Sellitto and Sachs told her about the homicide case they needed some help on—a case that Rhyme seemed to be in charge of, though he was a civilian.

Rhyme didn’t participate much in the discussion. His eyes continually returned to a large whiteboard, on which were notations of the evidence. The other officers were giving her details of the case, though she couldn’t help but observe Rhyme—the way he squinted at the board, would mutter something under his breath and shake his head, as if chastising himself for missing something. Occasionally his eyes would close. Once or twice he offered a comment about the case but he largely ignored Dance.

She was amused. The agent was used to skepticism. Most often it arose because she simply didn’t look like a typical cop, this five-foot-five woman with dark blond hair worn usually, as now, in a tight French braid, light purple lipstick, iPod earbuds dangling, the gold and abalone jewelry her mother had made, not to mention her passion—quirky shoes (chasing perps didn’t usually figure in Dance’s daily life as a cop).

Now, though, she suspected she understood Lincoln Rhyme’s lack of interest. Like many forensic scientists, he wouldn’t put much stock in kinesics and interviewing. He’d probably voted against calling her.

As for Dance herself, well, she recognized the value of physical evidence, but it had no appeal to her. It was the human side of crime and crime solving that made her own heart race.

Kinesics versus forensics . . .

Fair enough, Detective Rhyme.

While the handsome, sardonic and impatient criminalist continued to gaze at the evidence charts, Dance absorbed the details of the case, which was a strange one. The murders by the self-anointed Watchmaker were horrific, sure, but Dance wasn’t shocked. She’d worked cases that were just as gruesome. And, after all, she lived in California, where Charles Manson had set the standard for evil.

Another detective from the NYPD, Dennis Baker, now told her specifically what they needed. They’d found a witness who might have some helpful information but he wasn’t forthcoming with details.

“He claims he didn’t see anything,” Sachs added. “But I have a feeling he did.”

Dance was disappointed that it wasn’t a suspect but a witness she’d be interviewing. She preferred the challenge of confronting criminals, and the more deceitful the better. Still, interviewing witnesses took much less time than breaking suspects and she couldn’t miss her flight.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she told them. She fished in her Coach purse and put on round glasses with pale pink frames.

Sachs gave her the details about Ari Cobb, the reluctant witness, laying out the chronology of the man’s evening, as they’d been able to piece it together, and his behavior that morning.

Dance listened carefully as she sipped coffee that Rhyme’s caregiver had poured for her and indulged in half a Danish.

When she’d gotten all the background Dance organized her thoughts. Then she said to them, “Okay, let me tell you what I’ve got in mind. First, a crash course. Lon heard this yesterday at the seminar but I’ll let the rest of you know how I handle interviewing. Kinesics traditionally was studying somebody’s physical behavior—body language—to understand their emotional state and whether they were being deceptive or not. Most people, including me, use the term now to mean all forms of communication—not just body language but spoken comments and written statements too.