Rhyme said to Cooper, “Put the security cameras on the big screen.”

A few computer commands later, the men were gazing at six different angles of the front and back of the residence. Outside, Sellitto and the officers were looking up and pointing. The detective pulled out his phone and made a call.

Rhyme’s phone hummed and he instructed it to answer on speaker.

“Lon, what does the drone look like?”

“Might have a payload in the center, but that could also just be the camera and battery. I don’t know. Okay, it’s moved. It’s hovering over your place . . . Hold on . . . It’s going toward the chimney. Yeah, it’s right above it. IED, I’m guessing.”

Thom said, “It’s not going to get very far. The chimney’s sealed up, about a foot from the top. The concrete goes all the way to the cellar.”

“Hold on. It’s like he’s just seen that he can’t drop anything into it . . . Yeah, it’s turning and banking. It’s leaving, heading into the park.” He turned and gazed into the greenery. “Whoever’s running it’s got to be here somewhere.” His voice grew distant as he turned to the uniforms. “Get into the park, see if you can find it and the operator. This’s part of a hit on Lincoln Rhyme.”

“Jesus,” was one response.

“You stay with me,” Sellitto told the largest of the officers. “Case the drone’s, you know, a diversion. We’re gonna check the perimeter.”

“Sure thing, Detective.”

He disconnected and, eyes on the high-def monitor, Rhyme watched three of the uniformed officers head into the park, while Sellitto and the other patrolman made the rounds of the town house, front and back. They returned to Central Park West and Sellitto left the uniform stationed by the front door and entered, double locking the door behind him.

He shrugged. “Coincidence?”

“No,” Rhyme announced.

Cooper said, “I agree. Anybody who owns drones knows the rules. A hobbyist wouldn’t fly in Manhattan. Serious offense.”

Sellitto took another call and had a brief conversation. It concluded with: “Yeah, okay. Get a dive team—and tell ’em it could be explosive.” He disconnected.

“Ended up in the pond?” Rhyme asked.

“Yeah. Looked like it ran out of battery. Just slowed up and dropped. They couldn’t find anybody with a controller.”

“The controller,” Cooper said, “is a cell phone. It’s all you need—not like a big box with an antenna.”

Drone, Rhyme reflected. Interesting choice. Before he could speculate further on the craft, he looked to Sellitto, whose phone was humming yet again. He answered, “Sellitto . . . No shit? . . . He get a description? . . . Okay. Thanks.”

After disconnecting, he turned to the others.

“That was a gold shield named Carruthers. Works Fraud. They got a report somebody was going through the trash outside your building earlier today. Dressed too good to be a homeless guy. He opened up some bags and took out some slips of paper. Call ended up on his desk because, you know, dumpster diving? Looking through trash for credit card numbers, social security, stuff like that. When he heard about your situation, he thought he better call.”