Twisted: The Collected Short Stories of Jeffery Deaver

matter? You understand how that works, right? That course on jurisdiction at the Academy?'

Sellitto had worked with Lincoln Rhyme for years and was quite talented at deflecting the criminalist's feistiness. He ignored the comment and continued. 'She takes a couple days off to get the house ready for the holidays. Rachel tells me she and her daughter have a teenage thing — you know, going through a rough time, the two of them. But Susan's trying. She wants to make everything nice for the girl, throw a big party on Christmas Day. Anyway, Carry's living in an apartment in the Village near her school. Last night she tells her mom she'll come by this morning, drop off some things and then's going to her boyfriend's. Susan says good, they'll have coffee, yadda yadda… Only when Carly gets there, Susan's gone. And her —'

'Car's still in the garage.'

'Exactly. So Carly waits for a while. Susan doesn't come back. She calls the local boys but they're not going to do anything for twenty-four hours, at least. So, Carly thinks of me — I'm the only cop she knows — and calls Rachel.'

'We can't do good deeds for everybody. Just because 'tis the season.'

'Let's give the kid a Christmas present, Linc. Ask a few questions, look around the house.'

Rhyme's expression was scowly but in fact he was intrigued. How he hated boredom… And, yes, he was often in a bad mood during the holidays — because there was invariably a lull in the stimulating cases that the NYPD or the FBI would hire him to consult on as a forensic scientist, or 'criminalist' as the jargon termed it.

'So… Carly's upset. You understand.'

Rhyme shrugged, one of the few gestures allowed to him after the accident at a crime scene some years ago had left him a quadriplegic. Rhyme moved his one working finger on the touch pad and maneuvered the chair to face Sellitto. 'Her mother's probably home by now. But, if you really want, let's call the girl. I'll get a few facts, see what I think. What can it hurt?'

'That's great, Linc. Hold on.' The large detective walked to the door and opened it.

What was this?

In walked a teenage girl, looking around shyly.

'Oh, Mr. Rhyme, hi. I'm Carly Thompson. Thanks so much for seeing me.'

'Ah, you've been waiting outside,' Rhyme said and offered the detective an acerbic glance. 'If my friend Lon here had shared that fact with me, I'd've invited you in for a cup of tea.'

'Oh, that's okay. Nothing for me.'

Sellitto lifted a cheerful eyebrow and found a chair for the girl.

She had long, blonde hair and an athletic figure and her round face bore little makeup. She was dressed in MTV chic — flared jeans and a black jacket, chunky boots. To Rhyme the most remarkable thing about her, though, was her expression: Carly gave no reaction whatsoever to his disability. Some people grew tongue-tied, some chatted mindlessly, some locked their eyes on to his and grew frantic — as if a glance at his body would be the faux pas of the century. Each of those reactions pissed him off in its own way.

She smiled. 'I like the decoration.'

'I'm sorry?' Rhyme asked.

'The garland on the back of your chair.'

The criminalist swiveled but couldn't see anything.

'There's a garland there?' he asked Sellitto.

'Yeah, you didn't know? And a red ribbon.'

'That must have been courtesy of my aide,' Rhyme grumbled. 'Soon to be ex, he tries that again.'

Carly said, 'I wouldn't've bothered Mr. Sellitto or you… I wouldn't have bothered anyone but it's just so weird, Mom disappearing like this. She's never done that before.'

Rhyme said, 'Ninety-nine percent of the time there's just been a mix-up of some kind. No crime at all… And only four hours?' Another glance at Sellitto. 'That's nothing.'

'Except, with Mom, whatever else, she's dependable.'

'When did you talk to her last?'

'It was about eight last night, I guess. She's having this party tomorrow and we were making plans for it. I was going to come over this morning and she was going to give me a shopping list and some money and Jake — that's my boyfriend — and I were going to go shopping and hang out.'

'Maybe she couldn't get through on your cell,' Rhyme suggested. 'Where was your friend? Could she have left a message at his place?'

'Jake's? No, I just talked to him on my way here.' Carly gave a rueful smile. 'She likes Jake okay, you know.' She played nervously with her long hair, twining it around her fingers. 'But they're not the best of friends. He's…' The girl decided not to go into the details of the disapproval. 'Anyway, she wouldn't call his house. His dad's… difficult.'

'And she took today off from work?'

'That's right.'

The door opened and Rhyme heard Amelia Sachs and Thom enter, the crinkle of paper from the shopping bags.

The tall woman, dressed in jeans and a bomber jacket, stepped into the doorway. Her red hair and shoulders were dusted with snow. She smiled at Rhyme and Sellitto. 'Merry Christmas and all that.'

Thom headed down the hall with the bags.

'Ah, Sachs, come on in here. It seems Detective Sellitto has volunteered our services. Amelia Sachs, Carly Thompson.'

The women shook hands.

Sellitto asked, 'You want a cookie?'

Carly demurred. Sachs too shook her head. 'I decorated 'em, Lon — yeah, Santa looks like Boris Karloff, I know. If I never see another cookie again it'll be too soon.'

Thom appeared in the door, introduced himself to Carly and then walked toward the kitchen, from which Rhyme knew refreshments were about to appear. Unlike Rhyme, his aide loved the holidays, largely because they gave him the chance to play host nearly every day.

As Sachs pulled off her jacket and hung it up, Rhyme explained the situation and what the girl had told them so far.

The policewoman nodded, taking it in. She reiterated that a person's missing for such a short time was no cause for alarm. But they'd be happy to help a friend of Lon's and Rachel's.

'Indeed we will,' Rhyme said with an irony that everyone except Sachs missed.

No good deed goes unpunished…

Carly continued. 'I got there about eight-thirty this morning. She wasn't home. The car was in the garage. I checked all the neighbors'. She wasn't there and nobody's seen her.'

'Could she have left the night before?' Sellitto asked.

'No. She'd made coffee this morning. The pot was still warm.'

Rhyme said, 'Maybe something came up at work and she didn't want to drive to the station, so she took a cab.'

Carly shrugged. 'Could be. I didn't think about that. She's in public relations and's been working real hard lately. For one of those big Internet companies that went bankrupt. It's been totally tense… But I don't know. We didn't talk very much about her job.'

Sellitto had a young detective downtown call all the cab companies in and around Glen Hollow; no taxis had been dispatched to the house that morning. They also called Susan's company to see if she'd come in, but no one had seen her and her office was locked.

Just then, as Rhyme had predicted, his slim aide, wearing a white shirt and a Jerry Garcia Christmas tie, carted in a large tray of coffee and tea and a huge plate of pastries and cookies. He poured drinks for everyone.

'No figgy pudding?' Rhyme asked acerbically.

Sachs asked Carly, 'Has your mom been sad or moody?'

Thinking for a minute, she said, 'Well, my grandfather — her dad — died last February. Grandpa was a great guy and she was totally bummed for a while. But by the summer, she'd come out of it. She bought this really cool