Page 31 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

“Detective Sachs, this decision was not made lightly. And it’s not just you, Captain Rhyme. No outside contractors at all—not for investigative work.”

Sachs persisted: “So you’ll shoot yourself in the foot because of the … what? Optics? One mistake out of thousands, and you hit us with this?”

“Detective, maybe in the future we might be able to put some quality control measures into place and revisit the decision. A year or two.”

“Commissioner, name one investigator who hasn’t fumbled a lead or missed the boat with a sample of trace or DNA …”

This was true. Yet the situation here was more complicated, because of that series of missteps in investigations and prosecutions Lon Sellitto had referred to earlier. These had been embarrassing for the NYPD and, worse, they had proved deadly. Several drug dealers who’d gotten off went on to kill rivals and bystanders. One sex trafficker had raped a teenager after his acquittal and fled to a Latin-American country with no extradition to the U.S.

This move, banning consultants, was clever. It would lay the blame for the Buryak screwup at the feet of someone not directly with the NYPD. And by banning consultants, the city—that is, the mayor—would be seen as taking strong action to clean house.

Willis’s harsh voice continued, “I should bring up another policy we’ve instituted: that any employee of the NYPD who employs or works with a civilian will be subject to discipline, including suspension and firing.”

Mel Cooper said, “And what do the PBA attorneys say about that?”

“They’re in agreement.”

Well, this had certainly been thought out.

Rhyme found himself looking at Al Rodriguez, who grimaced, gave a faint shrug and thumbed at his thin mustache.

Willis said, “Also effective immediately, Detectives Sachs and Cooper, you’re to have no communication with Captain Rhyme.”

“Commissioner,” said Sachs, “Lincoln and I are married.” Her voice registered disgust.

“You know what I’m saying, Detective. Noprofessionalcommunication. I’ll be having the same conversation with Lieutenant Sellitto and Patrolman Pulaski. The officers on the Locksmith case willcontinue to run it. But all forensics will be done by department personnel at the lab in Queens.”

Sachs sighed and sat in a rattan chair.

Willis said, “I’m sorry about this.”

Rhyme now understood from her voice that “this” referred to something yet to be.

It was for someone else, Rodriguez, to tell him.

In a rather imperious voice he said, “The commissioner and chief of department have been in touch with the district attorney. His policy is that any officer who intentionally uses civilian consultants in an investigation may be indicted for obstruction of justice. The consultant too.” Rodriguez added, “I’ve been put in charge of enforcing that policy.”

An assignment that he would not be pleased about.

Still, he said what was inevitable.

“Detectives Sachs and Cooper, pack up all the evidence there and have it transported to Queens. Thank you for your time, Captain,” Willis said. “I am sorry it worked out this way.”

The Zoom screen vanished.

17

Viktor Buryak was in his lovely Tudor home in a leafy section of Forest Hills, Queens, the most idyllic suburb of New York City, in his opinion, apologies to Staten Island.

Buryak was sipping strong English breakfast tea, his second favorite drink. The brew was wonderful. It warmed him, heart and belly. His wife ordered this brand online for him. After he’d had a serious bout of the flu some years ago, coffee became repulsive and he began drinking tea. A man curious by nature, Buryak had looked into the origin of the beverage. His research, hardly academically rigorous, revealed that English breakfast tea was misnamed in several ways. It came from India, Sri Lanka and Kenya, not England. It was imported to the British Isles by the Portuguese, who drank it in the afternoon. A Scotsman popularized its consumption at breakfast. Victoria was responsible for bringing the seductively fragrant leaves south, and it was the Americans who had given it the name “English,” which made sense because why would the Brits refer to it that way? To them it was just “tea.”

His two cats chased each other briefly, amusing Buryak. They were grayish Maine Coons and massive. Brick, the female, was dominant and feisty. The male, Labyrinth, was younger and was happily bullied. Lab had replaced Mortar when he passed, several years ago.

He turned to his computer—a high-def model the size of a small TV—and began the meeting.

“Gentlemen.”

There were five windows open on the monitor. Buryak’s face was in one—the upper right—and from three other squares, faces peered out as well. He received in reply nods or greetings as perfunctory as his had been.

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