‘I like Seth. I’ll like him better in a year.’

Rhyme had smiled.

She had asked, ‘Any thoughts?’

‘Afraid not.’ Rhyme had been married for a few years. He’d gotten divorced not long after his accident (his call; not his wife’s), but the marriage had been doomed for some time. He was sure he’d been in love at some point but the relationship had soured for reasons he could never isolate, quantify and analyze. As for what he had with Sachs? It worked because it worked. That was the best he could say. Lincoln Rhyme was admittedly in no position to offer romantic advice.

But then who, ultimately, was? Love is an occurrence for which there are no expert witnesses.

Sachs had added, ‘And I didn’t handle it well. I got protective. Too motherly. It turned ugly. I should’ve been objective, rational. But, no, I let things get out of control.’

Now, this morning, Rhyme could see that Sachs was still deeply troubled. He was thinking he should say something reassuring, when, to his relief, the professional deflected the personal.

‘Have something here,’ Pulaski called from across the lab, where he’d been staring at a monitor. ‘I think …’ He fell silent, glowering. ‘Damn Internet. Just when I had some hits.’

Rhyme could see that his screen was frozen.

‘Okay, okay, up again.’

He was tapping more keys. Maps and schematics and what appeared to be lists of compounds and elemental materials popped up on the big screen.

‘You’re getting to be quite the scientist, rookie,’ Rhyme said, regarding the notes.

‘What do you have, Ron?’ Mel Cooper asked.

‘Some good news for a change. Maybe.’

CHAPTER 18

Harriet Stanton’s family trip to New York, which she’d been looking forward to for years, had not turned out as planned.

It had been derailed by a chance incident that could have changed her life forever.

Harriet now stood before the mirror of the hotel suite she’d spent a restless night in and looked over her suit. Dark. Not black but navy blue.

How close she’d come to selecting the former color. Bad luck, making that choice.

She plucked a few pieces of random lint off the wool, brushed at some dust – the hotel was not as nice as advertised online (but it was affordable and frugality was important in the Stanton family, which hailed from a town where accommodation standards were set by a Holiday Inn).

Fifty-three years old, with slim shoulders and a pear-shaped build (but a slim pear), Harriet had a staunch face that was ruddy and weathered – from gardening, from marshaling children after class in the backyard, from picnics and barbecues. Yet she was the least vain woman on earth, and the only creases that troubled her were not in her face but in the skirt of the suit – one set of wrinkles that she could control.