“Snapshots and video—you know how?”

He did. Pulaski had been the photographer at his brother’s wedding.

“Then process the probable escape routes.”

Pulaski looked around him again. Was that another scraping, a footstep? Water was dripping. It too sounded like the ticking of a clock, which set him even more on edge. He started on the grid again, back and forth as he made his way toward the exit, looking up as well as down, the way Rhyme had written in his book.

A crime scene is three-dimensional. . . .

“Nothing so far.”

Another grunt from Rhyme.

Pulaski heard what sounded like a footstep.

His hand strayed to his hip. It was then that he realized his Glock was inside his Tyvek overalls, out of reach. Stupid. Should he unzip and strap it around the outside of the suit?

But if he did that, it could contaminate the scene.

Ron Pulaski decided to leave the gun where it was.

It’s just an old garage; of course there’re going to be noises. Relax.

The inscrutable moon faces on the front of the Watchmaker’s calling cards stared at Lincoln Rhyme.

The eerie eyes, giving nothing away.

The ticking was all that he heard; from the radio there was only silence. Then some curious sounds. Scrapes, a clatter. Or was it just static?

“Ron? You copy?”

Nothing but the tick . . . tick . . . tick.

“Ron?”

Then a crash, loud. Metal.

Rhyme’s head tilted. “Ron? What’s going on?”

Still no response.

He was about to order the unit to change frequency to tell Haumann to check on the rookie when the radio finally crackled to life.

He heard Ron Pulaski’s panicked voice. “ . . . needs assistance! Ten-thirteen, ten . . . I—”

A 10-13 was the most urgent of all radio codes, an officer in distress call.

Rhyme, shouting, “Answer me, Ron! Are you there?”

“I can’t—”

A grunt.

The radio went dead.

Jesus.

“Mel, call Haumann for me!”

The tech hit some buttons. “You’re on,” Cooper shouted, pointed to Rhyme’s headset.

“Bo, Rhyme. Pulaski’s in trouble. Called in a ten-thirteen on my line. Did you hear?”

“Negative. But we’ll move on it.”

“He was going to run the stairwell closest to the Explorer.”

“Roger.”

Now that he was on the main frequency, Rhyme could hear all the transmissions. Haumann was directing several tactical support teams and calling for a medical unit. He ordered his men to spread out in the garage and cover the exits.

Rhyme pressed his head back into the headrest of his chair, furious.

He was mad at Sachs for abandoning His Case for the Other Case and forcing Pulaski to take the assignment. He was mad at himself for letting an inexperienced rookie search a potentially hot scene alone.

“Linc, we’re on the way. We can’t see him.” It was Sellitto’s voice.

“Well, don’t goddamn tell me what you haven’t found.”

More voices.