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understanding her concern. ‘Breadbasket.’
    Sachs made the final adjustments to her outfit. She was dressed in a white Tyvekjumpsuit, hood and booties. Because poison had been the apparent weapon, she wore an N95 respirator. The toxin had been injected, the first responders reported, via the tattoo gun, and there seemed to be no airborne chemicals to worry about that they’d noted. Still, why take the chance?
    Footsteps behind her, someone approaching through the moldy, damp basement of Chez Nord.
    She glanced backat an attractive crime scene officer who’d be helping process the boutique. Sachs had known Jean Eagleston for years; she was one of the stars of the CS oper-ation. Eagleston had been interviewing the store manager, who’d found the body. Sachs had wanted to know if the manager had entered the scene itself – where Chloe’s body lay – to check on her employee.
    But Eagleston said, ‘No. She noticedthe door was open and looked into the utility room, saw the vic lying there. That was enough for her. She didn’t go any farther.’
    Can’t blame the manager, Sachs reflected. Even if one wasn’t claustrophobic, who’d go into a deserted tunnel with an apparent murder victim lying on the ground and, possibly, the killer still there?
    ‘How could she see the victim?’ Rhyme asked. He’d overheard the conversation.‘I thought I could see spotlights there now, from the medics. But wasn’t it dark then?’
    Sachs relayed the question. But the crime scene officer didn’t know. ‘All the manager said was that she could see inside.’
    Rhyme said, ‘Well, we’ll find out.’
    Eagleston added, ‘The only other people at the kill site were one responding uniform and one medic. But they backed out as soon as they confirmeddeath. To wait for us. I’ve got samples of their shoes, so we can eliminate any footprints. They tell me they didn’t touch anything other than the vic, to check on her condition. And the EMT was gloved.’
    So contamination of the scene – the introduction of evidence unrelated to the crime itself or the perp – would be minimal. That was one advantage of a murder in a hellhole like this. A crimeon the street could have dozens of contaminants, from blowing dust, pouring rain and fierce sleet (like today) to passersby and even souvenir seekers. One of the worst contaminants was fellow officers, especially brass grandstanding if reporters were present and eager to grab a video bite to slap on the twenty-four-hour news cycle.
    One more glance at the circular coffin.
    Okay, Amelia Sachs thought:Knuckle time …
    A phrase of her father’s. The man had also been a cop, a beat patrolman working the Deuce – Midtown South; back then Times Square was like Deadwood in the 1800s. Knuckle time meant referring to those moments when you have to go up against your worst fears.
    Breadbasket …
    Sachs returned to the access door and climbed through it and down into the utility room below the cellar. Thenshe took the evidence collection gear bag from the other officer. Sachs said, ‘You search the basement, Jean?’
    ‘I’ll do it now,’ Eagleston said. ‘And then get everything into the RRV.’
    They’d done a fast examination of the cellar. But it was apparent that the perp had spent minimal time there. He’d grabbed Chloe, subdued her somehow and dragged her to the access door; her heel marks were visible.

    Sachs set the heavy bag on the floor and opened it. She photographed and gathered evidence from the utility room, although, as with the basement, the perp and the victim would have spent little time here; he’d’ve wanted to get her out of sight as soon as possible. She bagged and tagged the trace and set the plastic and paper containers on the floor in the cellar for the other crime scene officersto cart to the RRV.
    Then Sachs turned to the tiny shaft’s opening, eyeing it the way one would glance at the muzzle of a pistol in the hand of a desperate perp.
    Breadbasket …
    She