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man who probably didn't understand the North's obsession with moderate temperatures.
    The aide said firmly, "It's not good for him to be in heat like this."
    "Don't worry about it," Rhyme said.
    Thom lifted an eyebrow at Bell and said easily, "We have to cool the room. Or else I'm going to take him back to the hotel."
    "Thom," Rhyme warned.
    "I'm afraid we don't have any choice," the aide said.
    Bell said, "Not a problem. I'll take care of it." He walked to the doorway and called, "Steve, come on in here a minute."
    A young crew-cut man in a deputy's uniform walked inside. "This's my brother-in-law, Steve Farr." He was the tallest of the deputies they'd seen so far – easily six-seven – and had round ears that stuck out comically. He seemed only mildly uneasy at the initial sight of Rhyme and his wide lips soon slipped into an easy smile that suggested both confidence and competence. Bell gave him the job of finding an air-conditioner for the lab.
    "I'll get right on it, Jim." He tugged at his earlobe, turned on his heel like a soldier and vanished into the hall.
    A woman stuck her head in the door. "Jim, it's Sue McConnell on three. She's really beside herself."
    "Okay. I'll talk to her. Tell her I'll be right there." Bell explained to Rhyme, "Mary Beth's mother. Poor woman . . . Lost her husband to cancer just a year ago and now this happens. I tell you," he added, shaking his head, "I've got a couple of kids myself and I can imagine what she's –"
    "Jim, I wonder if we could find that map," Rhyme interrupted. "And get the blackboard set up."
    Bell blinked uncertainly at this abrupt tone in the criminalist's voice. "Sure thing, Lincoln. And, hey, if we get too Southern down here, move a little slow for you Yankees, you'll speed us up now, won't you?"
    "Oh, you bet I will, Jim."
    • • •
    One out of three.
    One of Jim Bell's three senior deputies seemed glad to meet Rhyme and Sachs. Well, to see Sachs, at least. The other two gave formal nods and obviously wished this odd pair had never left the Big Apple.
    The agreeable one was a bleary-eyed thirtyish deputy named Jesse Corn. He'd been at the crime scene earlier that morning and, with painful guilt, admitted that Garrett had gotten away with the other victim, Lydia, right in front of him. By the time Jesse had gotten over the river Ed Schaeffer was near death from the wasp attack.
    One deputy offering the cool reception was Mason Germain, a short man in his early forties. Dark eyes, graying features, posture a little too perfect for a human being. His hair was slicked back and showed off ruler-straight teeth marks from the comb. He wore excessive aftershave, a cheap, musky smell. He greeted Rhyme and Sachs with a stiff, canny nod and Rhyme imagined that he was actually glad the criminalist was disabled so he wouldn't have to shake his hand. Sachs, being a woman, was entitled to only a condescending "Miss."
    Lucy Kerr was the third senior deputy and she wasn't any happier to see the visitors than Mason was. She was a tall woman – just a bit shorter than willowy Sachs. Trim and athletic-looking with a long, pretty face. Mason's uniform was wrinkled and smudged but Lucy's was perfectly ironed. Her blond hair was done up in a taut French braid. You could easily picture her as a model for L.L. Bean or Lands' End – in boots, denim and a down vest.
    Rhyme knew that their cold shoulders would be an automatic reaction to interloping cops (especially a crip and a woman – and Northerners, no less). But he had no interest in winning them over. The kidnapper would be harder to find with every passing minute. And he had a date with a surgeon he absolutely was not going to miss.
    A solidly built man – the only black deputy Rhyme had seen – wheeled in a large chalkboard and unfolded a map of Paquenoke County.
    "Tape it up there, Trey." Bell pointed to the wall. Rhyme scanned the map. It was a good one, very detailed.
    Rhyme said, "Now. Tell me exactly what happened. Start