The Cold Moon

long time ago but hadn’t heard from her ex in years. She had no enemies that she could think of.
    Joanne also told Dance that she’d seen someone watching her through the window earlier that day, a heavyset white man in a cream-colored parka, old-style sunglasses and baseball cap. She hadn’t seen much else because of the dirty windows. Dance wondered if there was a connection with Adams, the first victim, but Joanne had never heard of him.
    Sachs asked, “How’s she doing?”
    “Shook up. But going back to work. Not in the workshop, though. At her store on Broadway.”
    Sellitto said, “Until we get this guy or figure out a motive I’ll order a car outside the store.” He pulled out his radio and arranged for it.
    Nancy Simpson and Frank Rettig, the CS officers, walked up to Sachs. Between them was a young man in a stocking cap and baggy jacket. He wasskinny and looked freezing cold. “Gentleman here wants to help,” Simpson said. “Came up to us at the RRV.”
    With a glance at Sachs, who nodded, Dance turned to him and asked what he’d seen. There was no need for a kinesics expert, though. The kid was happy to play good citizen. He explained that he’d been walking down the street and saw somebody jump out the florist’s workshop. He was a middle-aged man in a dark jacket. Glancing at the EFIT composite Sellitto and Dance had made at the clock store, he said, “Yeah, could be him.”
    He’d run to a tan SUV, driven by a white guy with a round face and wearing sunglasses. But he hadn’t seen anything more specific about the driver.
    “There’re two of them?” Baker sighed. “He’s got a partner.”
    Probably the one Joanne had seen at her workshop earlier.
    “Was it an Explorer?”
    “I don’t know an Explorer from a . . . any other kind of SUV.”
    Sellitto asked about the license number. The witness hadn’t seen it.
    “Well, we’ve got the color at least.” Sellitto put out an Emergency Vehicle Locator. An EVL would alert all Radio Mobile Patrol cars as well as most other law enforcers and traffic cops in the area to look for a tan Explorer with two white men inside.
    “Okay, let’s move on this,” Sellitto called.
    Simpson and Rettig helped Sachs assemble equipment to run the scenes. There were several of them: the store itself, the alley, the sidewalk area where he’d escaped, as well as where the Explorer had been parked.
    Kathryn Dance and Sellitto returned to Rhyme’s, while Baker kept canvassing for witnesses, showing pictures of the Watchmaker’s composite to people on the street and workers in the warehouses and businesses along Spring.
    Sachs collected what evidence she could locate. Since the first clock hadn’t been an explosive device, there was no need to get the bomb squad involved; a simple field test for nitrates was sufficient to make sure. She packed it up, along with the remaining evidence, then stripped off the Tyvek and pulled on her leather jacket. She hurried up the street and dropped into the front seat of the Camaro, fired the car up and turned on the heater full blast.
    She reached behind the passenger seat for her purse to get her gloves. But when she picked up the leather bag, the contents spilled out.
    Sachs frowned. She was very careful always to keep the purse latched.She couldn’t afford to lose the contents, which included two extra ammunition clips for her Glock, as well as a can of tear gas. She clearly remembered twisting the latch when she’d arrived.
    She looked at the passenger-side window. Smears on the glass made by gloves were consistent with somebody using a slimjim to pop the door lock. And some of the insulating fuzz around the window was pushed aside.
    Burglarized while doing a crime scene. This’s a first.
    She looked through the bag, item by item. Nothing was gone. The money and charge cards were all there—though she’d have to call the credit card companies in case the thief had jotted down the numbers. The ammunition and CS tear-gas spray were intact. Hand straying to her Glock, she looked around. There was a small crowd gathered nearby, curious about the police activity. She climbed out and approached them, asking if anybody had seen the break-in. Nobody had.
    Returning to the Chevy, Sachs got her bare-bones crime scene kit from the trunk and ran the car just like any other crime scene—checking for footprints, fingerprints and trace inside and out. She found nothing. She replaced the equipment and dropped into the