Just then her radio crackled. She recognized Sellitto's voice. "Amelia, you copy?"

She grabbed Pulaski's arm and turned up the volume, so they both could hear. "Go ahead, K."

"Where are you?"

"Downtown. The parking garage didn't pan out. We're going to canvass a couple of restaurants."

"Forget it. Get up to Three Two Street and Seven Avenue. Fast. Dennis Baker's found a lead. Looks like the next vic's in an office building there."

"Who is she?"

"We're not sure exactly. We'll probably have to sweep the whole place. We've got Arson and the bomb squad on the way-she's the one he's going to burn to death. Man, I hope we're in time. Anyway, get up there now."

"We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

The fire department was sending two dozen men and women into the twenty-seven-story midtown building. And Bo Haumann was assembling five ESU entry teams-expanded ones, six cops each, rather than the typical four-to do a floor-by-floor search.

Sachs's drive here had taken closer to a half hour, thanks to holiday traffic. Not a huge delay but the extra fifteen minutes made a big difference: She'd missed a spot on an entry team. Amelia Sachs was officially a crime scene detective but her heart was also with tactical teams, the ones who went through the perps' doors first.

If they found the Watchmaker here, it would've been her last chance for a take-down before she quit the force. She supposed she'd see some excitement in her new job as security specialist at Argyle, but the local law enforcers would surely get most of the tactical fun.

Sachs and Pulaski now ran from the car to the command post at the back door of the office building.

"Any sign of him?" she asked Haumann.

The grizzled man shook his head. "Not yet. We had a sequence on a video camera in the lobby of somebody kind of looked like the composite, carrying a bag. But we don't know if he left or not. There're two back and two side door exits that aren't alarmed and aren't scanned by cameras."

"You evacuating?" a man's voice asked.

Sachs turned around. It was Detective Dennis Baker.

"Just started," Haumann explained.

"How'd you find him?" Sachs asked.

Baker said, "That warehouse with the green paint-he used it as a staging area. I found some notes and a map of this building."

The policewoman was still angry about Baker's spying on her but solid police work deserves credit and she nodded to him and said, "Good job."

"Nothing inspired," he replied with a smile. "Just pounding the pavement. And a little bit of luck." Baker's eyes rose to the building as he pulled his gloves on.

Sitting in her cubicle, Sarah Stanton heard another squawk over the building's public address system above her head.

It was a running joke in the office that the company put some kind of filter on the speakers that made the transmissions completely unintelligible. She turned back to her computer, calling, "What're they saying? I can't make heads or tails of it."

"Some announcement," one of her coworkers called.

Duh.

"They keep doingthat. Pisses me off. Is it a fire drill?"

"No idea."

A moment later she heard the whoop of the fire alarm.

Guess it is.

After 9/11 the alarm had gone off every month or so. The first couple times she'd played along and trooped downstairs like everybody else. But today the temperature was in the low twenties and she had way too much work to do. Besides, if it really was a fire and the exits were blocked she could just jump out the window. Her office was only on the second floor.

She returned to her screen.

But then Sarah heard voices at the far end of the corridor that led to her cubicle. There was an urgency about the sound. And something else-the jangling of metal. Firemen's equipment? she wondered.

Maybe something really was happening.

Heavy footsteps behind her, approaching. She turned around and saw policemen in dark outfits, with guns. Police? Oh, God, was it a terrorist attack? All she thought about was getting to her son's school, picking him up.

"We're evacuating the building," the cop announced.

"Is it terrorists?" somebody called. "Has there been another attack?"

"No." He didn't explain further. "Everybody move out in an orderly fashion. Take your coats, leave everything else."

Sarah relaxed. She wouldn't have to worry about her son.

Another of the officers called, "We're looking for fire extinguishers. Are there any in this area? Don't touch them. Just let us know. I repeat, do not touch them!"

So there is a fire, she thought, pulling on her coat.

Then she reflected that it was curious that the fire department would use the company's extinguishers on a fire. Didn't they have their own? And why should they be so concerned that we'd use one? Not like you need special training.

I repeat, do not touch them!…

The policeman looked into an office near Sarah's workstation.

"Oh, Officer? You want an extinguisher?" she asked. "I've got one right here."

And she pulled the heavy red cylinder off the floor.

"No!" cried the man and he leaped toward her.

Sachs winced as the transmission crackled loudly through her earpiece.

"Fire and containment team, second floor, southeast corner office. K. Lanam Flooring and Interiors. Now! Move, move, move!"

A dozen firefighters and officers from the bomb squad shouldered their equipment and sprinted fast toward the rear door.

"Status?" Haumann shouted into his microphone.

All they could hear were harried voices over the raw howl of the fire alarm.

"Do you have detonation?" the head of ESU repeated urgently.

"I don't see smoke," Pulaski said.

Dennis Baker stared up at the second floor. He shook his head.

"If it's alcohol," one of the fire chiefs said, "there won't be smoke until the secondary materials ignite." He added evenly, "Or her hair and skin."

Sachs continued to scan the windows, clenching her fists. Was the woman dying in agony now? With police officers or firemen alongside her?

"Come on," Baker whispered.

Then a voice clattered through the radio: "We've got the device… We've…Yeah, we've got it. It didn't detonate."

Sachs closed her eyes.

"Thank God," Baker said.

People were streaming out of the office building now, under the gaze of ESU and patrol officers who were looking for Duncan, comparing the composite pictures with the faces of the workers.

An officer led a woman up to Sachs, Baker and Pulaski, just as Sellitto joined them.

The potential victim, Sarah Stanton, explained that she'd found a fire extinguisher under her desk; it hadn't been there earlier and she hadn't seen who'd left it. Somebody in the office remembered seeing a workman in a uniform nearby but couldn't remember details and didn't recognize the composite or recall where he'd gone.

"Status of the device?" Haumann called.

An officer radioed, "Didn't see a timer but the pressure gauge on the top was blank. That could be the detonator. And I can smell alcohol. Bomb squad's got it in a containment vessel. They're taking it up to Rodman's Neck. We're still sweeping for the perp."

"Any sign of him?" Baker asked.

"Negative. There're two fire stairwells and the elevators. He could've gotten out that way. And we've got four or five other companies on that floor. He might've gotten into one of them. We'll search 'em in a minute or two, as soon as we get an all-clear for devices."

Ten minutes later officers reported that there were no other bombs in the building.

Sachs interviewed Sarah, then called Rhyme and told him the status of the case so far. The woman didn't know the other victims and had never heard of Gerald Duncan. She was very upset that the man's wife might've been killed outside her apartment, though she remembered nothing of any fatal accidents in the area.