Sachs tossed her hair off her shoulder. Wished she’d banded it up outside. No time then, no time now. She turned and headed back into the corridor, which smelled of onion and mold and some powerful cleaner. It turned her stomach. She found herself walking slowly. The sight of death or gore didn’t bother her; you don’t sign on to crime scene work if that troubles you. But the looming thought of a somber call to Pam was a sea anchor.

Or given that the perp’s weapon of choice was toxins, even a non-fatal injury could be devastating: blindness, nerve or brain damage, kidney failure.

She found the door to the cellar and started down the rickety stairs. Overhead bulbs lit the way, bare and glaring. The basement was well underground, with slits of greasy windows at ceiling level. The large expanse, which smelled astringently of furnace fuel and mildew, was mostly open but there were several smaller areas with doorless entryways, maybe storerooms at one time. It was into one of these that the perp had dragged Seth. She could see the backs of one detective and one uniform in the room, both looking down.

Her heart thudded as she also noted a medical tech standing with crossed arms outside the doorway, peering in. His face, a mask.

He looked at her blankly and nodded, then glanced back into the storeroom.

Alarmed, Sachs stepped forward, peered in and stopped.

Seth McGuinn, shirtless, lay on the damp floor, hands under him – probably cuffed like the other victims. His eyes were closed and his face was as gray as the ancient paint on the troubled cellar walls.

CHAPTER 42

‘Amelia. They don’t know,’ said one of the uniformed officers, standing near Seth. His name was Flaherty and she knew the big, redheaded officer from the Eight Four.

Two other medics were working on Seth, clearing an airway, checking vitals. She could see on the portable monitor that, at least, his heart was beating, if weakly.

‘Did the perp tattoo him?’ She couldn’t see his abdomen from here.

Flaherty said, ‘No.’

Sachs said to the medics, ‘Might be propofol. That’s what he’s been using. To knock them out.’

‘A sedative’s consistent with this condition. He’s not convulsing and there are no gastrointestinal reactions and his vitals are stable so I’d guess it’s not a toxin.’

Sachs moved to the side and noted a red spot on Seth’s neck – where 11-5 had used the hypodermic. ‘There. See the injection site?’

‘Right.’

‘He’s done that in all the prior cases. Is he—’

A moan. Shivering suddenly, Seth opened his eyes. Blinked in confusion. Then alarm flooded his face; he would be first wondering, then recalling, how he’d ended up here.

‘I … What’s going—’

‘It’s okay, sir,’ one of the medics said.

‘You’re all right; you’re safe,’ Flaherty said.

‘Amelia!’ Urgent, though groggy.

‘How’re you feeling?’