He looked at the other two people in the room. One was the youngster on Rhyme’s team, NYPD patrol officer Ron Pulaski, who was packing up the evidence in the City Hall mugging/homicide case.

The other was Rhyme’s caregiver, Thom Reston, a handsome, slim man, dressed as immaculately as always. Today: dark-brown slacks with an enviable knife-blade crease, a pale-yellow shirt and a zoological tie in greens and browns; the cloth seemed to sport a simian face or two. Hard to tell. Rhyme himself paid little attention to clothing. His black sweats and green long-sleeved sweater were functional and good insulators. That was all he cared about.

‘I want to send flowers,’ Rhyme now announced.

‘Flowers?’ Thom asked.

‘Yes. Flowers. Send them. People still do that, I assume. Wreaths saying RIP, Rest in Peace, though what’s the point of that? What else’re the dead going to be doing? It’s a better message than Good Luck, don’t you think?’

‘Send flowers to … Wait. Are you talking about Richard Logan?’

‘Of course. Who else has died lately who’s flower-worthy?’

Pulaski said, ‘Hm, Lincoln. “Flower-worthy.” That is not an expression I would ever imagine you saying.’

‘Flowers,’ Rhyme repeated petulantly. ‘Why is this not registering?’

‘And why’re you in a bad mood?’ Thom asked.

‘Old married couple’ was a phrase that could be used to describe caregiver and charge.

‘I’m hardly in a bad mood. I simply want to send flowers to a funeral home. But nobody’s doing it. We can get the name from the hospital that did the autopsy. They’ll have to send the corpse to a funeral home. Hospitals don’t embalm or cremate.’

Pulaski said, ‘You know, Lincoln. One way to think about it is: There’s some justice. You could say the Watchmaker got the death penalty, after all.’

Blond and determined and eager, Pulaski had the makings of a fine crime scene officer and Rhyme had taken on the job of mentor. Which included not only instruction in forensic science but also getting the kid to use his mind. This he didn’t seem to be doing presently. ‘And just how does a random arterial occlusion, rookie, equal justice? If the prosecutor in New York State chose not to seek the death penalty, then you might say that a premature death undermines justice. Not furthers it.’

‘I—’ the young man stammered, blushing Valentine red.

‘Now, rookie, let’s move on from spurious observations. Flowers. Find out when the body’s being released from Westchester Memorial and where it’s going. I want the flowers there ASAP, whether there’s a service or not. With a card from me.’

‘Saying what?’

‘Nothing other than my name.’

‘Flowers?’ Amelia Sachs’s voice echoed from the hallway leading to the kitchen and the back door of the town house. She walked into the parlor, nodding greetings.