He nodded. “See, they were in the car going to dinner. It was Wednesday. Every Wednesday we went to Bennigan’s. I liked the chicken fingers. I’d have the chicken fingers and fries and a Coke. And Kaye, my sister’d get onion rings and we’d split the fries and the rings and sometimes we drew pictures on an empty plate with the squeeze bottle of ketchup.”

His face was pale and drawn. There was so much sorrow in his eyes, Sachs thought. She fought down her own emotions. “What do you remember about that night?”

“It was outside the house. In the driveway. They were in the car, Dad and Mom and my sister. They were going to dinner. And”—he swallowed—“what it was they were going to leave without me.”

“They were?”

He nodded. “I was late. I’d been in the woods in Blackwater Landing. And I’d kinda lost track of time. I ran, like, a half mile or something. But my father wouldn’t let me in. He must’ve been mad because I was late. I wanted to get in so bad. It was really cold. I remember I was shivering and they were shivering. I remember there was frost on the windows. But they wouldn’t let me in.”

“Maybe your father didn’t see you. Because of the frost.”

“No, he saw me. I was right beside his side of the car. I was banging on the window and he saw me but he didn’t open the door. He just kept frowning and shouting at me. And I kept thinking, He’s mad at me and I’m cold and I’m not going to get my chicken fingers and French fries. I’m not going to have dinner with my family.” Tears ran down his cheeks.

Sachs wanted to put her arm around the boy’s shoulders but she remained where she was. “Go on.” Nodding toward the chair. “Talk to your father. What do you want to say to him?”

He looked at her but she pointed toward the chair. Finally Garrett turned to it. “It’s so cold!” he said, gasping. “It’s cold and I want to get in the car. Why won’t he let me in the car?”

“No, tell him. Imagine he’s there.”

Sachs was thinking: This is the same way Rhyme urged her to imagine herself as the perp at crime scenes. It was utterly harrowing and she now felt the boy’s fear all too clearly. Still, she didn’t let up. “Tell him—tell your father.”

Garrett looked at the old chair uneasily. He leaned forward. “I…”

Sachs whispered, “Go ahead, Garrett. It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. Tell him.”