"And don't forget--" Rhyme began.
"Substrata."
"Ah, one step ahead of me, Sachs."
Not really, she reflected, since he'd been her mentor for years and if she hadn't picked up his procedures for walking the grid by now, she had no business in crime scene work. She now moved to an area just outside the perimeter and took a second rolling--substrata, control samples to compare to the first. Any difference between what was collected at some distance from the scene and at the spot where the UNSUB was known to have stood might be unique to him or his dwelling.
Might not, of course . . . but that was the nature of crime scene work. Nothing was ever certain, but you did what you could, you did what you had to.
Sachs handed off the bagged evidence to the technicians. She waved to the Algonquin supervisor she'd spoken to earlier.
The field supervisor, just as solemn as before, hurried over. "Yes, Detective?"
"I'm going to search inside now. Can you tell me exactly what to look for--how he rigged the cable? I need to find where he stood, what he touched."
"Let me find somebody who does regular maintenance here." He looked over the workers. Then he called to another man, in dark blue Algonquin Consolidated Power overalls. A yellow hard hat. The worker tossed aside his cigarette and joined them. The field supervisor introduced them and told him Sachs's request.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, his eyes leaving the substation for an excursion across Sachs's chest, even though her figure was largely hidden by her billowy blue Tyvek jumpsuit. She thought about glancing down at his excessive belly but of course she didn't. Dogs pee where you don't want them to; you can't correct them all the time.
She asked, "I'll be able to see where he attached the cable to the power source?"
"Everything'll be in the open, yeah," the man told her. "I'd think he'd connect close to the breakers. They're on the main floor. That'll be on the right side when you get in there."
"Ask him if the line was live when the UNSUB rigged it," Rhyme said into her ear. "That'll tell us something about the perp's skill." She did.
"Oh, yeah. He tapped into a hot line."
Sachs was shocked. "How could he do that?"
"Wore PPE--personal protective equipment. And made sure he was insulated pretty damn good on top of that."
Rhyme added, "I've got another question for him. Ask him how he gets any work done if he spends so much time staring at women's breasts."
She stifled a smile.
But as she walked toward the entrance, traipsing along the sidewalk over the molten d
ots, all humor vanished. She paused, turned back to the supervisor. "Just confirming one last time. No power, right?" She nodded at the substation. "The lines are dead."
"Oh, yeah."
Sachs turned.
Then he added, "Except for the batteries."
"Batteries?" She stopped and looked back.
The supervisor explained, "That's what operates the circuit breakers. But they're not part of the grid. They won't be connected to the cable."
"Okay. Those batteries. Could they be dangerous?" The image of the polka-dot wounds covering the passenger's body kept surfacing.
"Well, sure." This was apparently a naive question. He added, "But the terminals're covered with insulated caps."
Sachs turned and walked back to the substation. "I'm going inside, Rhyme."
She approached, noting that, for some reason, the powerful lights made the interior even more ominous than when it was dark.
The door to hell, she was thinking.