Jeffery Deaver
The Coffin Dancer
The second book in the Lincoln Rhyme series, 1998
To the memory of my grandmother
Ethel May Rider
Author’s Note
All writers know that their books are only partly products of their own efforts. Novels are molded by our loved ones and friends, sometimes directly, sometimes in more subtle but no less important ways. I’d like to say thanks to some of the people who’ve helped me with this book: To Madelyn Warcholik for keeping my characters true to themselves, for making sure my plots don’t move so recklessly they get pulled over for speeding, and for being an unlimited source of inspiration. To editors David Rosenthal, Marysue Rucci, and Carolyn Mays for brilliantly and unflinchingly doing all the hard work. To agent Deborah Schneider for being the best in the business. And to my sister and fellow author, Julie Reece Deaver, for being there throughout it all.
I . Too Many Ways to Die
No hawk can be a pet. There is no sentimentality. In a way, it is the psychiatrist’s art. One is matching one’s mind against another mind with deadly reason and interest.
The Goshawk,
T. H. White
chapter one
WHEN EDWARD CARNEY SAID GOOD-BYE to his wife, Percey, he never thought it would be the last time he’d see her.
He climbed into his car, which was parked in a precious space on East Eighty-first Street in Manhattan, and pulled into traffic. Carney, an observant man by nature, noticed a black van parked near their town house. A van with mud-flecked, mirrored windows. He glanced at the battered vehicle and recognized the West Virginia plates, realizing he’d seen the van on the street several times in the past few days. But then the traffic in front of him sped up. He caught the end of the yellow light and forgot the van completely. He was soon on the FDR Drive, cruising north.