“But Harmony can’t take it anymore. She bolts back into the bedroom, hammer in one hand, cash in the other. She just wants out of here. Right as she hits the door, it occurs to her the video cameras will see her. And given all the blood and madness going on in the bathroom, no way does she want to be tied to this scene. Then she spies the window.

“Harmony is a woman with survival instincts. It only takes her an instant to toss everything in the nearby duffel bag. Then, with both hands free, she pops open the window, tosses out the duffel bag, and shimmies through after it. Thirty seconds later, she’s bolting down the street.

“What about her client? We demand to know.

“She assumed an ambulance was already on its way for him.

“And his wallet, his cell phone?”

“She frowns at us, shakes her head. She doesn’t have any wallet or cell phone. She has the black duffel bag. Take it, now. Money, too. Take it all. Hell, she never wants to think about that room again. Then, at the last second, she catches herself. And the guy? Did the EMTs get there in time?

“I study her for a while. Guy didn’t make it, I inform her. He finished the job, got his leg off. But he must’ve never completed his call to emergency services because he ended up bleeding out trying to crawl to door for help.

“Harmony appears puzzled. That doesn’t make any sense. She knows he reached nine-one-one. She heard the female operator talking to him. Plus, the man had already thrown the knife to the side. When she shimmied through the window, the guy wasn’t trying to hack off his leg anymore. He was fighting to live.”

• • •

“All right.” D.D. surveyed her audience. “Your turn to play detective. If you were me, what would you do next?”

Hands shot in the air. She picked several at random.

“Trace the nine-one-one call” was the first offering.

“Good idea, except you know how many calls are generated per hour in a city the size of Boston? We can get a recording of the call, but that’ll take time. Other ideas.”

“Arrest the hooker.”

“Follow up with the motel manager.”

“Return to the scene and find the guy’s car so you have his identity.”

“Hey, can’t you trace his prints?”

D.D. held up a quieting hand. “Actually, the first thing we did was take custody of the black duffel bag. And we did book Harmony LaFab, basically for distributing illegal drugs, to which she’d willingly confessed. Did I think she’d killed the guy? Honestly, I doubted she had the strength, let alone mental fortitude, to hack off anyone’s leg. At the same time, however, she was our best lead, and we didn’t want her to go anywhere. So we called for a patrol officer to give Miss LaFab a one-way trip to the district office, and then we searched the duffel bag.