She saw in her periphery, to her right, Ron Pulaski, standing up in the next office, looking at her weapon, alarmed, wondering what she was doing.

Twenty feet away was Dennis Baker, his eyes wide. In his gloved hand was a tiny pistol, a .32, she thought, pointed her way, as he worked the slide. She noted that it was an Autauga MKII, the type of gun that Rhyme speculated the Watchmaker might have.

Baker blinked. Couldn’t speak for a moment. “I heard something,” he said quickly. “I thought he’d come back, the Watchmaker.”

“You pulled the trigger.”

“No, I was just chambering a round.”

She glanced at the floor, where the bum shell lay. The only reason for it to be there was if he’d tried to shoot, then ejected the defective bullet.

Taking the tiny .32 in his left hand, Baker lowered his right. It strayed to his side. “We have to be careful. I think he’s back.”

Sachs centered the sights directly on Baker’s chest.

“Don’t do it, Dennis,” she said, nodding toward his hip, where his regulation pistol rested. “I will fire. I’m assuming you’ve got armor under your suit. My first slug’ll be on your chest but two and three’ll go higher. It won’t be nice.”

“I . . . You don’t understand.” His eyes were wide, panicked. “You have to believe me.”

Wasn’t that one of the key phrases that signaled deception, according to Kathryn Dance?

“What’s going on?” Pulaski asked.

“Stay there, Ron,” Sachs ordered. “Don’t pay attention to a thing he says. Draw your weapon.”

“Pulaski,” Baker said, “she’s going nuts. Something’s wrong.”

But from the corner of her eye she saw the rookie pull his weapon and aim it in Baker’s direction.

“Dennis, set the thirty-two on the table. Then with your left hand take your service piece by the grip—thumb and index finger only. Set it down too then move back five steps. Lie facedown. Okay. You clear on that?”

“You don’t understand.”

She said calmly, “I don’t need to understand. I need you to do what I’m telling you.”

“But—”

“And I need you to do it now.”

“You’re crazy,” Baker snapped. “You’ve had it in for me ever since you found out I was checking into you and your old boyfriend. You’re trying to discredit me. . . . Pulaski, she’s going to kill me. She’s gone rogue. Don’t let her bring you down too.”

Pulaski said, “You’ve been apprised of Detective Sachs’s instructions. I’ll disarm you if it’s necessary. Now, sir, what’s it going to be?”

Several seconds passed. It seemed like hours. Nobody moved.

“Fuck.” Baker set the pistols where he’d been told and lowered himself to the floor. “You’re both in deep shit.”

“Cuff him,” Sachs told Pulaski.

She covered Baker while the bewildered rookie got the man’s hands behind him and ratcheted on the cuffs.

“Search him.”

Sachs grabbed her Motorola. “Detective Five Eight Eight Five to Haumann. Respond, K.”

“Go ahead, K.”

“We’ve got a new development here. I’ve got somebody in cuffs I need escorted downstairs.”