“Seventy-five pounds? Okay, given the strength issues, I’ll grant you the perp’s sex probably is male.”

Thom came into the room with coffee and pastries. Sellitto, his weight a constant issue, went for the Danish first, his diet hibernated during the holidays. He finished half and, wiping his mouth, continued. “So the vic’s holding up the bar. Which maybe he does for a while—but he doesn’t make it.”

“Who’s the vic?”

“Name’s Theodore Adams. Lived near Battery Park. A nine-one-one came in last night from a woman said her brother was supposed to meet her for dinner and never showed. That’s the name she gave. Sergeant from the precinct was going to call her this morning.”

Lincoln Rhyme generally didn’t find soft descriptions helpful. But he conceded that “bad” fit the situation.

So did the word “intriguing.” He asked, “Why do you say it’s the same M.O.?”

“Perp left a calling card at both scenes. Clocks.”

“As in tick-tock?”

“Yup. The first one was by the pool of blood on the pier. The other was next to the vic’s head. It was like the doer wanted them to see it. And, I guess, hear it.”

“Describe them. The clocks.”

“Looked old-fashioned. That’s all I know.”

“Not a bomb?” Nowadays—in the time of the After—every item of evidence that ticked was routinely checked for explosives.

“Nope. Won’t go bang. But the squad sent ’em up to Rodman’s Neck to check for bio or chemical agents. Same brand of clock, looks like. Spooky, one of the respondings said. Has this face of a moon on it. Oh, and just in case we were slow, he left a note under the clocks. Computer printout. No handwriting.”

“And they said . . . ?”

Sellitto glanced down at his notebook, not relying on memory. Rhyme appreciated this in the detective. He wasn’t brilliant but he was a bulldog and did everything slowly and with perfection. He read, “ ‘The full Cold Moon is in the sky, shining on the corpse of earth, signifying the hour to die and end the journey begun at birth.’” He looked up at Rhyme. “It was signed ‘the Watchmaker.’”

“We’ve got two vics and a lunar motif.” Often, an astronomical reference meant that the killer was planning to strike multiple times. “He’s got more on the agenda.”

“Hey, why d’you think I’m here, Linc?”

Rhyme glanced at the beginning of his missive to the Times. He closed his word-processing program. The essay about Before and After would have to wait.

Chapter 3

A small sound from outside the window. A crunch of snow.

Amelia Sachs stopped moving. She glanced out at the quiet, white backyard. She saw no one.

She was a half hour north of the city, alone in a pristine Tudor suburban house that was still as death. An appropriate thought, she reflected, since the owner of the place was no longer among the living.

The sound again. Sachs was a city girl, used to the cacophony of urban noises—threatening and benign. The intrusion into the excessive suburban quiet set her on edge.