"Ah, yes," the nurse said, looking up. Not needing to consult a chart or any other document. "And you are?"
"His partner," she said. She'd used the term a number of times regarding the man in both the professional and personal sense, but had nev
er realized until now how completely inadequate it was. She didn't like it. Hated it.
Thom identified himself as "caregiver."
Which too clunked like tin.
"I'm afraid I don't know any details," the nurse said, echoing what would have been Sachs's question. "Come with me."
The staunch woman led them down another corridor, even more grim than the first. Spotless, pleasingly designed, ordered. And abhorrent.
What better word to describe hospitals anyway?
As they approached a room with an open door, the nurse said not unsympathetically, "Wait in there, please. Somebody will be in soon."
The woman was instantly gone, as if afraid one of them might shove her into a chair and interrogate her. Which Sachs was half inclined to do.
She and Thom turned the corner and stepped into the waiting room. It was empty. Lon Sellitto and Rhyme's cousin Arthur and his wife, Judy, were on their way. Sachs's mother too, Rose. The woman had been going to take the subway here; Sachs had insisted on a car service.
They sat in silence. Sachs picked up yet another Sudoku book, looked through it. Thom glanced toward her. He squeezed her arm and slumped back. It was curious to see him abdicate his usually perfect posture.
The man said, "He never said anything. Not a word."
"That surprises you?"
He began to say that it did. But then he slumped even more. "No."
A man in a business suit, tie askew, came into the room, looked at the faces of the two already there and decided to wait elsewhere. Sachs could hardly blame him.
At times like this, you don't want to share a public space with strangers.
Sachs leaned her head against Thom, who hugged her hard. She'd forgotten how strong the man was.
This evening was the culmination of perhaps the strangest, and most tense, twelve hours in all the years she'd known Rhyme. That morning, when she'd arrived from spending the night in Brooklyn, she'd found Thom gazing at the door expectantly. The aide had then glanced behind her and frowned.
"What?" she'd asked, also glancing back.
"Wasn't he with you?"
"Who?"
"Lincoln."
"No."
"Goddamn it. He's disappeared."
Thanks to the speedy and reliable Storm Arrow wheelchair, Rhyme was as mobile as any quad and it was not unheard of for him to drive out to Central Park on his own. Though it was also true that the out-of-doors held little interest to him, Rhyme preferring to be in the lab, surrounded by his equipment and mentally wrestling with a case.
The aide had gotten him up early today, as Rhyme had instructed, dressed and deposited him into the wheelchair. The criminalist had then said, "I'm meeting somebody for breakfast."
"Where are we going?" Thom had asked.
" 'I' is singular first person, Thom. 'We' is plural. Also first person and a pronoun, but other than that they have very little in common. You're not invited and it's for your own sake. You'd be bored."
"It's never boring around you, Lincoln."