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were in the Press Room in One Police Plaza.
    Microphones and cameras and cell phones in video mode bristled like RPGs and machine guns, aimed the officials’ way—though Markowitz, it seemed, was the preferred prey in the crosshairs, to judge from the tight shots.
    â€œI don’t think your boss’s having a good day,” Lincoln said to Amelia. They sat beside each other, watching on the big-screen TV in the corner of his parlor.
    Lucas was elsewhere, preparing.
    â€œDoesn’t look it. And what do you think?” she mused. “Half the city’s watching?”
    â€œHalf the country, ” Lincoln countered. “No good serial killers in the news lately. All the sharks want a piece of this one.”
    Every media outlet except CSPAN and Telemundo, it seemed, was represented.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen,” Markowitz began reasonably, though with a tone that suggested he actually viewed them as sharks.
    He was drowned out by their shouted questions.
    â€œWhat was the motive for the torture?”
    â€œIs it significant that the victims were minorities?”
    â€œIs there a connection between this case and the Bekker case a few years ago, involving Lucas Davenport?”
    â€œCould you fill us in about Verlaine’s sex life?”
    Frenzy.
    Markowitz had obviously done this before and he began speaking very softly—an old trick. Suddenly the sharks realized that they weren’t going to hear anything if they kept yammering away and they spontaneously, to a fish, fell silent.
    The COD gave it a beat and then continued. “As you are probably aware, a thorough examination and analysis of evidence and behavioral profiling led investigators to believe that a resident of Manhattan, James Robert Verlaine, was the perpetrator in the spate of recent killings of women in the city. Mr. Verlaine appeared to take his own life as a result of said investigation. And evidence supported that supposition.”
    Lincoln muttered, “Ah, sooo pleased to see that they still teach courses at the academy in using ten words when one will do.”
    Amelia laughed and kissed his neck.
    â€œYou are probably also aware that it was believed that an NYPDdetective shot and killed Mr. Verlaine and attempted to cover up the murder by making it appear that the death was a suicide.
    â€œFurther investigation has determined that the detective, Lily Rothenburg, was not, in fact, involved in the death of Mr. Verlaine. A person or persons intentionally planted evidence in an attempt to implicate the detective. This officer has been exonerated. It now appears, too, that Mr. Verlaine was not the perpetrator behind the murder of the women. Detective Rothenburg is once again in charge of the task force investigating the killings. We expect to have a suspect in custody soon. I have no further comments at this time.”
    â€œDoes that mean, Chief of Detectives, that Verlaine was murdered by this suspect as well? . . .”
    A new microphone logo popped into sight. Telemundo had arrived.
    â€œCan you tell us what leads Detective Rothenburg is working on? . . . Can you reassure the people of New York that no one else is at risk?”
    Markowitz studied the sharks for a moment and Lincoln thought he was actually going to say, “How fucking stupid do you have to be not to understand ‘I have no further comments’?”
    Instead: “Thank you.” He turned and walked off the stage.

    AMELIA MADE A FEW CALLS to the television stations, posing as an angry cop, and told them that Lily was at Lincoln’s town house. “She’s guilty, she’s the one who did it, you got to get on her,” she told the newsies.
    Within the hour, there were six news crews and fifty rubberneckers on the sidewalk outside of Lincoln’s town house. One of them finally came up and pounded on the door, and Amelia peeked out and asked what they wanted.
    They wanted Lily.
    After