Page 34 of The Watchmaker's Hand

“So,” Pulaski said, “I’ll hit all the trace I found where that red car was. And canvass the scene again.”

Back to the sandwich. The thing about grilled cheese is that the fourth bite isn’t as much fun as the first, and it goes downhill from there. Too much of the same.

More coffee arrived. It really was the best in the city.

Sellitto sipped. “Ow. Hot, careful.”

Somber now, the detective asked, “Ron, any chance Tarr or somebody could place you on the scene? Well, either of them—the basement scene, or the street where you tipped to the red car?”

“Maybe. But the hit was two days ago. Why would Tarr come back today?”

Of course, if Tarr was keeping tabs on the warehouse, it wouldn’t be impossible to find the lead officer on the case.

“Well, keep looking over your shoulder. Now,” he said, moving on, “the crane thing. Linc and Amelia want you on it.”

“I’ll juggle. I’ll get up there right after this.”

And that word, “this,” was intentional, because it signified that Pulaski knew the lunch was about something other than lunch and he was impatient to hear what.

The detective got it and pushed the corpse of the muffin away, a surprising gesture; food—especially pastries—were meant to be finished in Lon Sellitto’s world. His eyes were suddenly evasive.

“Okay. Here’s the thing … You know, things happen sometimes.”

Pulaski nodded, not so much in agreement with the detective’s pretty much meaningless comment, but solely to encourage the man to get to the point.

“Nothing really lasts forever.” This pronouncement was equally solemn.

And ambiguous.

What was this about? Pulaski was suddenly alarmed. Sellitto wasn’t getting divorced, because he and Rachel weren’t married. They could be breaking up, but the detective and he weren’t so close they’d talk about it.

Anything else he might be talking about? Retiring? Couldn’t imagine that. Sellitto as a security guard? Fishing? Playing bocce? Ha!

“You know we got the biggest crime scene operation in the country, after the Bureau?”

“Sure.”

“Only, we got something that makes it special. It’s Lincoln that sets us apart. And I don’t just mean he’s sharp. Naw, it’s that he’s independent. No politics, no squabbling, no game playing. He runs a case, gets the evidence, presents the evidence, and not a single goddamn other thing matters.”

Pulaski felt his heart beating faster than it had a moment ago.

Nothing really lasts forever …

“We gotta keep that … What would you call it? Thatmodel, you know? Keep it intact.”

“Detective?”

Yes, there was bomb maker Tarr to catch and there was a crane killer to stop. But mostly Pulaski needed the man to spit out what he was afraid was coming next.

Maybe the man detected the concern in his eyes. “This isn’t about anything more than a question. There’s nothing I know, okay? But … If anything was to happen to Lincoln, could you take over?”

“What do you know?”

“Nothing. I mean it. All, what do you say, hypothetical.”

“He’s not sick?”

“Naw, what I said—nothing I’ve heard. It’s just we want to know we can maintain what he’s got going. This’s been talked about upstairs. We’ve looked at your record, your reports, your wins.”

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