"Uh-un," she said adamantly. "I'm the arresting, Detective. You can't stop me from making a collar. Only the DA can throw a case out."
"What is this bullshit?" Percey spat out, the vestigial drawl returning full force. "What're you arresting me for? Being a witness?"
"The charge is reckless endangerment, and if Jerry dies then it'll be criminally negligent homicide. Or maybe manslaughter."
Hale worked up some courage and said, "Look now. I don't really like the way you've been talking to her all day. If you arrest her, you're going to have to arrest me . . . "
"Not a problem," Sachs said, then turned to Sellitto. "Lieutenant, I need your cuffs."
"Officer, enougha this crap," he grumbled.
"Sachs," Rhyme called, "we don't have time for this! The Dancer's out there, planning another attack right now."
"You arrest me," Percey said, "I'll be out in two hours."
"Then you'll be dead in two hours and ten minutes. Which would be your business--"
"Officer," Sellitto snapped, "you're on real thin ice here."
"--if you didn't have this habit of taking other people with you."
"Amelia," Rhyme said coldly.
She swung to face him. He called her "Sachs" most of the time; using her first name now was like a slap in the face.
The chains on Percey's bony wrists clinked. In the window the falcon fluttered its wings. No one said a word.
Finally, in a reasonable voice, Rhym
e asked, "Please take the cuffs off and let me have a few minutes alone with Percey."
Sachs hesitated. Her face was an expressionless mask.
"Please, Amelia," Rhyme said, struggling to be patient.
Without a word she unhooked the cuffs.
Everyone filed out.
Percey rubbed her wrists then pulled her flask from her pocket and took a sip.
"Would you mind closing the door?" Rhyme asked Sachs.
But she merely glanced toward him and then continued into the corridor. It was Hale who swung the heavy oak door shut.
Outside in the hallway Lon Sellitto called again about Banks. He was still in surgery and the floor nurse would say nothing else about him.
Sachs took this news with a faint nod. She walked to the window overlooking the alley behind Rhyme's town house. The oblique light fell onto her hands and she looked at her torn nails. She'd put bandages on two of the most damaged fingers. Habits, she thought. Bad habits . . . Why can't I stop?
The detective walked up beside her, looked up at the gray sky. More spring storms were promised.
"Officer," he said, speaking softly so none of the others could hear. "She fucked up, that lady did, okay. But you gotta understand--she's not a pro. Our mistake was letting her fuck up and, yeah, Jerry should've known better. It hurts me more than I can even think about to say it. But he blew it."
"No," she said through clenched teeth. "You don't understand."
"Whatsat?"
Could she say it? The words were so hard.