"Hey, how's it going?" the man in the gray suit asked, startling Luis Martinez, the quiet, bulky detective working for Roland Bell.

The guard was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, a Sunday New York Times in his lap. "Man, surprised me." He nodded a greeting, glanced at the newcomer's badge and ID and then scanned his face. "You the relief?"

"That's right."

"How'd you get in? They give you a key?"

"Got one downtown." He was speaking in a throaty whisper, like he had a cold.

"Lucky you," Luis muttered. "We've gotta share one. Pain in the ass."

"Where's Mr. Grady?"

"In the kitchen. With his wife and Chrissy. How come you're early?"

"I dunno," the man replied. "I'm just the hired help. This's the time they told me."

"Story of our lives, huh?" Luis said. He frowned. "I don't think I know you."

"Name's Joe David," the man said. "Usually work over in Brooklyn."

Luis nodded. "Yeah, that's where I cut my teeth, the Seventy."

"This is my first rotation here. Bodyguard detail, I mean."

A loud commercial came on the TV.

"Sorry," Luis said. "I missed that. Your first rotation, you said?"

"Right."

The big detective said, "Okay, how 'bout your last too?" Luis dropped the newspaper and leaped up from the couch, drawing his Glock smoothly and pointing it at the man he knew was Erick Weir. Normally placid, Luis now shouted into his microphone, "He's here! He got in—in the living room!"

Two other officers who'd been waiting in the kitchen—Detective Bell and that fat lieutenant, Lon Sellitto—shoved through another doorway, both with astonished looks on their faces. They grabbed Weir's arms and pulled a silenced pistol from his belt.

"Down, now, now, now!" Sellitto shouted in a raw, edgy voice, his gun pressed into the man's face. And what an expression was on it! Luis thought. He'd seen a lot of surprised perps over the years. But this guy took the prize. He was gasping, couldn't speak. But Luis supposed he wasn't any more surprised than the cops were.

"Where the hell d'he come from?" Sellitto asked breathlessly. Bell only shook his head in dismay.

As Luis double-cuffed Weir roughly, Sellitto leaned close to the perp. "You alone? You got backup outside?"

"No."

"Don't bullshit us!"

"My arms, you're hurting my arms!" Weir gasped.

"Anybody else with you?"

"No, no, I swear."

Bell was calling the others on his handy-talkie. "Heaven help me—he got inside. . . . I don't know how."

Two uniformed officers assigned to the Saving the Witness's Ass Team hurried into the apartment from the hallway, where they'd been hiding near the elevator.

"Looks like he jimmied the window on this floor," one of them said. "You know, the window at the fire escape."

Bell glanced at Weir and he understood. "The ledge from the Lanham? You jumped?"