The Vanished Man

She’d found ash from a type of cigarette that wasn’t in the state or federal tobacco database, traces of a plant that wasn’t indigenous to the metropolitan area and imprints of a heavy suitcase that had been set down and apparently opened next to the victims after they’d been shot.
    And strangest of all was the fact that each man was missing his right shoe. They were nowhere to be found. “Both of them the right shoe, Sachs,” Rhyme said, looking at the evidence board, in front of which he sat and she paced. “What do we make of that?”
    But the question was put on hold temporarily bySachs’s ringing cell phone. It was Captain Marlow’s secretary, asking if she could come down to a meeting at his office. Several days had passed since they’d closed the Conjurer case, several days since she’d learned about Victor Ramos’s action against her. There’d been no further word about the suspension.
    “When?” Sachs asked.
    “Well, now,” the woman replied.
    Sachs disconnected and, with a glance and tight-lipped smile toward Rhyme, she said, “This’s it. Gotta go.”
    They held each other’s eyes for a moment. Then Rhyme nodded and she headed for the door.
    A half hour later Sachs was in Captain Gerald Marlow’s office, sitting across from the man, who was reading one of his ever-present manila files. “One second, Officer.” He continued reviewing whatever so absorbed him, jotting occasional notes.
    She fidgeted. Picking at a cuticle, then at a nail. Two grass-growing minutes went by. Oh, Jesus Christ, she thought and finally asked, “Okay, sir. What’s the story? Did he back down?”
    Marlow marked a spot on the sheet he was reading and looked up. “Who?”
    “Ramos. About the sergeant’s exam?”
    And that other vindictive prick—the lecherous cop from the assessment exercise.
    “Back down?” Marlow asked. He was surprised at her naïveté. “Well, Officer, that was never an option, him backing down.”
    So that left only one reason for a face-to-face—an understanding that came to her with the sharp clarity of the first pistol shot at an outdoor range. That first shot . . .before your muscles and ears and skin grow numb from the repeated fire. Only one reason for her to be summoned here. Marlow was going to take possession of her weapon and her shield. She was now suspended.
    Shitshitshit . . .
    She bit the inside of her lip.
    Easing the folder closed, Marlow looked at her in a fatherly way, which unnerved her; it was as if the punishment to which she’d been sentenced was so severe that she needed the buffer zone of paternal kindness. “People like Ramos, Officer, you’re not going to beat ’em. Not on their turf. You won the battle, cuffing him at the scene. But he won the war. People like that always win the war.”
    “You mean stupid people? Petty people? Greedy people?”
    Once again the genetic makeup of a career police officer stopped him from even acknowledging the question.
    “Look at this desk,” he said as he did just that. It was awash in paper. Stacks and piles of folders and memos. “And I remember when I used to complain about all the paperwork when I was a portable.” He rummaged through one of the stacks, apparently looking for something. Gave up. Tried another pile. He came up with several documents that weren’t what he wanted either and took his own sweet time reorganizing them then resuming the search again.
    Oh, Pop, I never thought a suspension’d really go through.
    Then, within her, the sorrow and disappointment formed into a rock. And she thought: Okay, that’s the way they’re going to play? Maybe I’m going down butthey’ll hurt. Ramos and all the little prick Ramoses like him’re are going to lick blood.
    Knuckle time . . .
    “Right,” the captain said, finally finding what he wanted, a large envelope with a piece of paper stapled to it. He read it quickly. Glanced at a clock in the shape of a ship’s wheel on his desk. “Darn, look at the time. Let’s get on with it, Officer. Let me have your shield.”
    Heartsick, she dug dutifully into her pocket. “How long?”
    “A year, Officer,” Marlow said. “Sorry.”
    Suspended for a year, she thought in despair. She’d imagined three months at the worst.
    “That’s the best I could do. A year. Shield, I was asking.” Marlow shook his head. “Sorry for the rush. I’ve got another meeting any minute now. Meetings—they drive me crazy. This one’s about insurance. The