The Bone Collector

her living burial so disturbing he had to look away.
    “What’s he got against us?” she asked.
    “I don’t know. Schneider’s father was arrested by mistake and died in prison. Our unsub? Who knows why? I only care about evidence—”
    “—not motives.” Amelia Sachs finished the sentence.
    “Why’d he start going after us directly?” Banks asked, nodding at Sachs.
    “We found his hidey-hole and saved the little girl. I don’t think he expected us so soon. Maybe he just got pissed. Lon, we need twenty-four-hour babysitters for all of us. He could’ve just taken off after we saved the kid but he stuck around to do some damage. You and Jerry, me, Cooper, Haumann, Polling, we’re all on his list, betcha. Meanwhile, get Peretti’s boys over to Sachs’s. I’m sure he kept it clean but there might be something there. He left a lot faster than he’d planned to.”
    “I better get over there,” Sachs said.
    “No,” Rhyme said.
    “I have to work the scene.”
    “You have to get some rest,” he ordered. “ That’s what you have to do, Sachs. You don’t mind my saying, you look lousy.”
    “Yeah, officer,” Sellitto said. “ ‘S’an order. I told you to stand down for the rest of the day. We’ve got two hundred searchers looking for him. And Fred Dellray’s got another hundred and twenty feebies.”
    “I got a crime scene in my own backyard and you’re not gonna let me walk the grid?”
    “That’s it,” Rhyme said, “in a nutshell.”
    Sellitto walked to the doorway. “Any problems with that, officer?”
    “Nosir.”
    “Come on, Banks, we got work to do. You need a lift, Sachs? Or’re they still trusting you with vehicles?”
    “No thanks, got wheels downstairs,” she said.
    The two detectives left. Rhyme heard their voices echoing through the empty hall. Then the door closed and they were gone.
    Rhyme realized the glaring overhead lights were on. He clicked through several commands and dimmed them.
    Sachs stretched.
    “Well,” she said, just as Rhyme said, “So.”
    She glanced at the clock. “It’s late.”
    “Sure is.”
    Rising, she walked to the table where her purse rested. She picked it up. Clicked it open, found her compact and examined her cut lip in the mirror.
    “It doesn’t look too bad,” Rhyme said.
    “Frankenstein,” she said, prodding. “Why don’t they use flesh-colored stitches?” She put the mirror away, slung the purse over her shoulder. “You moved the bed,” she noticed. It was closer to the window.
    “Thom did. I can look at the park. If I want to.”
    “Well, that’s good.”
    She walked to the window. Looked down.
    Oh, for Christ’s sake, Rhyme thought to himself. Do it. What can happen? He blurted quickly, “You want to stay here? I mean, it’s getting late. And Latents’ll be dusting your place for hours.”
    He felt a mad bolt of anticipation deep within him. Well, kill that, he thought, furious with himself. Until her face blossomed into a smile. “I’d like that.”
    “Good.” His jaw shivered from the adrenaline. “Wonderful. Thom!”
    Listening to music, drinking some Scotch. Maybe he’d tell her more about famous crime scenes. The historian in him was also curious about her father, about police work in the ’60s and ’70s. About the infamous Midtown South Precinct in the old days.
    Rhyme shouted, “Thom! Get some sheets. And a blanket. Thom! I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. Thom! ”
    Sachs started to say something but the aide appeared in the doorway and said testily, “One rude shout would’ve been enough, you know, Lincoln.”
    “Amelia’s staying over again. Could you get some blankets and pillows for the couch?”
    “No, not the couch again,” she said. “It’s like sleeping on rocks.”
    Rhyme was stabbed with a splinter of rejection. Thinking ruefully to himself: Been a few years since he’d felt that emotion. Resigned, he nonetheless smiled and said, “There’s a bedroom downstairs. Thom can make it up for you.”
    But Sachs set down her purse. “That’s okay, Thom. You don’t have to.”
    “It’s no bother.”
    “It’s all right. Good night, Thom.” She walked to the door.
    “Well, I—”
    She smiled.
    “But—” he began, looking from her to Rhyme, who frowned, shook his head.
    “Good night, Thom,” she said firmly. “Watch your feet.” And closed the door slowly, as he stepped back out of the way into the hall. It closed with a loud click.
    Sachs kicked off her