Play dead

SEVENTY-SIX

1:52 AM

Jessica stood on the sidewalk in front of the diner. The rain had backed off, but the sidewalk steamed. Watching a pair of sector cars troll up the street, she wished she could be in one of them, just a rookie again. There would be none of the weight, none of the responsibility. She glanced at her watch. They would never make it. She had never felt this angry or frustrated in her life.

Byrne banged on the window, beckoning her inside. Jessica nearly jumped. She stepped inside the restaurant.

All seven pieces of the puzzle were close to each other on the floor. Next to them was the SEPTA map. Byrne tapped a location on the map. "Here's where we are in relation to the first four crime scenes." He pointed to the triangle on the lower left. "Slide it up, Josh."

Bontrager slid the triangle northeast.

"A lot of these problems combine two of the triangles to make a square, right?" Byrne asked.

"Right," Jessica said.

"So, let's assume for a second he is saving the real square for last." North Philly had a lot of squares-Norris, Fotterall, Fairhill. The city at large had dozens. "If it's a triangle, and it fits here, it can only be two places." Byrne knelt down, picked up the map, circled two corner buildings with a felt tip pen. "These are the only two corner triangular buildings in this whole area. What do you think?"

Jessica looked at the shapes as they related to the whole. It was a possibility. "I agree, if his next move is another triangle it would have to be one of these two."

Byrne shot to his feet. "Let's move."

The eight detectives spilt into two groups of four. Seconds later, they sped off into the rain.

This area of Jefferson was blighted and bleak. There were only a few lights on in the scattered freestanding blocks of row houses. Gentrifi- cation came slowly to this part of the city, if at all. The block was dotted with boarded up structures, separated by weed-blotted lots, abandoned cars.

At just after 2 AM, two teams pulled up to the address. Byrne checked the street number, then checked it again.

It was a vacant lot. The overhead map showed a building, but there was no telling how old the photograph was. This had been a corner building, almost a perfect triangle. They hurried out of their vehicles, scanned the block, the nearby buildings, the empty parcel. And saw it. There, against a low stone wall, at the back of the lot, amid the debris and wild flowers sat a Chinese red lacquer box, decorated with gold dragons.

Josh Bontrager hit the ground at a run. He bolted across the lot, opened the box.

Byrne glanced at his watch. It was 2:02.

Bontrager turned back, and the look on his face told them everything they needed to know. They were too late.

The next piece of the tangram had been placed.