Carpeting fibers from Explorer.

Fiber that matched the rope used in Creeley's death.

Ash found at Baker's same as ash in Creeley's fireplace.

Presently taking soil samples from site where Sarkowski was murdered.

Sand and seaweed. Oceanfront Maryland connection?

Other:

Gerald Duncan set up entire scheme to implicate Dennis Baker and others who killed Duncan's friend. Eight or ten other officers from the 118th are involved, not sure who. Someone else, other than cops from the 118th, is involved. Duncan no longer homicide suspect.

Amelia Sachs walked into a tiny, deserted grocery store in Little Italy, south of Greenwich Village. The windows were painted over and a single bare bulb burned inside. The door to the darkened back room was ajar, revealing a large heap of trash, old shelves and dusty cans of tomato sauce.

The place resembled a former social club of a smalltime organized crime crew, which in fact it had been until it was raided and closed up a year ago. The landlord was temporarily the city, which was trying to dump the place, but so far, no takers. Sellitto had said it'd be a good, secure place for a sensitive meeting of this sort.

Seated at a rickety table were Deputy Mayor Robert Wallace and a clean-cut young cop, an Internal Affairs detective. The IAD officer, Toby Henson, greeted Sachs with a firm handshake and a look in his eyes that suggested if she offered any positive response to an invitation to go out with him, he'd give her the evening of her life.

She nodded grimly, focused only on doing the hard job that lay ahead. Her rethinking of the facts, looking withinthe box, as Rhyme urged, had produced results, which turned out to be extremely unpleasant.

"You said there was a situation?" Wallace asked. "You didn't want to talk about it over the phone."

She briefed the men about Gerald Duncan and Dennis Baker. Wallace had heard the basics but Henson laughed in surprise. "This Duncan, he was just a citizen? And he wanted to bring down a crooked cop? That's why he did this?"

"Yep."

"He have names?"

"Only Baker's. There're about eight or ten others from the One One Eight but there's someone else, a main player."

"Someone else?" Wallace asked.

"Yep. All along we were looking for somebody with a connection to Maryland… Did we get thatone wrong."

"Maryland?" the IAD man asked.

Sachs gave a grim laugh. "You know that game of Telephone?"

"You mean at a kids' party? You whisper something to the person next to you and by the time it goes around, it's all different?"

"Yep. My source heard 'Maryland.' I think it was 'Marilyn.'"

"A person's name?" When she nodded, Wallace's eyes narrowed. "Wait, you don't mean…?"

"Inspector Marilyn Flaherty."

"Impossible."

Detective Henson shook his head. "No way."

"I wish I was wrong. But we've got some evidence. We found sand and saltwater trace in Baker's car. She's got a house in Connecticut, near the beach. And I've been followed by somebody in a Mercedes AMG. At first I thought it was a crew from Jersey or Baltimore. But it turns out that that's what Flaherty owns."

"A cop owns an AMG?" the Internal Affairs officer asked in disbelief.

"Don't forget Flaherty's a cop making a couple hundred thousand a year illegally," Sachs said stiffly. "And we found a black-and-gray hair about the length of hers in the Explorer that Baker had stolen from the pound. Oh, and remember: She definitely didn't want IAD to handle the case."

"Yeah, that was strange," Wallace agreed.

"Because she was going to bury the whole thing. Give it to one of her people to 'handle.' But it would've disappeared."

"Holy shit, an inspector," whispered the IAD pretty boy.

"She's in custody?" Wallace asked.

Sachs shook her head. "The problem is we can't find the money. We don't have probable cause to subpoena her bank records or get paper to search her house. That's why I need you."

Wallace said, "What can I do?"

"I've asked her to meet us here. I'm going to brief her on what happened-only a watered-down version. I want you to tell her that we've discovered Baker has a partner. The mayor's called a special commission and he's going to pull out all the stops to track them down. Tell her that Internal Affairs is totally on board."

"You're thinking she'll panic, head for the money and you'll nail her."

"That's what we hope. My partner's going to put a tracker on her car while she's in here tonight. After she leaves, we're going to tail her… Now, are you okay lying to her?"

"No, I'm not." Wallace looked down at the rough tabletop, marred with graffiti. "But I'll do it."

Detective Toby Henson had apparently lost all interest in his romantic future with Sachs. He sighed and gave an assessment that she couldn't help but agree with. "This's going to be bad."

Now, what've we learned?

Ron Pulaski, accustomed to thinking webecause of the twin thing, asked himself this question.

Meaning: What've Ilearned in working on this case with Rhyme and Sachs?

He was determined to be the best cop he could and he spent a lot of time evaluating what he'd done right and what he'd done wrong on the job. Walking down the street now toward the old grocery store where Sachs was meeting with Wallace, he couldn't really see that he'd messed up anything too bad on the case. Oh, sure, he could've run the Explorer scene better. And he was damn sure going to keep his weapon outsidethe Tyvek jump-suit from now on-and not use choke holds, unless he really had to.

But on the whole? He'd done pretty good.

Still, he wasn't satisfied. He supposed this feeling came from working for Detective Sachs. That woman set a high bar. There was always something else to check out, one more clue to find, another hour to spend on the scene.

Could drive you crazy.

Could also teach you to be one hell of a cop.

He'd really have to step up now, with her leaving. Pulaski'd heard that rumor, of course, and he wasn't very happy about it. But he'd do what was necessary. He didn't know, though, that he'd ever have her drive. After all, at the moment, hurrying down the freezing street, he was thinking of his family. He really wanted just to head home. Talk to Jenny about her day-not his, no, no-and then play with the kids. That was so fun, just watching the look in his boy's eyes. It changed so fast and so completely-when his son noticed something he'd never seen before, when he made connections, when he laughed. He and Jenny would sit on the floor with Brad in between them, crawling back and forth, his tiny fingers gripping Pulaski's thumb.

And their newborn daughter? She was round and wrinkled as an old grapefruit and she'd lie nearby in the SpongeBob bassinet and be happy and perfect.

But the pleasure of his family would have to wait. After what was about to happen, it was going to be a long night.

He checked street numbers. He was two blocks from the storefront where he'd be meeting Amelia Sachs. Thinking: What else've I learned?

One thing: You damn well better have learned to steer clear of alleys.

A year ago he'd nearly been beaten to death because he'd been walking too close to a wall, with a perp hiding around the corner of a building. The man had stepped out and walloped him in the head with a billy club.

Careless and stupid.

As Detective Sachs had said, "You didn't know. Now you do."

Approaching another alley now, Pulaski veered to the left to walk along the curb-in the unlikely event that somebody, a mugger or junkie, was hiding in the alley.

He turned and looked down it, saw the empty stretch of cobblestones. But at least he was being smart. That's the way it was, being a cop, learning these small lessons and making them a part of-