The Cutting Edge (Lincoln Rhyme #14)(112)

“The odds of finding any worthwhile diamonds in small samples of kimberlite are like winning the lottery.” Then he was frowning. “But…”

“What?” Sachs asked.

“Nobody would kill for a rock like this. But they might for what it represented.”

“How do you mean?”

“If this sample came from a large lode? Well, I could see people killing either to get the mining rights or to destroy the source, make sure no one found out about it.”

“Destroy?” Sachs asked.

McEllis said, “Historically there’re two industries where companies will do whatever it takes to sabotage potential finds, to keep prices high. Oil and diamonds. And when I say whatever, I mean that. Murder, sabotage, threats. It doesn’t happen with industrial-grade diamonds—the cheap ones for grinding, filing, machinery. But for gem-quality, like these.” Another nod toward the microscope. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

Sellitto said, “Linc, you’re thinking some diamond company heard about a lode and sent the unsub here to kill anybody who knew about it.”

Rhyme nodded. “Northeast Geo—they dug up the stuff, so Rostov staged the quakes to have the city shut down the drilling.”

McEllis said, “It’s not as outlandish as you’d think. There’re even quote ‘security’ companies that you can hire to make sure potential mines never open or existing ones’re closed. Dams get blown up, government officials are bribed to nationalize mines and then destroy them. Russians are particularly active.”

“And Rostov,” Rhyme said, “had worked for Dobprom in the past, the Russian diamond monopoly.”

“Oh, they’re definitely players in sabotage. A lot of other producers too but the Russians are number one in the dirty-tricks department.”

Sachs said, “Weintraub. He was an assayer. Maybe he wasn’t killed because he was a witness. Maybe he was killed because he’d analyzed the kimberlite and found out about the diamonds.”

Sellitto muttered, “We weren’t thinking. At Patel’s: Weintraub left before the unsub got there. How much help would he’ve been as a wit? Not much. Our unsub wanted him dead because he knew about the kimberlite.”

Sachs said, “The crimes at Patel’s weren’t about stealing the rough. They were about killing him and anyone who knew about the find. That’s why he tortured Patel—and pistol-whipped Weintraub. He wanted to know if they had any more kimberlite or if anyone else knew about it.”

Rhyme eased the back of his skull against the headrest of his chair, eyes now closed. Then they opened. “Somebody finds a sample at the drilling site. Takes it to Jatin Patel, who has it analyzed by Weintraub. Word gets back to Dobprom. They send Rostov to stop the drilling and kill anyone who’s learned about it.”

McEllis said, “Dobprom wouldn’t want a major U.S. diamond operation to get started. Hell, no foreign mine would. It would cut their revenues in half.”

Mel Cooper asked, “But is there really a risk to the companies? I mean, how realistic is it to mine diamonds in Brooklyn?”

McEllis replied, “Oh, it wouldn’t be hard at all. A lot easier, actually, than digging subway and water supply tunnels, which the city does all the time. Some legal hurdles but they’re not insurmountable. My department would need to approve the plans and there’d be other licensing red tape. We won’t allow open-cut mining, for instance. But you could easily set up a narrow-shaft automated system. From an engineering standpoint, piece of cake.”

But, Rhyme thought, if the goal was to stop the drilling, that means—

Giving voice to what he had been about to say, Sellitto offered, “So Ezekiel Shapiro, he wasn’t a suicide. Rostov murdered him and made it look that way. Kidnapped him, tortured him to get his Facebook passcode, left the suicide note.”

Rhyme was grim as he said, “He needed a fall guy because we’d found that the earthquakes were fake and the fires were from the gas line devices.”

Then it struck him. Like an electric jolt.

“Rubles,” he whispered.

“Hell.” Sachs apparently was with him. “Rostov wouldn’t plant rubles at Shapiro’s. They were evidence that pointed to him. It was somebody else who broke into Shapiro’s apartment, who killed him—somebody who wanted to make it seem like Rostov was behind the plot. Sure, the Russian was involved: He attacked the couple in Gravesend and that girl from the wedding dress store. And Kirtan—Vimal’s friend. Attacked me, too. But he wasn’t the mastermind.”

And the conclusion was inevitable.

In a quiet voice, eyes on Rhyme, she said, “And that was the person who shot him.”

Rhyme knew this was right. “Edward Ackroyd.”

“But,” Sellitto said, “we vetted him. And he knew all about Patel. About the diamond rough that had been stolen.”

“What diamond rough?” Rhyme asked cynically. “Did we ever find it? Did we ever see any trace of it?”

Of course not.

“Because it never existed,” Sachs said,

Rhyme nodded. “He faked the diamond envelope at Patel’s. It never occurred to me! Why leave it? He could have just taken the stones in the envelope. He did that to work his way into the investigation…to find out who VL was. And we let him into the chicken coop. Goddamn.”