But these eggs had been whisked just right—casually and without a whisper of liquid—and then cooked over high heat, the fresh-chopped tarragon, chive and dill sprinkled in at just the right moment, not too soon. The completed mezzaluna-shaped dish was yellow, brown and white, crisp outside, gently curded within.

Despite the food, though, Swann was growing a bit impatient with Amelia Sachs.

She had been inside Lincoln Rhyme’s town house now for hours. She’d finessed the phone call issue, switching prepaid mobiles every few hours, it seemed—everybody on the team was using them now—and she had a wiretap alert on the landline into the town house, which there was no way to defeat without physically breaking into the central switch.

But with her being the lead investigator she’d have to emerge sooner or later.

He reflected on her partner, Rhyme. Now, that was a setback. It had cost his organization nearly two thousand dollars to eliminate the man, his male nurse and another cop. But his contacts down there from the dock crowd had blown the attempt. They’d asked if Swann wanted them to try again but he’d told them to get the hell off the island. It would be very difficult to trace them back to Swann and his boss but it could be done.

He was sure there’d be another opportunity to take care of Rhyme. The man certainly couldn’t move very fast to get away from the Kai Shun. Swann had looked up Rhyme’s condition, quadriplegia, and discovered that the criminalist had no feeling whatsoever in most of his body. Swann was intrigued with the idea of the man’s just sitting still and watching someone flay his skin off—and slowly bleed to death—while feeling no pain.

What an interesting idea: butchering a creature while it was alive.

Curious. He’d have to—

Ah, but here is our beautiful Amelia.

She wasn’t coming from the direction he’d expected her—the L-shaped cul-de-sac for deliveries behind the town house, near where her Ford Torino was parked. She’d apparently left via the front door, which faced Central Park West. She was now walking west along the crosstown street’s sidewalk, across from the diner.

He’d hoped to get her in the cul-de-sac; there were too many pedestrians, stragglers on their way to work, here at the moment. But finding her alone would be only a matter of time.

Swann casually wiped the utensils and coffee mug, smearing prints. He paid by slipping a ten and a five under the plate, rather than taking the check to the cashier. He’d gotten these bills in change from a hotel concierge across town; cash from an ATM is frighteningly traceable, so he’d engaged in a little micro money laundering, leaving a generous but not overly so tip.

Now he was out the door, climbing into his Nissan.