The Vanished Man

she asked, leaning over Roth. “Is he stabbed too?”
    “Yes! It was some black prisoner. He said I was a racist. He said he wanted to teach me a lesson.” His head was down but he could sense her stepping closer. “Joe’s hurt bad. We have to save him!”
    Just a few more feet. . . .
    Or if he is a white man and looks like a smart man—if he has all his teeth and wears clothes that don’t smell like yesterday’s piss—well, then, are you going to be just a little slower to pull that trigger?
    Constable moaned.
    He sensed her very close.
    She said, “Let me see how badly you’re hurt.”
    He gripped the pencil firmly. Got ready to spring. He looked up to find his target.
    And saw the nozzle of the pepper spray, a foot away from his eyes.
    She pushed the button and the stream shot him square in the face. A hundred hot needles pierced his mouth and nose and eyes.
    Constable screamed as the policewoman ripped the pen out of his hand and kicked him onto his back.
    “Why’d you do that?” he cried, rising up on one elbow. “Why?”
    Her answer was to debate for a brief moment then hit him with a second stream of fiery spray.

Chapter Forty-two
    Amelia Sachs put the pepper spray canister away.
    The potential sergeant in her was a bit troubled by the gratuitous second blast into Constable’s face.
    But having noticed the fourteen-karat shiv half concealed in his hand, Sachs the street cop with wire thoroughly enjoyed hearing the vicious bigot squeal like a pig as she sprayed him again. She stepped aside as the two floor guards grabbed the prisoner and dragged him out.
    “A doctor! Get me to a doctor. My eyes! I have a right to a doctor!”
    “I keep tellin’ yo t’shuddup.” The guards dragged him down the hall. Constable lashed out with his feet. They stopped, shackled his ankles, and then pulled him around the corner.
    Sachs and two more guards looked over Joseph Roth. He was breathing but unconscious and badly hurt. She decided it was best not to move him. Soon a city EMS team arrived and, after Sachs checked their IDs, went to work on the lawyer, clearing his airway and getting a neck brace around him then strapping him onto a backboard, which they placed on a gurney. They took him out of the secure area for the drive to the hospital.
    Sachs stood back and surveyed the room and the lobby to make sure that Weir hadn’t slipped in unnoticed. No, she was sure he hadn’t. She then went outside and it was only when she got her Glock back from the officer at the desk that she began to feel more at ease. She called Rhyme to tell him what had happened. Then she added, “Constable was expecting him, Rhyme.”
    “Expecting Weir?”
    “I think so. He was surprised when I opened the door. He tried to recover but I could tell he was waiting for somebody.”
    “So that’s what Weir’s up to—breaking Constable out?”
    “That’s what I think.”
    “Goddamn misdirection,” he muttered. “He’s had us focused on the plot to kill Grady. I never thought they’d be going for a breakout.” Then he added, “Unless the escape is misdirection and Weir’s job really is to kill Grady.”
    She considered this. “That’d work too.”
    “And no sign of Weir anywhere?”
    “None.”
    “Okay, I’m still going over what you found at Detention, Sachs. Come on back and we’ll look over it.”
    “I can’t, Rhyme,” she said, studying the hallway in which a dozen onlookers stood gazing at the excitement in the secure portion of the lobby. “He’s got to be here someplace. I’m going to keep hunting.”
    •   •   •
    Suzuki piano lessons for children involve working through a series of progressively more difficult musicbooks containing a dozen or so pieces. When a student completes a book successfully the parents often throw a small party for friends, family and the music teacher, during which the student gives a short recital.
    Christine Grady’s Suzuki Volume Three party was scheduled for a week from tonight and she’d been practicing hard for her mini concert. She was now sitting in the yanno room of the family’s apartment, finishing up Schumann’s “The Wild Rider.”
    The yanno room was dark and small but Chrissy loved it here. It contained only a few chairs, shelves of sheet music and a beautiful, shiny baby grand piano—hence her nickname for the place.
    With some effort she played the andante movement of Clementi’s Sonatina in C and then rewarded herself by playing the