He squinted.
Her heart beat faster. Did he get a look at something?
"Bluh."
"What?"
"Bluh in my eyes by then."
"Blood?" his brother offered.
"Yeah. Blood. Couldn't shee anything then. No trangles, no building. He got my piece. He stayed neareye for a few minutes. Then I don't remember anything elshe."
"He was nearby? How close?"
"I don't know. Not close. Couldn't see. To
o much bluh."
Sachs nodded. The poor man looked exhausted. His breathing was labored, his eyes much more unfocused than when she'd arrived. She rose. "I'll let him get some rest." She asked, "You heard of Terry Dobyns?"
"No. Ishh he . . . Who ishh?" A grimace crossed the injured officer's face. "Who is he?
"Department psychologist." She glanced at Ron with a smile. "This'll take the starch out of you for a while. You should talk to him about it. He's the man. He rules."
Ron said, "Don't need to--"
"Patrolman?" she said sternly.
He lifted an eyebrow, winced.
"It's an order."
"Yes, ma'am. I mean . . . ma'am."
Anthony said, "I'll make sure he does."
"You'll thank . . . Geneva for me? I like that book."
"I will." Sachs slung her bag over her shoulder and started for the door. She just stepped through it when she stopped abruptly, turned back. "Ron?"
"Wusthat?"
She returned to his bedside, sat down again.
"Ron, you said the unsub was near you for a few minutes."
"Yuh."
"Well, if you couldn't see him, with the blood in your eyes, how did you know he was there?"
The young officer frowned. "Oh . . . yeah. There's shomething I forgot to tell you."
*
"Our boy's got a habit, Rhyme."
Amelia Sachs was back in the laboratory.