Sellitto said, “Shit, maybe somebody else’s hired him.”

You bet, Rhyme thought, nodding. “He’ll be targeting another victim—or victims. Probably coming up with his plan right now. Think of the damage he could do pretending to be a doctor.”

And I let him get away.

An examination of the trace evidence Sachs had collected revealed little more than shearling fibers and a few bits of a green vegetative material containing evaporated seawater—which didn’t, it turned out, match the seaweed and ocean water found around Robert Wallace’s boat on Long Island.

The deputy inspector at the Brooklyn precinct called to report that further canvassing of the neighborhood had been useless. A half dozen people remembered seeing the Watchmaker but nobody knew anything about him.

As for Charlotte and her late husband, Bud Allerton, the investigative efforts were much more successful. The couple had not been nearly as careful as the Watchmaker. Sachs had found a great deal of evidence about the underground militia groups they’d been harbored by, including a large one in Missouri and the infamous Patriot Assembly in upstate New York, which Rhyme and Sachs had tangled with in the past. Phone calls, fingerprints and emails would give the FBI and local police plenty of leads to pursue.

The doorbell rang and Thom left the room to answer it. A moment later he returned with a woman in a military uniform. This would be Lucy Richter, the Watchmaker’s fourth “victim.” Rhyme noted that she was more surprised at the forensic lab in his town house than his disability. Then it occurred to him that this was a woman involved in a type of combat where bombs were the weapon of choice; she’d undoubtedly seen missing limbs and para- and quadriplegia of all sorts. Rhyme’s condition didn’t faze her.

She explained that she’d called Kathryn Dance not long ago to say she wanted to speak to the investigators; the California detective had suggested she call or stop by Rhyme’s.

Thom zipped in and offered her coffee or tea. Normally piqued about visitors and reluctant to give anyone an incentive to linger, Rhyme now, to the contrary, glared at the aide. “She might be hungry, Thom. Or might want something more substantial. Scotch, for instance.”

“There’s just no figuring you out,” Thom said. “Didn’t know there was an armed forces hospitality rule in the Lincoln Rhyme edition of Emily Post.”

“Thanks, but nothing for me,” Lucy said. “I can’t stay long. First, I want to thank you. For saving my life—twice.”

“Actually,” Sellitto pointed out, “you weren’t in any danger the first time. He was never going to hurt you—or any of the victims. The second time? Well, okay, accepted—since he wanted to blow the conference room to smithereens.”

“My family was there too,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Rhyme was, as always, uneasy with the gratitude, though he nodded with what he thought was an appropriate acknowledgment.

“The other reason is that I found out something that might be helpful. I’ve been talking to my neighbors about when he broke in. One man, he lives three buildings down the street, told me something. He said that yesterday he was getting a delivery at the back of the building and he found a rope dangling into the alley from the roof. You can get there from my roof pretty easily. I was thinking that maybe that was how he escaped.”