Pam was attending NYU but she had a light class load this semester and – as a talented seamstress – was working part-time as an assistant to the assistant costumer for a Broadway revival of Sweeney Todd – the musical adaptation, by Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler, of an older play detailing the life of the homicidal barber in London. Todd would slice his customers’ throats and a conspirator would bake the victims into pies. Rhyme had reported to Sachs and Pam that the perp reminded him of a criminal he’d once pursued, though he added that Todd was purely fictional. Pam had seemed playfully disappointed at that factoid.

Cutting throats, cannibalism, Sachs reflected. Talk about body modification.

‘We open in a week,’ Pam said. ‘And I’ll have tickets for everybody. Even Lincoln.’

Thom said, ‘He’s actually looking forward to going.’

Sachs said, ‘No!’

‘Gospel.’

‘Heart be still.’

Pam said, ‘I’ve got a disabled slot reserved. And you know the theater has a bar.’

Sachs laughed. ‘He’ll be there for sure.’

Thom left, closing the door behind him, and Sachs continued, ‘So, here’s what’s happened. The man who kidnapped you and your mother? Years ago?’

‘Oh, yeah. The Bone Collector?’

Sachs nodded. ‘It looks like there’s somebody who’s copying him. In a way. He’s not obsessed with bones, though. But skin.’

‘God. What does he …? I mean, does he skin people?’

‘No, he killed his victim by tattooing her with poison.’

Pam closed her eyes and shivered. ‘Sick. Oh, wait. That guy on the news. He killed the girl in SoHo?’

‘Right. Now, there’s no evidence he has any interest in the surviving victims from back then. He’s using the tattoos to send a message, so he’ll pick targets in out-of-the-way places, we think – if we don’t stop him first. We checked but none of the other survivors of the Bone Collector are in the area. You’re the only one. Now, has anybody asked you anything about being kidnapped, about what happened?’

‘No, nobody.’

‘Well, we’re ninety-nine percent sure he has no interest in you at all. The killer—’

‘The unsub,’ Pam said, offering a knowing smile.

‘The unsub won’t know about you – your name wasn’t in the press because you were so young. And your mother used a pseudonym back then anyway. But I wanted you to know. Keep an eye out. And at night we’re going to have an officer parked outside your apartment.’

‘Okay.’ Pam didn’t seem fazed by this information. In fact, Sachs now realized something: The news that there might be a connection, however tenuous, with Unsub 11-5 whom the press had dubbed the Underground Man, was greeted with what seemed to Sachs to be such lack of concern that she realized the girl had another topic in mind.

And it was soon placed – no, dumped – on the table.