The Broken Window

Eyes wide, forsaking the phone for the gun, she turned fast. But before her hand made it to the Glock’s grip, she was tackled hard. She slammed into the side of the town house. Stunned, she dropped to her knees.
    Glancing up, gasping, she saw the hard dots of eyes in the killer’s face, saw the stained blade of the razor he held as it began its journey to her throat.

Chapter Forty-three
    “Command, call Sachs.”
    But the phone went to voice mail.
    “Damnit, where is she? Find her. . . . Pulaski?” Rhyme wheeled his chair around to face the young man, who was on the phone. “What’s the story with Carpenter?”
    He held up a hand. Then hung up. “I finally got his assistant. Carpenter left work early, had some errands. He should be home by now.”
    “I want somebody over there. Now.”
    Mel Cooper tried paging Sachs and, when there was no response, said, “Nothing.” He made a few other calls and reported, “Nope. No luck.”
    “Did Five Twenty-Two get her service dropped, like the electricity?”
    “No, they say the accounts’re active. It’s just that the devices are disabled—broken or the batteries removed.”
    “What? Are they sure?” The dread within him began to expand.
    The doorbell rang and Thom went to answer it.
    Lon Sellitto, his shirt half untucked and face sweaty, strode into the room. “They can’t do anything aboutthe suspension. It’s automatic. Even if I take another test they have to keep it active until IA investigates. Fucking computers. I had somebody call PublicSure. They’re quote ‘looking into it,’ which you know what that means.” He glanced at Pulaski. “What happened with your wife?”
    “Still in detention.”
    “Jesus.”
    “And it gets worse.” Rhyme told Sellitto about Brockton, Whitcomb and Glenn and the Compliance Division of Homeland Security.
    “Shit. Never heard of it.”
    “And they want us to hold off on the investigation, at least as far as SSD’s involved. But we’ve got another problem. Amelia’s missing.”
    “What?” Sellitto barked.
    “Looks that way. I don’t know where she was going after she went to her town house. She never called. . . . Oh, Christ, the power was out, the phones were off. Check voice mail. Maybe she called.”
    Cooper dialed the number. And they learned that Sachs had called. But she’d said only that she was following up on a lead and said nothing more. She asked that Rhyme call her and she’d explain.
    Rhyme jammed his eyes closed in frustration.
    A lead . . .
    To where? One of their suspects. He gazed at the chart.
    Andrew Sterling, President, Chief Executive Officer
    Alibi—on Long Island, verified. Confirmed by son
    Sean Cassel, Director of Sales and Marketing
    No alibi
    Wayne Gillespie, Director of Technical Operations
    No alibi
    Samuel Brockton, Director, Compliance Department
    Alibi—hotel records confirm presence in Washington
    Peter Arlonzo-Kemper, Director of Human Resources
    Alibi—with wife, verified by her (biased?)
    Steven Shraeder, Technical Service and Support Manager, day shift
    Alibi—in office, according to time sheets
    Faruk Mameda, Technical Service and Support Manager, night shift
    No alibi
    Alibi for groundskeeper’s killing (in office, according to time sheets)
    Client of SSD (?)
    Robert Carpenter (?)
    UNSUB recruited by Andrew Sterling (?)
    Runnerboy?
    Did the lead involve one of them?
    “Lon, go check out Carpenter.”
    “What, like, ‘Hi, I used to be a cop but will you let me question you ’cause I’m such a nice person even though you don’t have to’?”
    “Yeah, Lon, just like that.”
    Sellitto turned to Cooper. “Mel, gimme your shield.”
    “My shield?” the tech asked nervously.
    “I won’t get it scratched,” the big man muttered.
    “I’m more worried about getting me suspended.”
    “Welcome to the fucking club.” Sellitto took the badge and got Carpenter’s address from Pulaski. “I’ll let you know what happens.”
    “Lon, be careful. Five Twenty-Two’s feeling cornered. He’s going to hit back hard. And remember he’s—”
    “The son of a bitch who knows everything.” Sellitto stalked out of the lab.
    Rhyme noticed Pulaski staring at the charts. “Detective?”
    “What?”
    “There’s something else I’m thinking of.” He tapped the whiteboard containing the suspects’ names. “Andrew Sterling’s alibi. Well, when he was on Long Island he told me his son was hiking in Westchester. He’d called Andy from out of town,