Not picking up on the sardonic tone, Stanning said proudly, “Yes, sir. Sheriff Madigan’s fought pretty hard to build up our CSU. Officers as far away as Bakersfield send samples here. And I don’t mean just rape kits. Pretty complicated things.”

“Bakersfield,” Rhyme said, even more ironically, drawing a sharp glance from Thom, a reminder that condescension was not necessary. Dance guessed his attitude had nothing to do with a prejudice against small towns, though. Rhyme was a nondenominational curmudgeon. He gave the NYPD, Scotland Yard and the FBI a lot of crap too. The New York governor’s and mayor’s offices had not escaped his wrath either.

“Well, we better get to it, you don’t mind.”

“Let’s go this way,” Harutyun said and led them inside, then out the front door.

As they walked and wheeled toward the crime lab, Dance briefed them on the case, explaining that their main suspect had proved to be very slippery. “His name’s Edwin Sharp. He could be the perp, he could be a fall guy, could be completely innocent.”

Harutyun said, “The UNSUB announces the attacks by playing a verse from one of Kayleigh’s songs.”

This clearly intrigued Rhyme. “Interesting, good,” he said, then decided he was exhibiting too much glee. “And he’s smart, right? He started with phones, then switched to other ways to play the song, like radio call-in requests?”

“Very good, sir,” Stanning said. “Not call-ins but most recent he played a song over a high-school-stadium PA system.”

Rhyme frowned. “Didn’t think of that one. Interesting, like I said.”

Dance added, “We’re tracking down a witness now, maybe an alibi. And he claims somebody’s been conducting surveillance on him, presumably to set him up for the crimes. That’s part of the evidence we need you to look at.”

Sachs asked, “You’ve interviewed him?”

“Yes. But the kinesics were inconclusive. I can say, though, that he’s got a stalker’s personality: reduced affect, attachment issues, reality problems.”

The woman from New York nodded. Kathryn Dance glanced down; she loved shoes and she couldn’t help but admire Amelia Sachs’s black, high-heeled boots, which sent the tall woman—a former fashion model—even further into the stratosphere.

Rhyme asked, “Samples from Edwin’s house or apartment?”

Dance said, “House. He gave us permission, though he might’ve scrubbed the place down before the team searched.”

Harutyun added that an earlier search, without a warrant, had resulted in getting the chief of detectives and another deputy suspended. The perp had also stolen the gun of another detective, temporarily removing him from the force.

“Crazy like a fox,” Rhyme commented and seemed oddly pleased at this news—maybe because he liked adversaries who were particularly smart and challenging. His number-one nemesis was boredom.

Then they were entering the lab and meeting Charlie Shean. If Harutyun was impressed that Rhyme was here, Shean was beside himself, having a crime scene legend in his “modest abode.”

Rhyme, though, was visibly impressed at the sophistication of the operation, despite his apparent misgiving earlier. Some people, Dance knew, are easier to read than others and although his body language was obviously severely limited, Rhyme was, to her, an open book.