The Broken Window

slacks, which Jenny had ironed that morning, as she did every morning or the night before if he had an early tour or a predawn assignment.
    Please, Lord, don’t let me lose my job, he prayed. He thought back to the day when he and his twin brother had taken the police officer exam.
    And the day they’d graduated. The swearing-in ceremony too, his mother crying, the look he and his father shared. Those were among the best moments of his life.
    Would all that be wasted? Goddamnit. Okay, Rhyme’s brilliant and no one cared more about collaring perps than he did. But breaking the law like this? Hell, he was home sitting in that chair of his, being waited on. Nothing would happen to him.
    Why should Pulaski be the sacrificial lamb?
    Nonetheless he concentrated on his furtive task. Come on, come on, he urged the collection program. But it continued to churn away slowly, assuring him only that it was on the job. No bar easing to the right, no countdown, like in the movies.
    Working . . .
    “What was that, Pulaski?” Rhyme asked.
    “Some employees. They’re gone.”
    “How’s it going?”
    “Okay, I think.”
    “You think?”
    “It—” A new message popped up: Completed. Do you want to write to a file?
    “Okay, it’s finished. It wants me to write to a file.”
    Szarnek came on the line. “This is critical. Do exactly what I tell you.” He gave instructions on how to create the files, compress them and move them to the hard drive. Hands shaking, Pulaski did as instructed. He was covered in sweat. In a few minutes the job was done.
    “Now you’re going to have to erase your tracks, puteverything back the way it was. To make sure nobody does what you just did and finds you.” Szarnek sent the officer into the log files and had him type more commands. Finally he got these taken care of.
    “That’s it.”
    “Okay, get out of there, rookie,” Rhyme urged.
    Pulaski hung up, unplugged the hard drive and slipped it back into his pocket, then logged off. He rose and walked outside, blinking in surprise to see that the security guard had moved closer. Pulaski realized he was the same one who’d escorted Amelia through the data pens, walking just behind her—as if he were taking a shoplifter to a store manager’s office to await the police.
    Had the man seen anything?
    “Officer Pulaski. I’ll take you back to Andrew’s office.” His face was unsmiling and his eyes didn’t reveal a thing. He led the officer up the hall. With every step the hard drive chafed against his leg and felt as if it were red hot. More glances at the ceiling. It was acoustic tile; he couldn’t see any damn cameras.
    Paranoia filled the halls, brighter than the stark white lighting.
    When they arrived Sterling waved him into the office, turning over several sheets of paper he was working on. “Officer, you got what you needed?”
    “I did, yes.” Pulaski held up the client list CD like a kid at show-and-tell in school.
    “Ah, good.” The CEO’s bright green eyes looked him over. “And how’s the investigation going?”
    “It’s going okay.” These were the first words that came to Pulaski’s mind. He felt like an idiot. What would Amelia Sachs have said? He had no clue.
    “Is it now? Anything helpful in the client list?”
    “I just looked through it to make sure we could read it okay. We’ll go over it back at the lab.”
    “The lab. In Queens? Is that where you’re based?”
    “We do work there, a few other places too.”
    Sterling gave no response to Pulaski’s evasion, just smiled pleasantly. The CEO was about four or five inches shorter but the young officer felt he was the one looking up. Sterling walked with him into the outer office. “Well, if there’s anything else, just let us know. We’re one hundred percent behind you.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Martin, make those arrangements we talked about earlier. Then take Officer Pulaski downstairs.”
    “Oh, I can find my way.”
    “He’ll show you out. You have a good night.” Sterling returned to his office. The door closed.
    “I’ll just be a few minutes,” Martin said to the policeman and picked up the phone and turned slightly, out of earshot.
    Pulaski strolled to the door and looked up and down the hall. A figure emerged from an office. He was speaking in hushed tones on his mobile. Apparently in this part of the building cell phones worked fine. He squinted at Pulaski, said a brief farewell and flipped the phone shut.
    “Excuse me, Officer