The Burning Wire

has battery or generator backup, but not all of it. Hospitals have only so much and some of those systems never work right. People will die as a result of it.”
    Well, thought Rhyme, the writer of the letter had one point right: Electricity, and Algonquin and the power companies, have indeed worked their way into our lives. We’re dependent on juice.
    “There you have it,” said McDaniel. “It can’t be done.”
    Sellitto grimaced. Rhyme looked toward Sachs. “Parker?”
    She nodded, and scrolled through her BlackBerry to find the number and email of Parker Kincaid in Washington, D.C. He was a former FBI agent and now a private consultant, the best document examiner in the country, in Rhyme’s opinion.
    “I’ll send it now.” She dropped into a chair in front of one of the workstations, wrote an email, scanned the letter then sent them on their way.
    Sellitto snapped open his phone and contacted NYPD Anti-Terror, along with the Emergency Service Unit—the city’s version of SWAT—and told them that another attack was planned for around 1 p.m.
    Rhyme turned to the phone. “Ms. Jessen, Lincoln again. That list you gave Detective Sachs yesterday? The employees?”
    “Yes?”
    “Can you get us samples of their handwriting?”
    “Everybody?”
    “As many as you can. As soon as you can.”
    “I suppose. We have signed confidentiality statements from just about everybody. Probably health forms, requests, expense accounts.”
    Rhyme turned away from the phone and called, “Sachs! Is he there? Is Parker there? What’s going on?”
    She nodded. “He’s at some function or something. I’m getting patched through.”
    Kincaid was a single father of two children, Robby and Stephanie, and he carefully balanced his personal and professional lives—his commitment to his kids was why he’d quit the FBI to become, like Rhyme, a consultant. But Rhyme knew too that for a case like this, Kincaid would get on board instantly and do what he could to help.
    The criminalist turned back to the phone. “Ms. Jessen, could you scan them and send them to . . .” An eyebrow raised toward Sachs, who called out Parker Kincaid’s email address.
    “I’ve got it,” Jessen said.
    “Those are terms in the business, I assume?” Rhyme asked. “ ‘Rolling brownout,’ ‘shedding load,’ ‘service grid,’ ‘offpeak load.’ ”
    “That’s right.”
    “Does that give us any details about him?”
    “Not really. They’re technical aspects of the business but if he could adjust the computer and rig a flash arc device, then he’d know those too. Anybody in the power industry would know them.”
    “How did you get the letter?”
    “It was delivered to my apartment building.”
    “Is your address public?”
    “I’m not listed in the phone book but I suppose it wouldn’t be impossible to find me.”
    Rhyme persisted, “How exactly did you receive it?”
    “I live in a doorman building, Upper East Side. Somebody rang the back delivery bell in the lobby. The doorman went to go see. When he got back, the letter was at his station. It was marked, Emergency. Delivery immediately to Andi Jessen .”
    “Is there video security?” Rhyme asked.
    “No.”
    “Who handled it?”
    “The doorman. Just the envelope, though. I had a messenger from the office pick it up. He would have touched it too. And I did, of course.”
    McDaniel was about to say something but Rhyme beat him to it. “The letter was time sensitive, so whoever left it knew you had a doorman. So that it would get to you immediately.”
    McDaniel was nodding. Apparently that would have been his comment. The bright-eyed Kid nodded as well, like a bobble-head dog in the back window of a car.
    After a moment: “I guess that’s right.” The concern was obvious in her voice. “So that means he knows about me. Maybe knows a lot about me.”
    “Do you have a bodyguard?” Sellitto asked.
    “Our security director, at work. Bernie Wahl. You met him, Detective Sachs. He’s got four armed guards on staff, each shift. But not at home. I never thought . . .”
    “We’ll get somebody from Patrol stationed outside your apartment,” Sellitto said. As he madethe call, McDaniel asked, “What about family in the area? We should have somebody look out for them.”
    Momentary silence from the speaker. Then: “Why?”
    “He might try to use them as leverage.”
    “Oh.” Jessen’s otherwise rugged voice sounded small at the implications, those close to