The Stone Monkey

"He's in the other room," Rhyme responded, laughing. "No one's here to blow the whistle on me."

Except Sachs, of course, but she wasn't going to snitch.

"I'd like you to come into the office tomorrow for the final checkup before the surgery. I was thinking -"

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

Rhyme held Sachs's eye. "I've decided not to have the operation."

"You're -"

"I'm canceling. Forfeiting my room deposit," he joked, "and down payment."

Silence for a moment. Then: "You wanted this more than any patient I've ever had."

"I did want it, that's true. But I've changed my mind."

"You'll recall I've told you all along that the risks were high. Is that why?"

He looked at Sachs. He said only, "In the end, I guess, I don't see that much of a benefit."

"I think this's a good choice, Lincoln. It's the wise choice." She added, "We're making a lot of progress with spinal cord injuries. I know you read the literature…"

"I keep my finger on the pulse, true," he responded, enjoying the irony of the metaphor.

"But there're new things happening every week. Call me whenever you like. We can think about options in the future. Or just call me to talk if you want to."

"Yes. I'd like that."

"I'd like it too. Goodbye, Lincoln."

"Goodbye, Doctor. Command, disco

Silence filled the room. Then a flutter of wings and a shadow disturbed the peace as a peregrine falcon landed on his window ledge. They both stared at the bird. Sachs asked, "Are you sure about this, Rhyme? I'm with you a hundred percent if you want to go ahead with it."

He knew that she would be.

But he knew too, without a doubt, that he didn't want the surgery now.

"Embrace your limitations… Fate make you this way, Loaban. And make you this way for purpose. Maybe you best detective you can be because of what happen. Your life balanced now, I'm saying."

"I'm sure," he told her.

She squeezed his hand. Then looked out the window again at the falcon. Rhyme watched the oblique, pale light hitting her face with the demure illumination of a Vermeer painting. Finally he asked, "Sachs, are you sure you want to do this?"

He nodded toward the file on the table nearby, which contained a picture of Po-Yee, a number of affidavits and official-looking documents.

The top sheet of paper was headed: PETITION FOR ADOPTION.

Then she glanced at Rhyme. The look in her eye told him that she too was sure about the decision she'd made.

Sitting in the judge's chambers, Sachs smiled down at Po-Yee, the Treasured Child, who sat beside her in the chair where the social worker had deposited her a few moments before. The girl played with her stuffed kitten.

"Ms. Sachs, this is a rather unorthodox adoption proceeding. But I assume you know that." Justice Margaret Benson-Wailes, a heavyset woman, sat behind her abysmally cluttered desk in the dark monolith of Manhattan Family Court.

"Yes, Your Honor."

The woman bent forward and read some more. "All I can say is in the past two days I've talked to more people from Human Services, Family Services, city hall, Albany, One Police Plaza and the INS than I talk to in a month in most placements. Tell me, Officer, how's a ski

"I'm lucky, I guess."

"More to it than that," the judge said, returning to the file. "I hear good things about you."

Apparently Sachs too had good guanxi. Her co

The jurist continued, "You understand, of course, that the welfare of this child comes first no matter what and if I'm not convinced that the disposition is in her best interest I will not sign the papers." The woman had the same benevolently gruff air that Lincoln Rhyme had mastered.

"I wouldn't want it any other way, Your Honor."

Like many judges, Sachs had learned, Benson-Wailes was prone to lecture. The woman eased back in the chair and addressed her audience. "Now, the adoption procedure in New York involves taking a home study, undergoing training and spending time with the child and usually a three-month probation period. I spent all morning reviewing papers and reports, talking to the social workers and the law guardian that we appointed for the girl. I've gotten very good reports but this's been moving faster than the Bulls' slide after Michael Jordan left. So here's what I'm going to do. I'll grant foster guardianship for a three-month period, subject to supervision by the Department of Social Services. At the end of that time if there are no problems I will grant permanent adoption, subject to the standard three-month probation period. How's that sound to you?"

Sachs nodded. "It sounds fine, Your Honor."

The justice examined Sachs's face carefully. Then, with a glance at Po-Yee, she jabbed her intercom button and said, "Send in the petitioners."

A moment later the door to the justice's chambers opened and Sam and Mei-Mei Chang cautiously entered. Beside them was their attorney, a Chinese man in a light gray suit and a shirt so boldly red that it might've come from Fred Dellray's closet.

Chang nodded to Sachs, who rose, stepped forward and shook his hand then his wife's. Mei-Mei's eyes went wide when she saw the child, whom Sachs handed off to her. She hugged Po-Yee fiercely.

The judge said, "Mr. and Mrs. Chang, do you speak English?"

"I do, some," Chang said. "My wife, not good."

"You are Mr. Sing?" the judge asked the lawyer.

"Yes, Your Honor."

"If you could translate."

"Certainly."

"Usually the adoption process in this country is arduous and complicated. It is virtually impossible for a couple of uncertain immigration status to be given adoptive custody."

A pause while Sing translated. Mei-Mei nodded.

"But we've got some unusual circumstances here."

Another pause and the Chinese rattled explosively off Sing's tongue. Now both Chang and his wife nodded. They remained silent. Mei-Mei's eyes brightened, though, and her breathing was coming fast. She wanted to smile, Sachs could see, but she restrained herself.

"I'm told by Immigration and Naturalization that you've applied for asylum and, because of your dissident status in China, that it will probably be granted. That reassures me that you can bring some stability into the child's life. As does the fact that both you and your son, Mr. Chang, are employed."

"Yes, sir."

"'Ma'am,' not 'sir,'" sternly corrected Justice Benson-Wailes, a woman whose orders in court undoubtedly needed to be issued only once.

"I am sorry. Ma'am."

The judge now repeated for the Changs what she'd told Sachs about the probation and adoption.

Their understanding of English was apparently good enough so that they could comprehend the ultimate meaning of the justice's words without the need for complete translations. Mei-Mei began to cry quietly and Sam Chang hugged her, smiling and whispering in her ear. Then Mei-Mei stepped up to Sachs and hugged her. "Xiexie, thank you, thank you."

The justice signed a document in front of her. "You can take the child with you now," she said, dismissing them. "Attorney Sing, see the clerk about the disposition of the paperwork."

"Yes, Your Honor."

Sam Chang led his family, now officially increased by one, to the parking lot near the black-stone Family Court Building. This had been his second court appearance today. Earlier Chang had testified at the Wu family's preliminary hearing. Their asylum bid was less certain than the Changs' but their lawyer was guardedly optimistic that they would remain in the U.S.