The Quickie by James Patterson Page A

miserably.
    “I wanted to remind you to serve the death notification to Scott Thayer’s family.”
    My jaw muscle locked and I was surprised my teeth didn’t shatter. Jesus Christ, I’d forgotten! Telling the family was part of my job as the primary.
    Scott had told me he had a mom and a younger sister somewhere out in Brooklyn. How excruciating was this going to be? Couldn’t I just feed my hand into a wood chipper instead?
    “Of course, sir,” I said.
    “I know it’s the most unfortunate part of your job,” Commissioner Durham said with a fatherly pat on my shoulder. “I just think it should be done before someone leaks Scott’s name to the press. I think it would also be better to hear it from somebody out of the same office. Then I could arrive a little later. Help soothe the blow.”
    “I understand,” I said.
    Then the commissioner sighed.
    “Though I know whatever way we do it, it’s going to be nothing short of devastating for Scott’s wife,” Durham said gravely. “Not to mention his three young kids.”

Chapter 30
    SCOTT WAS MARRIED?
    I managed to stay upright on my suddenly numb legs by a sheer act of will.
    A married father of three?
    He sure hadn’t mentioned that.
    Not the wife. Or the kids. Scott
had
told me he was NYPD’s most eligible bachelor.
    “I know,” the commissioner said. “It just keeps getting worse and worse. We have ourselves a real tragedy here tonight. Scott’s wife, Brooke, is only twenty-six, and his kids are four, two, and an infant.”
    Another fatherly pat on my shoulder signaled that our meeting had come to an end. I had the feeling there must be a section on fatherly pats on NYPD promotion tests.
    “Your lieutenant has the address,” the commissioner said. “Proceed, Detective. Good luck.”
    Twenty minutes or so after we left the commissioner in the Command Center bus, we stopped in front of a cute Dutch colonial in the middle of a long block lined with them.
    All the windows of the Thayer house were dark. Bright flowers lined a curving slate path through the manicured lawn.
    There was a Fisher-Price basketball backboard at the end of the short driveway. I had to tear my eyes away from it. I checked my watch. It was coming up on 4 a.m.
    Wait a second, I thought insanely. Did I really have to go into that house? I could just walk away, couldn’t I? Forget everything. That I was a cop. That I was a wife. I mean, why be so conventional? I was in the market for a life change. Maybe I could run off to an abbey and make cheese.
    “Ready, Lauren?” Mike asked at my side.
    “No,” I said, opening the storm door anyway. Then I hit the brass knocker on the inside door a couple of times.
    Beautiful,
was my first thought when I looked into the groggy face of the petite brunette who answered the door.
    Why would Scott cheat on this perfectly lovely young woman? The mother of his kids.
    “Yes?” Brooke Thayer said, her eyes widening as she looked from me to Mike and back to me.
    “Hi, Brooke,” I said, showing her my badge. “My name’s Lauren. I’m a detective from Scott’s precinct.”
    “Oh my God,” Brooke said, instantly awake and talking very fast. “It’s Scotty, isn’t it? No! What happened? Is he hurt? He’s hurt?”
    Death notices are served in different ways, none of them pleasant. Some detectives think blunt honesty is the way to go. Others soften the blow by first saying the victim was seriously injured and lead into the fact of their death.
    For the first time this night, I went with honesty.
    “He was shot, Brooke. I’m so sorry. He’s gone.”
    I watched her eyes go. That’s something you never get used to. Watching someone standing right in front of you disappear. Recede into themselves.
    Then she stumbled back away from the door, her legs dancing side to side like a center fielder trying to get under a fly ball. Finally she dropped to her knees.
    “No!” Brooke Thayer screamed.
    I found myself on my knees with her in the dark