The Broken Window

The young man’s dark eyes confidently looked right into Pulaski’s, though his handshake seemed tentative. “I think you called me. And my father left a message that I was supposed to talk to you.”

“Yeah, that’s right. You have a minute?”

“What do you need to know?”

“We’re checking into certain people’s whereabouts on Sunday afternoon.”

“I went hiking up in Westchester. I drove up there about noon and got back-”

“Oh, no, it’s not you we’re interested in. I’m just checking where your father was. He said he called you at around two from Long Island.”

“Well, yes, he did. I didn’t take the call, though. I didn’t want to stop on my hike.” He lowered his voice. “Andrew has trouble separating business from pleasure and I thought he might want me to come into the office and I didn’t want to screw up my day off. I called him back later, about three-thirty.”

“Do you mind if I take a look at your phone?”

“No, not at all.” He opened the phone and displayed the incoming-call list. He’d received and made several calls on Sunday morning but in the afternoon only one call was on the screen: from the number Sachs had given him-Sterling’s Long Island house. “Okay. That’ll do it. Appreciate it.”

The young man’s face was troubled. “It’s terrible, from what I’ve heard. Someone was raped and murdered?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you close to catching him?”

“We have a number of leads.”

“Well, good. People like that should be lined up and shot.”

“Thanks for your time.”

As the young man walked off, Martin appeared and glanced at Andy’s receding back. “If you’d follow me, Officer Pulaski.” With a smile that might as well have been a frown, he walked toward the elevator.

Pulaski was being eaten alive by nervous energy, the disk drive filling his thoughts. He was sure everybody could see it outlined in his pocket. He began rambling. “So, Martin…you been with the company long?”

“Yes.”

“You a computer person too?”

A different smile, which meant nothing more than the other one. “Not really.”

Walking down the hallway, black and white, sterile. Pulaski hated it here. He felt strangled, claustrophobic. He wanted the streets, he wanted Queens, the South Bronx. Even the danger didn’t matter. He wanted to leave, just put his head down and run.

A tickle of panic.

The reporter not only lost his job but was prosecuted under criminal trespass statutes. He served six months in state prison.

Pulaski was also disoriented. This was a different route from the one he’d taken to get to Sterling’s office. Now Martin turned a corner and pushed through a thick door.

The patrolman hesitated when he saw what was ahead: a station manned by three unsmiling security guards, along with a metal detector and an X-ray unit. These weren’t the data pens, so there was no data-erasing system, as in the other part of the building, but he couldn’t smuggle out the portable hard drive without being detected. When he’d been here earlier with Amelia Sachs they hadn’t passed through any security stations like these. He hadn’t even seen any.

“Don’t think we went through one of these last time,” he said to the assistant, trying to sound casual.

“Depends on whether people’ve been unattended for any period of time,” Martin explained. “A computer makes the assessment and lets us know.” He smiled. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Ha. Not at all.”

His heart pounded, his palms were damp. No, no! He couldn’t lose his job. He just couldn’t. It was so important to him.

What the hell had he done, agreeing to do this? He told himself he was stopping the man who’d killed a woman who looked a lot like Jenny. A terrible man who had no problem with killing anyone if it suited his purpose.

Still, he reflected, this isn’t right.

What would his parents say when he confessed to them that he was being arrested for stealing data? His brother?

“You have any data on you, sir?”

Pulaski showed him the CD. The man examined the case. He called a number, using speed dial. He stiffened slightly and then spoke quietly. He loaded the disk into a computer at his station and looked over the screen. The CD apparently was on a list of approved items; but still the guard ran it through the X-ray unit, studying the image of the jewel box and the disk inside carefully. It rolled on the conveyor to the other side of the metal detector.

Pulaski started forward but a third guard stopped him. “Sorry, sir, please empty your pockets and put everything metal on there.”

“I’m a police officer,” he said, trying to sound amused.

The guard replied, “Your department has agreed to abide by our security guidelines, since we’re government contractors. The rules apply to everybody. You can call your supervisor to check, if you’d like.”

Pulaski was trapped.

Martin continued to watch him closely.

“Everything on the belt, please.”

Think, come on, Pulaski raged to himself. Figure something out.

Think!

Bluff your way through this.

I can’t. I’m not smart enough.