“Very well. How do you plead to the charge of second-degree manslaughter brought against you?”

“Guilty, Your Honor.”

“In light of the state’s recommendation the plea will be entered and I am hereby sentencing you—”

The red-leather doors leading to the corridor swung inward and with a high-pitched whine Lincoln Rhyme’s wheelchair maneuvered inside. A bailiff had tried to open the doors for the Storm Arrow but Rhyme seemed to be in a hurry and just plowed through them. One slammed into the wall. Lucy Kerr was behind him.

The judge looked up, ready to reprimand the intruder. When he saw the chair he—like most people—deferred to the political correctness that Rhyme despised and said nothing. He turned back to Sachs. “I’m hereby sentencing you to five years—”

Rhyme said, “Forgive me, Your Honor. I need to speak with the defendant and her counsel for a minute.”

“Well,” the judge grumbled, “we’re in the middle of a proceeding. You can speak to her at some future time.”

“With all respect, Your Honor,” Rhyme responded, “I need to speak to her now.” His voice was a grumble too but it was much louder than the jurist’s.

Just like the old days, being in a courtroom.

Most people think that a criminalist’s only job is finding and analyzing evidence. But when Lincoln Rhyme was head of the NYPD’s forensics operation—the Investigation and Resources Division—he had spent nearly as much time testifying in court as he did in the lab. He was a good expert witness. (Blaine, his ex-wife, often observed that he preferred to perform in front of people—herself included—rather than interact with them.)

Rhyme carefully steered up to the railing that separated the counsel tables from the gallery in the Paquenoke County Courthouse. He glanced at Amelia Sachs and the sight nearly broke his heart. In the three days she’d been in jail she’d lost a lot of weight and her face was sallow. Her red hair was dirty and pulled up in a taut bun—the way she wore it at crime scenes to keep the strands from brushing against evidence; this made her otherwise beautiful face severe and drawn.

Geberth walked over to Rhyme, crouched down. The criminalist spoke to him for a few minutes. Finally, Geberth nodded and rose. “Your Honor, I realize this is a hearing regarding a plea bargain. But I have an unusual proposal. There’s some new evidence that’s come to light—”

“Which you can introduce at trial,” the judge snapped, “if your client chooses to reject the plea arrangement.”

“I’m not proposing to introduce anything to the court; I’d like to make the state aware of this evidence and see if my worthy colleague will agree to consider it.”

“For what purpose?”

“Possibly to alter the charges against my client.” Geberth added coyly, “Which may just make Your Honor’s docket somewhat less burdensome.”