The Broken Window

dew-damp foliage, vehicle exhaust. She sipped her hot chocolate. “Ouch. Blow on it first.”
    Pam whistled into her cup and tasted it. “It’s good. Yeah, hot.” She returned to her nails. In contrast to her visage earlier in the day, the girl’s face was troubled.
    “You know what those are called?” Sachs was pointing.
    “Feet? Toes?”
    “No, the bottoms?”
    “Sure. The bottoms of feet and the bottoms of toes.” They laughed.
    “Plantars. And they have prints too, just like fingerprints. Lincoln convicted somebody once because the perp kicked somebody unconscious with his bare foot. But he missed once and whacked the door. Left a print on it.”
    “That’s cool. He should write another book.”
    “I’m after him to,” Sachs said. “So what’s up?”
    “Stuart.”
    “Go on.”
    “Maybe I shouldn’t’ve come. It’s stupid.”
    “Come on. I’m a cop, remember. I’ll sweat it out of you.”
    “Just, Emily called and it was weird her calling on Sunday, like, she never does, and I’m thinking, okay, something’s going on. And it’s like she really doesn’t want to say anything but then she does. And she said she saw Stuart today with somebody else. This girlfrom school. After the soccer game. Only he told me he was going right home.”
    “Well, what are the facts? Were they just talking? Nothing wrong with that.”
    “She said she wasn’t sure but it, you know, kind of looked like he was hugging her. And then when he saw somebody looking at him, he kind of walked away real fast with her. Like he was trying to hide.” The toenail project came to a stop, halfway done. “I really, really like him. It’d suck if he didn’t want to see me anymore.”
    Sachs and Pam had been to a counselor together—and, with Pam’s agreement, Sachs had spoken to the woman alone. Pam would be undergoing a lengthy period of post-traumatic stress, not only from her lengthy captivity with a sociopath parent but from a particular episode in which her stepfather had nearly sacrificed her life while trying to murder police officers. Incidents like this one with Stuart Everett, small to most people, were amplified in the girl’s mind and could have devastating effects. Sachs had been told not to add to her fears but not to downplay them either. To look at each one carefully and try to analyze it.
    “Have you guys talked about seeing other people?”
    “He said . . . well, a month ago he said he wasn’t. I’m not either. I told him that.”
    “Any other intelligence?” Sachs asked.
    “Intelligence?”
    “I mean, have any of your other friends said anything?”
    “No.”
    “Do you know any of his friends?”
    “Kind of. But not like I could ask them anything about it. That’d be way uncool.”
    Sachs smiled. “So spies aren’t going to work. Well, what you should do is just ask him. Point-blank.”
    “You think?”
    “I think.”
    “What if he says he is seeing her?”
    “Then you should be thankful he’s honest with you. That’s a good sign. And then you convince him to dump the bimbo.” They laughed. “What you do is say that you just want to date one person.” The startup mother in Sachs added quickly, “We’re not talking about getting married, not moving in. Just dating.”
    Pam nodded quickly. “Oh, absolutely.”
    Relieved, Sachs continued, “And he’s the one you want to see. But you expect the same thing from him. You have something important, you relate to each other, you can talk, you’ve got a connection and you don’t see that very much.”
    “Like you and Mr. Rhyme.”
    “Yeah, like that. But if he doesn’t want it, then okay.”
    “No, it’s not.” Pam frowned.
    “No, I’m just telling you what you say. But then tell him you’re going to be dating other people too. He can’t have it both ways.”
    “I guess. But what if he says fine?” Her face was dark at the thought.
    A laugh. Sachs shook her head. “Yep, it’s a bummer when they call your bluff. But I don’t think he will.”
    “All right. I’m going to see him tomorrow after class. I’ll talk to him.”
    “Call me. Let me know.” Sachs rose, lifted away the polish and capped it. “Get some sleep. It’s late.”
    “But my nails. I’m not finished.”
    “Don’t wear open-toed.”
    “Amelia?”
    She paused at the doorway.
    “Are you and Mr. Rhyme going to get married?”
    Sachs smiled and closed the door.

III
    THE FORTUNE TELLER

    MONDAY, MAY 23
    With uncanny accuracy, computers