The Broken Window

trunk! On three. One . . . two . . . go!
    You didn’t say three!
    “There’s more, isn’t there, Judy? Tell us.” Sachs had seen something in the woman’s eyes, Rhyme supposed.
    “I’m just upset. For the kids too. It’s a nightmare for them. The neighbors’re treating us like terrorists.”
    “I’m sorry to push but it’s important for us to know all the facts. Please.”
    The blush had returned and she was gripping her knees. Rhyme and Sachs had a friend who worked as an agent for the California Bureau of Investigation, Kathryn Dance. She was a kinesics, or body language, expert. Rhyme considered such skills secondary to forensic science but he’d come to respect Dance and hadlearned something about her specialty. He now could see easily that Judy Rhyme was a fountain of stress.
    “Go on,” Sachs encouraged.
    “It’s just that the police found some other evidence—well, it wasn’t really evidence. Not like clues. But . . . it made them think maybe Art and the woman were seeing each other.”
    Sachs asked, “What’s your opinion of that?”
    “I don’t think he was.”
    Rhyme noted the softened verb. Not as adamant a denial as with the murder and theft. She desperately wanted the answer to be no, though she’d probably come to the same conclusion Rhyme just had: that the woman’s being his lover worked in Arthur’s favor. You were more likely to rob a stranger than someone you were sleeping with. Still, as a wife and mother, Judy was crying out for one particular answer.
    Then she glanced up, less cautious now about looking at Rhyme, the contraption he sat in and the other devices that defined his life. “Whatever else was going on, he did not kill that woman. He couldn’t have. I know it in my soul. . . . Is there anything you can do?”
    Rhyme and Sachs shared a look. He said, “I’m sorry, Judy, we’re in the midst of a big case right now. We’re real close to catching a very dangerous killer. I can’t drop that.”
    “I wouldn’t want you to. But, just something . I don’t know what else to do.” Her lip was trembling.
    He said, “We’ll make some calls, find out what we can. I can’t give you information you couldn’t otherwise get through your lawyer but I’ll tell you honestly what I think about the D.A.’s chance of success.”
    “Oh, thank you, Lincoln.”
    “Who’s his lawyer?”
    She gave them the name and phone number. A high-profile, and -priced, criminal defense attorney Rhyme knew. But he’d be a man with a lot on his plate and more experience with financial than violent crimes.
    Sachs asked about the prosecutor.
    “Bernhard Grossman. I can get you his number.”
    “That’s all right,” Sachs said. “I have it. I’ve worked with him before. He’s reasonable. I assume he offered your husband a plea bargain?”
    “He did, and our lawyer wanted to take it. But Art refused. He keeps saying this is just a mistake, it’ll all get straightened out. But that doesn’t always happen, does it? Even if people are innocent they go to jail sometimes, don’t they?”
    They do, yes, Rhyme thought, then said, “We’ll make a few phone calls.”
    She rose. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that we let things slide. Inexcusable.” Surprising him, Judy Rhyme strode directly to the wheelchair and bent down, brushing her cheek against his. Rhyme smelled nervous sweat and two distinct scents, perhaps deodorant and hair spray. No perfume. She didn’t seem the perfume type. “Thank you, Lincoln.” She walked to the door and paused. To them both she said, “Whatever else you find, about that woman and Arthur, it’s all right. All I care about is that he doesn’t go to jail.”
    “I’ll do what I can. We’ll give you a call if we find something concrete.”
    Sachs saw her out.
    When she returned Rhyme said, “Let’s check with the lawyers first.”
    “I’m sorry, Rhyme.” He frowned, and she added, “I just mean, it’s got to be hard on you .”
    “How’s that?”
    “Thinking a close relative got busted for murder.”
    Rhyme shrugged, one of the few gestures he could manage. “Ted Bundy was somebody’s son. Maybe a cousin too.”
    “But still.” Sachs lifted the receiver. Eventually she tracked down the defense lawyer, got his answering service and left a message. Rhyme wondered which hole of which golf course he was on at that moment.
    She then got in touch with the assistant district attorney, Grossman, who wasn’t enjoying