She wandered over, sat down.
"Is it the Colorado State Police, about Gordon?" Rhyme asked.
Sachs said nothing but he noticed an eyebrow rise as she read through the lengthy document. Her finger disappeared into her long red hair, tied back in a ponytail, and worried her scalp.
"What?"
"I've got to go," she said. She rose quickly.
"Sachs? What is it?"
"It's not about the case. Call me if you need me."
And with that she was out the door, leaving behind a cloud of mystery as subtle as the aroma of the lavender soap she'd been favoring recently.
*
The 522 case was moving fast.
And yet cops always have to juggle other aspects of their lives.
Which was why she was now standing uneasily in front of a tidy detached house in Brooklyn, not far from her own home. The night was pleasant. A delicate breeze, fragrant with lilac and mulch, waltzed around her. It would be good to sit on the curb or a door stoop here and not do what she was about to.
What she had to do.
God, I hate this.
Pam Willoughby appeared in the doorway. She was wearing sweats and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was talking to one of the other foster children, another teenager. Their faces had that conspiratorial yet innocent expression teenage girls wear like makeup. Two dogs played at their feet: Jackson, the tiny Havanese, and a much larger but equally exuberant Briard, Cosmic Cowboy, who lived with Pam's foster family.
The policewoman would meet the girl here occasionally, then they'd head off for a movie or Starbucks or ice cream. Pam's face usually brightened when she saw Sachs.
Not tonight.
Sachs got out of the car and leaned against the hot hood. Pam picked up Jackson and joined her as the other girl waved to Sachs and disappeared into the house with Cosmic Cowboy.
"Sorry to come by so late."
"It's okay." The girl was cautious.
"How's homework?"
"Homework's homework. Some's good, some sucks."
True now, true in Sachs's day.
Sachs petted the dog, which Pam clutched possessively. She did this often with her things. The girl always refused offers to let someone else carry her book bag or groceries. Sachs guessed that so much had been taken away from her, she held tight to whatever she could.
"So. What's up?"
She could think of no way to ease gently into the subject. "I talked to your friend."
"Friend?" Pam asked.
"Stuart."
"You what?" Light fragmented by leaves of a ginkgo tree fell on her troubled face.
"I had to."