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: What, you think that because of your condition you have the right to boss people around? I'm sorry, but that is truly pathetic. Rhyme
: Truly? Amelia
: Damn right, truly.
: Do you know who I am? Amelia
: I read your manual at the academy. Rhyme
: Yeah? What did you think of it? Amelia
: I'm not a book critic, sir.
: Destiny is what we make it
: There are five basic contaminants in a crime scene. I'll skip to the worse one. Other cops.
: [Amelia caresses a sleeping Rhyme's hand
] There are laws against molesting the handicapped, you know.
: I want you to work the case with us. Amelia
: It's not my area. Lincoln Rhyme
: Are you being modest or are you... a little uneasy about doing some real police work?
: Pull up a chair. I want you to tell me everything you know about the crime scene. Amelia
: Basically, you saw my report. Lincoln Rhyme
: I read your report. I wanna know what you felt. What you feel... in the deepest recesses of your senses. Amelia
: You are in love with the sound of your own voice, aren't you? Lincoln Rhyme
: No, it's your voice I yearn to hear. Pull up a chair. I won't bite you.
: Just trust me. Just follow those instincts you were born with. I'll be with you... every step of the way.
: How is your mother? Eddie Ortiz
: Oh, God, she's 76, and she's schtupping some guy named Morris. Can you believe it? Lincoln Rhyme
: God bless her. Eddie Ortiz
: It's Morris I'm worried about. He's 76, with a tricky ticker and an active pecker.
: I can't do this. Lincoln Rhyme
: You can do it. Yes, you can. Yesterday you stopped a train. You can do anything you want when you put your mind to it. Amelia
: Don't work me, Rhyme... Just tell me what to do next. Lincoln Rhyme
: Very slowly... walk the grid... one foot in front of the other. I want you to look around you now. Remember... crime scenes are three-dimensional... floors, walls and ceilings.
: All right, this is what I want you to do. We're gonna need those handcuffs really. It's probably our best chance for good prints. Amelia
: The M.E. can remove them when they get here. Lincoln Rhyme
: The M.E. is all thumbs really. They'll mess up the prints. Look in the suitcase. There's a small saw. Amelia
: [finds the saw
] Okay. Lincoln Rhyme
: I want you to saw her hands off at the wrist line. We gotta have those cuffs for prints. Amelia
] I can't. Lincoln Rhyme
: Cut her hands off. We need the handcuffs. Amelia
: I can't. No. Lincoln Rhyme
: Saw off her hands, take off the cuffs. Amelia
: I can't. Lincoln Rhyme
: Listen to me. Saw off her h... We need those cuffs. Amelia
: I can't! Lincoln Rhyme
: Amelia, we need... Amelia
: No, fuck you!
: Two things. First, you did a hell of a job locating the evidence. There's no question the perp knows forensics.
] Lincoln Rhyme
: Now, as for the other thing... the... you know, the victim's hands, well, maybe, uh... maybe it was too much to handle, so we'll just forget it. Amelia
: Is that your version of an apology? Lincoln Rhyme
: An apology? Is that why you came over here? Amelia
: You really are a piece of work. Lincoln Rhyme
: Well, aren't we a pair?... I think you're terrific.
: Whatever happened to your father doesn't mean it's gonna happen to you. You're a great cop. You'd make a terrific detective. It's a gift. Don't throw it away.
: Maybe... maybe he's trying to share the responsibility of these murders with us. If we don't figure out the clues in time, the blood's on our hands. If we don't find the victim in time, we're as responsible for the murders as he is.
: Nitrogen rich, explosive carbons, where do you find those in New York City? Paulie
: Bomb sites, shooting ranges. Amelia
: Maybe an old fort or an armory? Eddie Ortiz
: Let's not forget the shit factor, guys. Lincoln Rhyme
: The what? Eddie Ortiz
: Manure becomes a nitrate when it's aged. Lincoln Rhyme
: That's true. And you got cow bones, huh? Old cow bones, old manure. Turn of the century. Cows, farms... pastures, rats... dead cows. Where do you find... In stockyards... slaughterhouses, that's what we want to look for.
: Sounds like you're starting to enjoy this work.
: [shows evidence bags
] Maybe this'll help. Lincoln Rhyme
: Cheney will have your badge for that. Amelia
: Well, he wouldn't give me a chain of custody voucher, so what could I do? Lincoln Rhyme
: You could bring it back to him. Amelia
: The man is a living monument to ineptitude. Lincoln Rhyme
: True. Let's take a look.
: Thelma told me about your plans for your "final transition." Lincoln Rhyme
: Cop to cop, that subject's not open to discussion. Why?... Would you miss me? Amelia
: Well, destiny's what we make it, right? Lincoln Rhyme
: Touche. Amelia
: Now, you seem to have your reasons for checking out. I just... I would have expected more from someone like you. Lincoln Rhyme
: Well, I might surprise you and... live forever. Amelia
: Nothing you could do would surprise me, Rhyme.
: Shit! Cheney's here.
[puts the evidences into her pocket
] Captain Howard Cheney
: You talking to Rhyme on that thing? Give me the radio. Now, listen, Linc. This is Cheney, man. What the hell do you think you're doing? Stealing evidence is a goddamn felony. You know that. Lincoln Rhyme
: To my understanding, there's no chain of evidence voucher. Captain Howard Cheney
: Oh, yeah? Well, I got some news for you. You are not a cop anymore. You understand that? What you are is a fucking meddling cripple. Now, I'm gonna place your little gofer here under arrest. You don't mind that, do ya? Lock her up.
[looks back and finds Amelia gone
: Where'd she go?
: [operating PC with his voice to see the unsolved homicide photos
] Zoom. Same mark. Right. Zoom. Zoom. Zoom... Same messages. It's him... The perp was trying to make contact even then. Amelia
: But Cheney never put it together.