Sachs, the lead investigator on the case, now that Lon Sellitto was out of commission, spent about twenty minutes debriefing the girl, with Rhyme nearby. They learned that Billy, with Pam in tow, had planned to escape to a militia group in upstate New York, the Patriot Assembly, which Rhyme and Sachs had tangled with before.

Ron Pulaski finished walking the grid in Pam’s apartment – even if you stop the perp in the most absolute sense possible, as here, you still go through the formalities. When he was finished he bundled up the evidence, signed the chain-of-custody cards and told Rhyme he’d get everything to the town house. The ME team carted away the body. With eyes cool as the air, Pam watched the gurney wheeled to the van.

Rhyme, then, was concentrating on Sachs. When she and Pam had been talking about what had just happened, the policewoman had occasionally tried to joke or offer words of sympathy. Pam responded with a formal smile that might as well have been a sneer. The expression cut Sachs deeply, it was clear.

A pause as Sachs stood, hands on hips, looking over the town house. She said to Pam, ‘The scene’s clear. Help you clean up, you want.’

Rhyme noted that she was hesitating, and the tone in her voice told him that she regarded this question as perilous.

‘Think I’ll just head over to the Olivettis, you know. And maybe sometime this week I’ll borrow Howard’s car, come over to the town house and pick up what’s left. That okay, Lincoln?’

‘Sure.’

‘Wait,’ Sachs said firmly.

Pam regarded her defiantly.

The detective continued, ‘I want you to see somebody about this. Talk to them.’ She dug into her purse. ‘This’s Terry Dobyns. He works for the NYPD but he can hook you up with somebody.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Please. Do it.’

A shrug. The card disappeared into her back pocket, where her cell phone rested.

Sachs said, ‘You need anything, give me a call. Anytime.’ A whiff of desperation that was hard to hear.

The girl said nothing but walked inside and returned with a backpack and a computer bag. White wires ran from ears to iPod and were tucked up under a bulky hat.

The girl waved in the direction of Rhyme and Sachs but to neither in particular.

Sachs stared after her.

After a moment Rhyme said, ‘People hate to be proven wrong, Sachs, even when it’s for their own good. Especially then maybe.’

‘So it seems.’ In the cold she was rocking back and forth, watching Pam disappear in the distance. ‘I broke it, Rhyme.’

It was moments like this when Rhyme detested his disability the most. He wanted nothing more than to walk up to Sachs and wrap his arms around her shivering shoulders, hold her as tightly as he could.

‘How’s Lon?’ Rhyme asked.