The Stone Monkey

nodded at her nails.
    “What harmony do I want?”
    “I’m not sure. Perhaps a family. Love. Your parents are dead, I sense.”
    “My father.”
    “And that was difficult for you.”
    “Yes.”
    “And lovers? You’ve had trouble with lovers.”
    “I scared ’em off in school—I could drive faster than most of them.” This was meant as a joke, though it was true, but Sung didn’t laugh.
    “Go on,” he encouraged.
    “When I was a model the worthwhile men were too scared to ask me out.”
    “Why would a man be scared of a woman?” Sung asked, genuinely bewildered. “It’s like yin being scared by yang. Night and day. They should not compete; they should complement and fulfill each other.”
    “Then the ones who had the guts to ask me out wanted pretty much only one thing.”
    “Ah, that.”
    “Yeah, that.”
    “Sexual energy,” Sung said, “is very important, one of the most important parts of qi, spiritual power. But it’s only healthy when it comes out of a harmonized relationship.”
    She laughed to herself. Now there’s a phrase to try out on the first date: You interested in a harmonized relationship?
    After a sip of tea she continued, “Then I lived with a man for a while. On the force.”
    “The what?” Sung asked.
    “He was a cop too, I mean. It was good. Intense, challenging, I guess I’d say. We’d have dates at the small-arms range and try to outshoot each other. Only he got arrested. Taking kickbacks. You know what I mean?”
    Sung laughed. “I’ve lived in China all my life—of course I know what kickbacks are. And now,” he added, “you’re with that man you work with.”
    “Yes.”
    “Maybe this is the source of the problem,” Sung said quietly, studying her even more closely.
    “Why d’you say that?” she asked uneasily.
    “I would say you are yang—that word means the side of a mountain with the sun on it. Yang is brightness, movement, increase, arousal, beginnings, soft, spring and summer, birth. This is clearly you. But you seem to inhabit the world of the yin. That means the shadowy side of the mountain. It is inwardness, darkness, introspection, hardness and death. It is the end of things, autumn and winter.” He paused. “I think perhaps the disharmony is that you aren’t being true to your yang nature. You have let the yin too far into your life. Could that be the trouble?”
    “I . . . I’m not sure.”
    “I’ve just been meeting with Lincoln Rhyme’s physician.”
    “Yes?”
    “I’ve got to talk to you about something.”
    Her cell phone rang and Sachs jumped at the sound. As she reached for the phone she realized that Sung’s hand was still resting on her arm.
    Sung eased back into the booth bench and she answered, “Hello?”
    “Officer, where the hell are you?” It was Lon Sellitto.
    She was reluctant to say but she glanced at the patrol car across the street and had a feeling that they might have told the detective where she was. She said, “With that witness, John Sung.”
    “Why?”
    “Just needed to follow up on a few things.”
    Not a lie, she thought. Not exactly.
    “Well, finish following up,” the man said gruffly. “We need you here, at Rhyme’s. There’s evidence to look at.”
    Jesus, she thought. What’s eating him?
    “I’ll be right there.”
    “Make sure you are,” the detective snapped.
    Perplexed at his attitude, she disconnected the line and said to Sung, “I have to go.”
    A hopeful expression on his face, the doctor asked, “Have you found Sam Chang and the others from the ship?”
    “Not yet.”
    As she rose he startled her by asking quickly, “I’d be honored if you would come back to see me. I could continue my treatment.” Sung pushed the bag of herbs and pills toward her.
    She hesitated only a moment before saying, “Sure. I’d like that.”

Chapter Twenty
    “Hope we didn’t interrupt anything important, Officer,” Lon Sellitto said gruffly when she walked into Rhyme’s living room.
    She began to ask the detective what he meant but the criminalist himself began sniffing the air. Sachs responded with a querying glance.
    “Recall my book, Sachs? ‘Perfumes should not be worn by crime scene personnel because—’ ”
    “ ‘—odors not native to the scene may help identify individuals who have been present there.’ ”
    “Good.”
    “But it’s not perfume, Rhyme.”
    “Incense maybe?” he suggested.
    “I met John Sung at a restaurant in his building. There was some