Not of the daily variety, no. But, to Sachs, perhaps worse. Nick had been a corrupt cop. And a corrupt cop who hurt people.

Meeting Lincoln Rhyme had saved her. Professionally and personally. Though that relationship was obviously alternative, as well.

No, Sachs’s history and experience hardly qualified her to preach to Pam. Yet, like driving slowly, or hesitating before kicking in a door during a dynamic entry, Sachs was unable to stop herself from giving her opinion.

If the girl … the young woman showed up at all.

Which finally she did, fifteen minutes late.

Sachs said nothing about the tardiness, just rose and gave her a hug. It wasn’t exactly rejected but Sachs could feel the stiffness rise to Pam’s shoulders. She noted too that the young woman wasn’t taking off her coat. She just tugged her stocking cap off and tossed her hair. The gloves too. But the message was: This’ll be short. Whatever your agenda.

And no smiles. Pam had a beautiful smile and Sachs loved it when the girl’s face curled into a spontaneous crescent. But not here, not today.

‘How’re the Olivettis?’

‘Good. Howard got the kids a new dog for Jackson to play with. Marjorie lost ten pounds.’

‘I know she was trying. Hard.’

‘Yeah.’ Pam scanned a menu. Sachs knew she wasn’t going to order anything. ‘Is Lon doing okay?’

‘Still critical. Unconscious.’

‘Man, that’s bad,’ Pam said. ‘I’ll call Rachel.’

‘She’d like that.’

The young woman looked up. ‘Look, Amelia. There’s something I want to say.’

Was this going to be good or bad?

‘I’m sorry what I said, about you and my mother. That wasn’t fair.’

Sachs in fact hadn’t taken the comment particularly hard. It was clearly one of those weaponized sentences that get flung out to hurt, to end conversations.

She held up a hand. ‘No, that’s okay. You were mad.’

The woman’s nod told Sachs that, yes, she’d been mad. And her eyes revealed that she still was, despite the apology.

Around them couples and families, parents with children of all ages, bundled in winter sweaters and flannel, sat over coffee and cocoa and soup and grilled cheese sandwiches and chatted or laughed and whispered. It all seemed so normal. And so very far away from the drama of the table she and Pam sat at.

‘But I have to tell you, Amelia. Nothing’s changed. We’re leaving in a month.’

‘A month?’

‘The semester.’ Pam wasn’t going to be drawn into a debate beyond that. ‘Amelia. Please. This is good, what we’re doing. I’m happy.’

‘And I want to make sure you stay that way.’

‘Well, we’re doing it. We’re leaving. India first, we’ve decided.’