Which was bad enough. But worse, to Rhyme’s anger and disgust, Dr. Weaver refused to perform the operation for at least another six months—until his breathing functions were completely normalized. He’d tried to insist but the surgeon proved to be as mulely as he was.

Sachs sipped more scotch.

“You told Roland Bell about his cousin?” Rhyme asked.

She nodded. “He took it hard. Said Jim was the black sheep but never guessed he’d do anything like this. He’s pretty shaken up by the news.” She looked northeast. “Look,” she said, “out there. Know what that is?”

Trying to follow her eyes, Rhyme asked, “What’re you looking at? The horizon? A cloud? An airplane? Enlighten me, Sachs.”

“The Great Dismal Swamp. That’s where Lake Drummond is.”

“Fascinating,” he said sarcastically.

“It’s full of ghosts,” she added, like a tour guide.

Lucy came up and poured some scotch into a paper cup. Sipped it. Then made a face. “It’s awful. Tastes like soap.” She opened a Heineken.

Rhyme said, “It costs eighty dollars a bottle.”

“Expensive soap, then.”

Sachs watched Garrett as he shoveled corn chips into his mouth then ran into the grass. She asked Lucy, “Any word from the county?”

“On being his foster mom?” Lucy asked. Then shook her head. “Got rejected. The being single part isn’t an issue. They have a problem with my job. Cop. Long hours.”

“What do they know?” Rhyme scowled.

“Doesn’t matter what they know,” she said. “What they do is the thing that’s important. Garrett’s being set up with a family up in Hobeth. Good people. I checked them out pretty good.”

Sachs didn’t doubt that she had.

“But we’re going on a hike next weekend.”

Nearby Garrett eased through the grass, stalking a specimen.

When Sachs turned back she saw Rhyme had been watching her as she gazed at the boy.

“What?” she asked, frowning at his coy expression.

“If you were going to say something to an empty chair, Sachs, what would it be?”

She hesitated for a moment. “I think I’ll keep that to myself for the time being, Rhyme.”

Suddenly Garrett gave a loud laugh and started running through the grass. He was chasing an insect, which was oblivious to its pursuer, through the dusty air. The boy caught up with it and, with outstretched arms, made a grab for his prey then tumbled to the ground. A moment later he was up, staring into his cupped hands and walking slowly back to the picnic benches.

“Guess what I found,” he called.

“Come show us,” Amelia Sachs said. “I want to see.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE