Their smiles were genuine. Their favorite version of the game was Dog-opoly. Which would give them the chance to resume the ongoing discussion of adding a canine to the household.
“Homework?” Ron asked again.
Martine, in grade school, didn’t have any.
“Mine’s done,” Brad said.
But he said it in a way that Ron had heard gangbangers on the street say, “Ain’t got nothing on me.”
“All of it?” Ron asked.
“Kinda.”
“Kinda?” He laughed. “Either the light’s on or it isn’t.”
Lincoln Rhyme, when hearing a phrase like “most unique” would say, “Either it’s unique or it isn’t. Like being pregnant.” Ron thought the table lamp metaphor more appropriate.
“Maybe this paper. But it’s almost finished.”
“Well, maybe you can finish it later. Go get the game.”
The boy’s face brightened.
The children readied the table in the rec room and brought their ringers — Auggie and Daisy — with them. Ron and Jenny walked into the kitchen to finish the cleanup. Wiping the counter, Jenny said, “How does this affect what you told me yesterday? Your talk with Lon?”
About taking over for Lincoln Rhyme.
If he got fired, nothing would stop him from being a consultant for the NYPD like Lincoln. Except his credibility as an expert witness would be destroyed. And that meant he’d never be hired.
Indicted and convicted... Well, that was something else.
“Depends on the findings.”
“They’d be idiots to let you go. Look what you did at that scene yesterday. Getting that lead on the bomber. The task force must’ve been in heaven.”
“There’s politics, there’s optics.”
“How did the interview go?”
A shrug. “The IA cop, he was decent. Didn’t go half as bad as I thought it would.”
Thinking back to the half hour with Garner.
And staring out the window.
She walked close and put her arms around him, her head against his chest. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it.”
Ron resisted the gravitational tug to look toward the mantel above the fireplace.
“We’re ready.” Brad’s voice.
“Daddy, what do you want to be? I’m the cat and Brad’s the mailman.”
He called, “I’ll be the fire hydrant.”
“That’s gross.”
Nobody wanted to be the hydrant in Dog-opoly, but Ron couldn’t think of the other pieces.
And then he paused, looking out the window once again.
“What is it?” Jenny was looking at his focused eyes.
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right in. Have to make a call.”
As Jenny took a half gallon of ice cream from the freezer, Ron stepped outside onto the back porch.
Pulling out his phone, he looked up a contact number and placed a call.
“Hey, Ron,” Lyle Spencer said. “How’re you doing? I heard. Man, I’m sorry about what happened.”
“I’m okay. Thanks. Listen, can you spare a few minutes now?”
“For you, absolutely.”
Amelia Sachs handed his ID back.
The man in the homeless garb was indeed Willis Tamblyn.
Now that she could look past the costume and smudged face, it was clear that he was the man in the DMV picture Rhyme had sent.
Tamblyn was worth, she recalled, about $29 billion — though that was according to a Google search anyway, so who really knew? He had been a real estate developer in New York City and New Jersey all his professional life. He’d been born poor. In the press about him, the word “bootstrap” appeared frequently. And once or twice the phrase “with a conscience” in such a way that the reporter penning the story seemed surprised to be including it in the same sentence with “real estate developer.”
Nearby was Bo Haumann and one of the ESU tactical teams. The threat assessment was low, but low wasn’t nonexistent.
Tamblyn’s driver checked out too. He was a former NYPD officer, who’d tripled his salary — and maybe extended his life span — by going private. He had no record and the concealed-carry for his weapon was in order.
“We found evidence that links you to the first crane collapse.”
“Well, obviously it would. I was there.” He gave a breathy laugh. “You even saw me. But you don’t remember.”
“No, I do.”
Tamblyn tilted his head slightly. “What evidence exactly? I’m curious.”
“Trace evidence.” Give your subjects something that keeps them talking, Sachs thought, but never anything they can use.
He frowned more wrinkles into a wrinkled face. “Ah. You vacuumed up, or whatever you do, dirt outside my car. No,
She wished
