girlfriend. It was pretty bad."
Nick laughed.
She chose not to speak any more about Rhyme and herself.
Sachs rose and poured more wine, sipped, feeling the warmth around her face. She looked at her mobile: 9 p.m. "What've you found?" Nodding at the case file.
"Some good leads. Solid. Still a lot of work to do. Funny, it's just as hard to prove you're innocent as it is to make a case against a perp. I thought it'd be easier."
"You're being careful?"
"Got my buddy, the one I told you about, to do most of the legwork. I'm bulletproof."
What was said about him when he'd been on the force. Bulletproof. Sachs remembered Nick being not only a good cop but a risk taker. Anything to save a victim.
They were a lot alike in that way.
"You want..." he began.
"What?"
"Some dinner? You eaten already?"
She shrugged. "I could use something."
"Only problem. I didn't get to Whole Foods."
"You ever shop at Whole Foods?"
"Once. I felt the need to spend eight dollars for a fruit salad."
She laughed.
He continued, "I've got frozen curry in the freezer. D'Agostino's. It's not bad."
"No, but I'll bet it'd be better if we heat it up." And she poured herself another glass of wine.
What is that noise?
The sixty-six-year-old soon-to-retire printing press operator was in the hallway of his apartment building, a decades-old, work-a-day dwelling typical of this unglamorous part of New York City. He was walking unsteadily after a drink or two at Sadie's. Nearly midnight. He'd been thinking that Joey, from the bar, was a dick, the politics and all, but at least he didn't insult you, you said I'm voting this way or that. It'd been fun to argue with him.
But his recollection of the evening, and its four drinks or five, faded as he slowed to a stop and listened to the sound coming from the apartment he was now walking past.
Edwin Boyle leaned closer to the door.
TV.
Had to be TV.
But, even with the new sets, the new sound systems, TV sounded different from this. It wasn't the same. Live was live. And this was live.
Besides, on TV and in movies, the sound of a couple making love was either short and sweet (and usually there was music), fading to black, or it went on and on and on, like in porn.
This was the real thing.
Boyle was grinning. Fun.
He didn't know the guy whose apartment this was, not very well. Seemed decent, if quiet. Wasn't the sort to hang out at Sadie's and get into talks about politics or anything else. Had that same kind of quiet you saw in private eyes. At least in the movies. The printer had never known a private eye.