Summary[ edit ] Two colleagues, T. After a brief ride through New York, they find themselves in an abandoned warehouse district. Her initial search is fruitless until she spots what she thinks is a dead tree protruding from the ground near the tracks. She digs into the earth and uncovers the face of John Ulbrecht, who has been buried alive. Amelia calls in the find and secures the area by stopping a train and traffic up above. Quadriplegic and ex-forensic criminalist Lincoln Rhyme is waiting for a visitor at his apartment when the doorbell rings.

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The Bone Collector Excerpt She wanted only to sleep. So now they were waiting in line for a cab. She stood in the line of passengers, her lean body listing against the weight of her laptop computer. John rattled on about interest rates and new ways of restructuring the deal but all she could think was: Friday night, I wanna pull on my sweats and climb into bed.

Gazing at the endless stream of yellow cabs. Something about the color and the similarity of the cars. Colfax shuffled forward as the cab pulled up and squealed to a stop. The cabbie only popped the trunk and stayed in the cab. They had to load their own luggage, which ticked John off. He was used to people doing things for him. She tossed her suitcase in, slammed the trunk and climbed inside. John got in after her, slammed the door and mopped his pudgy face and balding scalp as if the effort of pitching his suit bag in the trunk had exhausted him.

The plexiglass between the front and back seats was badly scuffed and she could hardly see the driver. She wondered vaguely why he was wearing a stocking cap in this heat. He seemed thin and she wondered if maybe he was a cancer patient. The cab shot away from the curb and was soon cruising down the expressway toward Manhattan.

There were going to be ten thousand visitors in town. There was something wrong about the artwork, though. The proportions and the colors were off. And the faces were eerie. Past the old Navy yard, past the Brooklyn Piers. John finally stopped talking and pulled out his Texas Instruments. He started crunching some numbers. They seemed half-comatose in the heat. It was hot in the cab too and T. She reached across John. His was broken too. It was then that she noticed that the door locks were missing.

And the door handles too. Her hand slid over the door, feeling for the nub of the handle. No, it was as if someone had cut it off with a hacksaw. How do we open them? She sat forward and tapped on the plexiglass, using her ring to make more noise. And a moment later they sped past the Queensboro turnoff. A car was moving parallel to them, passing slowly. She banged on the window hard. He slowed and pulled behind them but with a hard jolt the cab skidded down at exit ramp into Queens, turned down an alley and sped through a deserted warehouse district.

Where are? She reared back and slammed the corner of the computer into the window. The glass held though the sound of the bang seemed to scare the hell out of the driver. The cab swerved and nearly hit the brick wall of the building they were speeding past.

How much? I can give you a lot of money! The screen flew off under the force of the blow but the window was uncracked. She tried once more and the body of the computer split open and fell from her hands. The driver climbed out of the cab, a small pistol in his hand.


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