Recalling the time a few months ago, lying together in his opulent Clinitron bed in his Manhattan town house, as they watched Baz Luhrmann’s stylish Romeo and Juliet, an updated version set in Miami. With Rhyme, death always hovered close and, watching the final scenes of the movie, Amelia Sachs had realized that, like Shakespeare’s characters, she and Rhyme were in a way star-crossed lovers too. And another thought had then flashed through her mind: that the two of them would also die together.

She hadn’t dared share this thought with rationalist Lincoln Rhyme, who didn’t have a sentimental cell in his brain. But once this notion had occurred to her it seated itself permanently in her psyche and for some reason gave her great comfort.

Yet now she couldn’t even find solace in this odd thought. No, now—thanks to her—they’d live separately and die separately. They’d—

The door to the lockup swung open and a young deputy walked inside. She recognized him. It was Steve Farr, Jim Bell’s brother-in-law.

“Hey there,” he called.

Sachs nodded. Then she noticed two things about him. One was that he wore a Rolex watch, which must’ve cost half the annual salary of a typical cop in North Carolina.

The other was that he wore a sidearm and that the holster thong was unsnapped.

Despite the sign outside the door to the cells: PLACE ALL WEAPONS IN THE LOCKBOX BEFORE ENTERING THE CELL AREA.

“How you doing?” Farr asked.

She looked at him, gave no reaction.

“Being the silent type today, huh? Well, miss, I got good news for you. You’re free to go.” He flicked at one of his prominent ears.

“Free? To go?”

He fished for his keys.

“Yep. They’ve decided the shooting was accidental. You can just leave.”

She studied his face closely. He wasn’t looking her way.

“What about the disposition report?” “What’s that?” Farr asked.

“Nobody charged with a crime can be released from custody without a disposition report waiving charges, signed by the prosecutor.”

Farr unlocked the cell door and stood back. Hand hovering near the pistol butt. “Oh, maybe that’s how you do things in the big city. But down here we’re a ton more casual. You know, they say we move slower in the South. But that ain’t right. No, ma’am. We’re really more efficient.”

Sachs remained seated. “Can I ask why you’re wearing your weapon in the lockup?”

“Oh, this?” He tapped the gun. “We don’t have any hard-and-fast rules about that sort of thing. Now, come on. You’re free to leave. Most people’d be jumping up and down at that news.” He nodded toward the back of the lockup.

“Out the back door?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“You can’t shoot a fleeing prisoner in the back. That’s murder.”

He nodded slowly.