He stepped outside, and through the open door Sachs could see him walk up to a four-by-four. It was Lucy Kerr’s. Sachs saw her get out and hold the door open for him—like a mom picking up her son after soccer practice. The jail door closed and shut off this domestic scene.

“Sachs,” Rhyme began. But she shook her head and started shuffling back toward the lockup. She wanted to be away from the criminalist, away from the Insect Boy, away from the town without children. She wanted to be in the darkness of solitude.

And soon she was.

Outside of Tanner’s Corner, on Route 112, where it’s still two-lane, there’s a bend in the road, near the Paquenoke River. Just off the shoulder is a thick growth of plume grass, sedge, indigo and tall columbines showing off their distinctive red flowers like flags.

The vegetation creates a nook that’s a popular parking space for Paquenoke County deputies, who sip iced tea and listen to the radio as they wait for the display on their radar guns to register 54 mph or higher. Then they accelerate onto the highway in pursuit of the surprised speeder to add another hundred dollars or so to the county treasury.

Today, Sunday, as a black Lexus SUV passed this jog in the road the radar gun on Lucy Kerr’s dashboard registered a legal 44. But she put the squad car in gear, flipped the switch starting the gumball machine atop the car and sped after the four-by-four.

She eased close to the Lexus and studied the vehicle carefully. She’d learned long ago to check the rearview mirror of cars she was stopping. You look at the drivers’ eyes and you can pretty much get a feel for what other kinds of crimes they might be committing, if any, beyond speeding or a broken taillight. Drugs, stolen weapons, drinking. You get a feel for how dangerous the pullover will be. Now, she saw the man’s eyes flick into the mirror and glance at her without a hint of guilt or concern.

Invulnerable eyes …

Which made the anger in her all the hotter and she breathed hard to control it.

The big car eased onto the dusty shoulder and Lucy pulled in behind it. Rules dictated that she call in for a tag, tax and warrants check but Lucy didn’t bother with this. There was nothing that DMV could report that would be of any interest to her. With trembling hands she opened the door and climbed out.

The driver’s eyes now shifted to the sideview mirror and continued to examine her clinically. They registered some surprise, noticing, she supposed, that she wasn’t in her uniform—just jeans and a work shirt—though she was wearing her weapon on her hip. What would an off-duty cop be doing pulling over a driver who hadn’t been speeding?

Henry Davett rolled down his window.