Lucy looked at her watch. “I should get back to the station house. Help Jim make calls about the Outer Banks.” She tossed the empty bottle into the trash. Shook her head. “I keep thinking about Mary Beth. Wondering where she is, if she’s okay, if she’s scared.”

As she said this, though, Amelia Sachs was thinking not about the girl but about Garrett Hanlon. Because they’d been talking about children Sachs was imagining how she’d feel if she had a son who was accused of murder and kidnapping. Who was looking at the prospect of spending the night in jail. Maybe a hundred nights, maybe thousands.

Lucy paused. “You headed back?”

“In a minute or two.”

“Hope to see you ’fore you leave.” The deputy disappeared up the street.

A few minutes later the door to the lockup opened and Mason Germain walked out. She’d never once seen him smile and he wasn’t smiling now. He looked around the street but didn’t notice her. He strode over the broken sidewalk and disappeared into one of the buildings—a store or bar—on the way to the County Building.

Then a car pulled up across the street and two men got out. Garrett’s lawyer, Cal Fredericks, was one and the other was a heavyset man in his forties. He was in a shirt and tie—the top button undone and the sloppy knot of his striped tie pulled down a few inches from his throat. His sleeves were rolled up and his navy sports jacket was draped over his arm. His tan slacks were savagely wrinkled. His face had the kindness of a grade-school teacher. They walked inside.

Sachs tossed the cup in an oil drum outside the deli. She crossed the empty street and followed them into the lockup.

… chapter twenty

Cal Fredericks introduced Sachs to Doctor Elliott Penny.

“Oh, you’re working with Lincoln Rhyme?” the doctor asked, surprising Sachs.

“That’s right.”

“Cal told me it was mostly because of you two they caught Garrett. Is he here? Lincoln?”

“He’s at the County Building right now. Probably won’t be there long.”

“We have a friend in common. I’d like to say hi. I’ll stop by if I get a chance.”

Sachs said, “He should be there for another hour or so.” She turned to Cal Fredericks. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes’m,” the defense lawyer said cautiously; Sachs was, in theory, working for the enemy.

“Mason Germain was talking to Garrett in the lockup earlier. He mentioned Lancaster. What’s that?”

“The Violent Felony Detention Center. He’ll be transferred there after the arraignment. Held there until the trial.”

“It’s juvenile?”

“No, no. Adult.”

“But he’s sixteen,” Sachs said.

“Oh, McGuire’ll try him as an adult—if we can’t work out a plea.”

“How bad is it?”