"Hear that, Lincoln?"
"Yup. Our boy's got another set of wheels. And he put her in the trunk so it's not a station wagon or hatchback."
Sachs repeated this. The girl nodded. "Like a sedan."
"Any idea of the make or color?" Sellitto continued.
Monelle answered, "Light, I think. Maybe silver or gray. Or that, you know, what is it? Light brown."
"Beige?"
She nodded.
"Maybe beige," Sachs added for Rhyme's benefit.
Sellitto asked, "Was there anything in the trunk? Anything at all? Tools, clothes, suitcases?"
Monelle said there wasn't. It was empty.
Rhyme had a question. "What did it smell like? The trunk."
Sachs relayed the query.
"I don't know."
"Oil and grease?"
"No. It smelled . . . clean."
"So maybe a new car," Rhyme reflected.
Monelle dissolved into tears for a moment. Then shook her head. Sachs took her hand and, finally, she continued. "We drove for long time. Seemed like long time."
"You're doing fine, honey," Sachs said.
Rhyme's voice interrupted. "Tell her to strip."
"What?"
"Take her clothes off."
"I will not."
"Have the medics give her a robe. We need her clothes, Amelia."
"But," Sachs whispered, "she's crying."
"Please," Rhyme said urgently. "It's important."
Sellitto nodded and Sachs, tight-lipped, explained to the girl about the clothes and was surprised when Monelle nodded. She was, it turned out, eager to get out of the bloody garments anyway. Giving her privacy, Sellitto walked away, to confer with Bo Haumann. Monelle put on a gown the medic offered her and one of the plain-clothes detectives covered her with his sportscoat. Sachs bagged the jeans and T-shirts.
"Got them," Sachs said into the radio.
"Now she's got to walk the scene with you," Rhyme said.
"What?"
"But make sure she's behind you. So she doesn't contaminate any PE."