has access to Algonquin facilities."

"Possibly, though they could have used Galt for that."

Hums and clicks from the forensic instruments filled the parlor, coins jingled in somebody's pocket.

"A man and a woman," McDaniel said. "Just what we learned from T and C. Justice For the Earth."

Rhyme exhaled a sigh. "Tucker, I could buy that if we had any evidence about the group. But we don't. Not a single fiber, print, bit of trace."

"It's all cloud zone."

"But," the criminalist snapped, "if they exist they have a physical presence. Somewhere. I don't have any proof of that."

"Well, then what do you think's going on?"

Rhyme smiled.

Almost simultaneously Amelia Sachs was shaking her head. "Rhyme, you don't think it could be, do you?"

"You know what I say: When you've eliminated all the other possibilities, the remaining one, however outlandish it seems, has to be the answer."

"I don't get it, Lincoln," Pulaski said. McDaniel's expression echoed the same. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Rookie, you might want to ask yourself a few questions: One, does Andi Jessen have blond hair about the length of what you found? Two, does she have a brother who's a former soldier who lives out of town and who might have access to weapons like a nineteen eleven Colt army forty-five? And, three, has Andi spent any time in City Hall in the last couple of days, oh, say, giving press conferences?"