Manning takes off in a flat sprint toward the staircase. I tear behind him. The room has broken down into chaos. Mothers and fathers snatch up their children. The hall fills with cries of terror and grief.

As I plunge into the crowd, something makes me glance to the auditorium entry.

The woman stands there.

The woman from Georgetown.

The one who sent the “lamed vav” text via the burner phone.

She sees me.

For an instant the woman looks as if she will flee. Then she realizes I cannot stop for anything except to race after Manning.

Ahead of me, Manning swims against a tide of black hats and white beards. He’s onto the speaker’s platform now. He crosses to the landing and the staircase behind it, taking the steps two at a time. I can see several of the Rebbe’s security team in the upper doorway, ashen and paralyzed.

Manning bowls past them into the upstairs chamber. I can hear him shouting to the people inside, “Who did it? Where is he?”

I’ve got my own shield high in my right hand. “Police officer!” I’m on the stairs now too.

An elderly Chasid swoons three steps above me. His black-mantled form swan-dives into my right shoulder. I tumble. I can hear Manning’s voice from the stairs above me, calling something I can’t make out. I peel the old man off me and pound, empty-handed, up the steps and through the door.

Ahead opens an old-fashioned, homey apartment. The Rebbe’s body lies crumpled against one wall. His family and bodyguards stand and kneel over him in postures of shock and horror. Lamps, a table, and a heavy couch have been overturned.

“Where?” I’m shouting to the family, seeking Manning. “Where did the officer go?”

There!

The rear exit!

I tear across the open space and into a dark hinter chamber, apparently the access to a staircase leading down.

Manning stands at the far side of the space, facing to my right as I enter.

Directly across from him stands Jake Instancer.

For an instant I think, The prof is going to help Manning go after the killer.

Then I realize: Instancer is the killer.

Manning bull-rushes at the taller, younger man. He attacks like a wrestler, grappling with his adversary, seeking to throw him or pin him.

Instancer peels Manning away from him as effortlessly as if he were fending off a child. The professor seizes Manning by the collar. With his left arm only, Instancer lifts Manning a foot in the air. He flings him into the wall.

The breath goes out of Manning in one percussive whoop. He drops like a load of bricks.

An interval passes, no longer than half a second. In it Manning’s eyes fix onto Instancer’s. His glance says, You were not at the library by accident. You set this whole scene up.