Ron Pulaski's voice sliced through the airwaves. "Sighting. Somebody spotted him on the corner, Four-Eight and Nine, headed north. We're in pursuit. Nothing further. K."
"Keep on him, Ron. He'll've dumped the Carhartt and hard hat, I'm sure. Look for tall, look for skinny. He'll have the backpack--it's got his hammer or other weapons and whatever he controls the DataWise with. A phone or tablet."
"Got it, Amelia. Sure. K."
Hell. They'd been so goddamn close. So close. She felt her teeth grinding like millstones and found her left index finger probing her left thumb's cuticle. She felt pain, told herself to stop. She didn't stop. Damn nervous habits.
The carpenter disappeared downstairs. The lights in the theater came back on. And the man returned. She learned his name was Joe Heady. She asked if he'd seen anybody resembling the unsub in or near the theater.
He thought for a moment. Then: "No, never, ma'am. What's this all about?"
"There's a killer, somebody who's using products to kill people. He's sabotaged an escalator--"
"That story on TV?" asked the carpenter.
"That's right. A stove too. Caused a gas leak and then ignited it."
"Right. I heard about that. Oh, man."
"He's found a way to hack into smart controllers and take over the product. He was in the construction site, looking down at you, we think. He was going to turn the saw back on while you were holding it, I think."
Heady closed his eyes briefly. "That thing had started and my hand was on the blade? Jesus. Two thousand RPM. It cuts through wood like butter. I'd've lost the limb. Probably bled to death. This's all very fucked up, pardon my French."
"Sure is," said Sachs.
As she was jotting notes, her phone rang once more. It was Pulaski. She said to Heady, "Excuse me, have to take this." He nodded and walked to the kitchen area of the workshop. She watched him set a packet of instant Starbucks coffee on the counter and heat a mug of water in the microwave. His hands quivered as he performed these simple tasks.
Pulaski said, "Lost him, Amelia. We've expanded the search up to Five-Two and down to Three-Four. Not a bite so far."
She sighed. "Keep me posted."
"Sure, Amelia. K."
She disconnected and Heady turned to her. "But why me? I mean, is it a labor thing? I was in the Auto Workers, Detroit, for years and I'm union here. But nobody busts unions anymore."
"It's not you personally. He's a kind of domestic terrorist. He's injuring people who own or're using fancy products to make a statement. He says we're too reliant on them, spending too much money. That's his message. Here at the theater? Who knows? Maybe all the self-indulgence of entertainment in Times Square." She gave a faint smile. "Maybe price of Broadway tickets."
"Did I say fucked up?" Heady looked at the timer of the microwave counting down. He turned back to Sachs.
"One thing?"
"Yes?"
He glanced at the saw. "You said he hacked into this controller or something?"
"That's right."
"Well, the thing is, with the saw, there's just an on/off switch. You can't operate it remotely."
"But you can upload data for diagnostics, right?"
"No. There's a chip in it to remember cutting specs. That's all."
The microwave dinged and Heady walked toward it, reaching for the door lever.
Sachs frowned.
No!