"What's wrong?"
"Oh, God, don't look, honey!"
A large crowd had formed near the eastern edge of the plaza, not far from the concession stand. They gazed down in horror at someone lying on the bricks at their feet.
Sachs lifted her Motorola to call for a medical team and pushed through the crowd. "Let me through, let me--"
She stopped inside the ring of onlookers and gasped.
"No," she whispered, shuddering in dismay at the sight.
Amelia Sachs was staring at the Conjurer's latest victim.
Kara lay on the ground, blood covering her purple blouse and the bricks around her. Her head was back and her still, dead eyes stared toward the azure sky.
Chapter Eighteen
Numb, Sachs lifted her hand to her mouth.
Oh, Lord, no . . .
Robert-Houdin had tighter tricks than the Marabouts. Though I think they almost killed him.
Don't worry. I'll make sure that doesn't happen to you. . . .
But she hadn't. She'd been so focused on the Conjurer that she'd neglected the girl.
No, no, Rhyme, some dead you can't give up. This tragedy would be with her forever.
But then she thought: There'll be time to mourn. There'll be time for recrimination and consequences. Right now, start thinking like a goddamn cop. The Conjurer's nearby. And he is not getting away. This is a crime scene and you know what to do.
Step one. Seal the escape routes.
Step two. Seal the scene.
Step three. Identify, protect and interview witnesses.
She turned to two fellow patrol officers to delegate some of these tasks. But as Sachs started to speak she heard a voice in her clattering radio. "RMP Four Seven to all available officers on that ten-twenty-four by the river. Suspect just broke through perimeter at the east side of the street fair. Is now on West End approaching Seven-eight Street, heading north on foot. . . . Wearing jeans, blue shirt with Harley-Davidson logo. Dark hair, braid, black baseball cap. Can't see any weapons. . . . I'm losing him in the crowd. . . . All available portables and RMPs respond."
The biker! He'd ditched his businessman's clothes and quick-changed. He'd stabbed Kara to misdirect them and then slipped through the perimeter when the officers started toward the girl.
And I was three feet from him!
Other officers called in their acknowledgments and joined the chase though it seemed that the killer had a good head start. Sachs caught sight of Roland Bell, who was looking down at Kara, frowning as he pressed the headset of his Motorola closer to his ear, listening to the same transmission that Sachs was. They caught each other's eyes and he nodded in the direction of the pursuit. Sachs barked orders to a nearby patrolman to seal the scene of Kara's murder, call the medical examiner and find witnesses.
"But--" the balding young officer began to protest, none too happy, she guessed, to be taking orders from a peer his own age.
"No buts," she said, not in the mood for a pissing contest about weeks or days of seniority between them. "You can bitch to your supervisor about it later."
If he said anything else she didn't hear; ignoring the painful arthritis, she leaped down the stairs two at a time after Roland Bell and began pursuit of the man who'd killed their friend.
*
He's fast.
But I'm faster.
Six-year-vet Patrolman Lawrence Burke sprinted out of Riverside Park onto West End Avenue, only twenty feet behind the speeding perp, some biker asshole in a Harley shirt.