“We found some other materials we think might be from the bomb, but Lincoln didn’t know if it was part of the plane or not. Bits of beige latex, circuit board? Sound familiar?”

Percey shrugged. “There’re thousands of gaskets in a Lear. They could be latex, I don’t have any idea. And circuit boards? There’re probably another thousand of them.” She nodded to a corner, toward a closet and workbench. “The boards are special orders, depending on the component. But there should be a good stock of gaskets over there. Take samples of whatever you need.”

Sachs walked over to the bench, began slipping all the beige-colored bits of rubber she could find into an evidence bag.

Without glancing at Sachs, Percey said, “I thought you were here to arrest me. Haul me back to jail.”

I ought to, the policewoman thought. But she said, “Just collecting exemplars.” Then, after a moment: “What other work needs to be done? On the plane?”

“Just recalibration. Then a run-up to check the power settings. I have to take a look at the window too, the one Ron replaced. You don’t want to lose a window at four hundred miles an hour. Could you hand me that hex set? No, the metric one.”

“I lost one at a hundred once,” Sachs said, passing over the tools.

“A what?”

“A window. A perp I was chasing had a shotgun. Double-ought buckshot. I ducked in time. But it blew the windshield clean out . . . I’ll tell you, I caught a few bugs in my teeth before I collared him.”

“And I thought I lived an adventurous life,” Percey said.

“Most of it’s dull. They pay you for the five percent that’s adrenaline.”

“I hear that,” Percey said. She hooked up a laptop computer to components in the engine itself. She typed on the keyboard, read the screen. Without looking down she asked, “So, what is it?”

Eyes on the computer, the numbers flicking past, Sachs asked, “What do you mean?”

“This, uhm, tension. Between us. You and me.”

“You nearly got a friend of mine killed.”

Percey shook her head. She said reasonably, “That’s not it. There’re risks in your job. You decide if you’re going to assume them or not. Jerry Banks wasn’t a rookie. It’s something else—I felt it before Jerry got shot. When I first saw you, in Lincoln Rhyme’s room.”

Sachs said nothing. She lifted the jack out of the engine compartment and set it on a table, absently wound it closed.

Three pieces of metal slipped into place around the engine and Percey applied her screwdriver like a conductor’s baton. Her hands were truly magic. Finally she said, “It’s about him, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“You know who I mean. Lincoln Rhyme.”

“You think I’m jealous?” Sachs laughed.

“Yes, I do.”

“Ridiculous.”

“It’s more than just work between you. I think you’re in love with him.”

“Of course I’m not. That’s crazy.”

Percey offered a telling glance and then carefully twined excess wire into a bundle and nestled it into a cutout in the engine compartment. “Whatever you saw is just respect for his talent, that’s all.” She lifted a grease-stained hand toward herself. “Come on, Amelia, look at me. I’d make a lousy lover. I’m short, I’m bossy, I’m not good looking.”