He listened at the door. It sounded like a dozen officers were in the living room of the suite. Bud didn’t have much time for a prayer but those through whom God speaks can be moved to communicate with Him as circumstances allow.

My dear Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, thank you for the glory you’ve bestowed upon us, the true believers. Please give me the strength to end my life and hasten my journey to you. And let me send to hell as many of those as I can who have come here to transgress against you.

There were fifteen bullets in the clip of his pistol. He could take plenty of the police with him, if he remained steady and if God gave him the strength to ignore the wounds he’d receive. But still they’d have a lot of firepower. He needed some advantage.

Bud turned toward his sobbing stepdaughter, who was clutching her bleeding head. He added a coda to the prayer, with a kindness that he thought was particularly generous under the circumstances.

And when you receive this child into heaven, please forgive her her sins against you. She knew not what she did.

He rose, walked over to his stepdaughter and grabbed her by the hair.

“Is Allerton in there?” Amelia Sachs shouted to Charlotte, nodding at the closed bedroom door.

She said nothing.

“The girl?”

Downstairs, the desk manager explained what suite Charlotte and Bud Allerton, along with their daughter, were staying in and the layout of the place. He was pretty sure they were upstairs now. The clerk recognized the picture of the Watchmaker and said that the man had been here several times but hadn’t been back today, as far as he knew.

“Where’s Allerton?” Sachs now snapped. She wanted to grab the woman and shake her.

Charlotte remained silent, glaring up at the detective.

“Bathroom clear,” one ESU officer called.

“Second bedroom clear.”

“Closet clear,” called Ron Pulaski, the slim officer looking nearly comical in the bulky flak jacket and helmet.

Only the bedroom with the closed door remained. Sachs approached it, stood to the side and motioned the other officers out of the line of fire. “You, inside the bedroom, listen! I’m a police officer. Open the door!”

No response.

Sachs tested the knob. The door was unlocked. A deep breath, gun up.

She opened the door fast and dropped into a combat shooting position. Sachs saw the girl—the same one who’d been in Charlotte’s car at the Watchmaker’s first crime scene. The girl’s hands were tied together and adhesive tape was over her mouth and nose. Her skin was blue and she thrashed on the bed, desperate for oxygen. It was a matter of seconds until she suffocated.

Ron Pulaski shouted, “Look, the window’s open.” Nodding toward the bedroom window. “Guy’s getting away.”

He started forward.

Sachs grabbed him by the flak jacket.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s not secure yet,” she snapped. She nodded to the living room. “Check the fire escape from there. See if he’s outside. And be careful. He might be targeting the window.”