“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Larkin cast a critical look at Hackett.
Seeming to take silence as an indicator of yes, Hackett asked, “Are you autistic?”
Rolling to a stop at the next red light, Larkin looked at Hackett a second time.“No.”
“I just got that spicy vibe from you.”
“Spicy,” Larkin repeated, unblinking.
“Neurospicy.”
“You mean neurodivergent.”
Another laugh.“Yeah.”
Larkin had heard enough watercooler gossip over the years to know how he was perceived by fellow officers.To some, he was weird; to others, socially stunted.He was arrogant, he was unsettling, he was brilliant but strange, he was so many negative facets, and never once had he overheard someone suggest: maybe he’s neurodivergent.Not that such diversity didn’t come with its own stigmas, its own biases, its own challenges, but if justone personin the last ten years on the force had thought to challenge their own preconceived notion of what was “normal” and understand that Larkin was a human being… how different would his career be?
His reputation?
His social circle?
Hackett asked next, “Would you have guessed I have ADHD?”
Larkin looked at the light, pressed down on the gas when it changed, and said mildly, “Yes.”
“I think it makes me a pretty good cop, actually,” Hackett continued, unperturbed.“When I was still a patrolman, anyway.Juggling different situations at the drop of a hat was great.And I love being a detective, but I guess it’s tougher now.Time management is the bane of my existence, especially when it comes to all the paperwork.”
“What is your current time-management technique.”
“Uh, I don’t really have one.I suppose I just raw dog it.”
Larkin said, “Try the Pomodoro.”
“What’s that?”
“The Pomodoro Technique is a low-tech method that’s been shown to aid adults with ADHD by allowing for a fixed period of hyperfocus, followed by relaxation as a form of reward.”
“How’d you learn about it?”
“I have a psychology degree and don’t readOut in NYC.”
Hackett laughed again.
Larkin turned onto East Sixty-Second and parked the Audi behind a mud-splattered Jeep Wrangler with Jersey plates.He turned off the engine and unbuckled his seat belt.
“I know I shouldn’t have asked something so personal to someone with seniority,” Hackett spoke up before Larkin could open his door.He looked so young and so uncertain just then.“It’s only, I practically idolize you—”
“Don’t,” Larkin warned.“Hero worship locks us in a perpetual cycle of belief that excellence is obtainable in only a select few, and at the cost of our own character, self-worth, and skill set.”Larkin studied Hackett as he sunk into the seat.“You said you want to work Cold Cases.”
That perked him up again.“More than anything.”
“To do so, you must be critical,” Larkin said.“But never unkind.You only need to work on the first one.”
Hackett smiled from ear-to-ear.He might’ve been blushing a little too.
Larkin popped the door and climbed out.
