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.”

“Interesting,” Rhyme said.

“But there’s something else. My husband took a look. Bob was a Navy SEAL for two years—”

“Navy? And you’re army?” Pulaski asked, laughing.

She smiled. “We have some . . . interesting discussions from time to time. Especially during football season. Anyway, he looked at the rope and said whoever tied it knew what he was doing. It was a rare knot used in abseiling—you know, rappelling. It’s called a dead man’s knot. You don’t see it much in this country, mostly in Europe. He must’ve had some experience rock climbing or mountaineering overseas.”