Rhyme closed his eyes. Both he and Dellray had lost people close to them thanks to explosive devices. It was, even unemotional Rhyme believed, the most insidious and cowardly way to kill someone.
"Not hurt?" Li asked, concerned.
"No."
The Chinese cop muttered something, a prayer perhaps.
"What happened?" the criminalist asked.
"Dynamite with a pressure switch. Dellray triggered it but only the detonator fired. Maybe the cap wasn't seated right. They don't know yet."
The ASAC said, "Our bomb unit rendered safe and handed the parts over to PERT."
Rhyme knew most of the agents and the techs in the bureau's Physical Evidence Response Team and respected them. If there was anything to find he had confidence that they would. "Why don't you think it's related?"
"Anonymous nine-one-one call about twenty minutes before the blast. Male voice, undetermined accent, said the Cherenko family was planning some retaliation for the bust last week. It said more would follow."
Dellray, Rhyme recalled, had just finished running a huge covert operation in Brooklyn, the home of the Russian mob. They'd nailed three international money launderers, their staffs and several supposed hitmen and had confiscated millions of dollars and rubles.
"Origin of the call?"
"Pay phone in Brighton Beach."
The largest Russian community in the area.
"I don't believe in coincidences," Rhyme said. "The Ghost spent some time in Russia, remember? To pick up the immigrants."
He glanced at Sachs, an inquiring eyebrow raised. She answered, "The Ghost and his buddies were pretty hot to get the hell away from the scene of the Wu shooting. I can't see them detouring down to the federal building to set up a bombing. Not to say they couldn't have hired somebody."
Rhyme observed that Webley from State had said not a word since the three men arrived. He was standing, silent, arms crossed, in front of the evidence charts, staring at them.
"How'd they plant the device?" Sellitto asked the ASAC.
"Team of two, we think. Somebody set a van on fire in front of the parking garage. Distracted the guard. The other guy got into the garage and set it."
Dismayed, Rhyme suddenly understood what "implications" the ASAC had been referring to. "And Fred wants off the Ghost case, right?"
The ASAC nodded. "The thing with his partner, you know."
Toby Doolittle, Rhyme recalled, the partner killed in the Oklahoma City bombing.
"He's already cleared the decks and's calling in markers from his snitches in Brighton Beach."
Rhyme could hardly blame the agent. But he said, "We need some help, Harold. Fred was getting a SPEC-TAC team together and some more agents." He knew too that Dellray had been arranging to have the INS's role cut down to intelligence gathering and advising, a fact which even Rhyme--never a practitioner of diplomacy--decided it was best not to mention at the moment. "The Ghost's network is too good. He's too far underground. We need more people, better support."
The ASAC said reassuringly, "Oh, we're downcourt with that one, Lincoln. We'll have a new field ops agent for you in the morning and some more news about SPEC-TAC."
Peabody unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing a badly sweat-stained shirt. He said, "I heard what happened with Alan Coe--at the Wus' apartment, I mean. I'm sorry."
"We would've catch the Ghost," Li said, "if Coe not fire shot."
"I know. Look, he's a good man. I don't have many agents as dedicated as he is. He works twice as hard as most of my people. He's just impulsive. I try to cut him some slack. Had a tough time after that informant of his disappeared. I guess he blamed himself. After his suspension he took a leave of absence. He won't talk about it but I heard he went overseas to find out what happened to her. On his own nickel. Finally came back to work and's been going like a greyhound ever since. One of my best agents."
Except for minor flaws like letting suspects escape, Rhyme thought wryly.
Peabody and the ASAC left, reassuring Rhyme and Sellitto once again that they'd have a new FBI liaison agent in the morning and the SPEC-TAC team en route. "It's definitely agendaed," the ASAC called.
"Good night," said Webley from State formally and followed the men out the door.
"Okay, back to work," the criminalist said to Sellitto, Sachs, Cooper and Li. Eddie Deng was at home, nursing his badly bruised chest. "What else did the Wus tell you, Sachs?"
She gave them the details she'd learned at the clinic. The Wus included Qichen; his wife, Yong-Ping; a teenage daughter named Chin-Mei and a young son, Lang. The Changs were Sam, Mei-Mei, William and Ronald, as well as Chang's father, who was known by his full Chinese name, Chang Jiechi. In China, Sam had arranged for jobs for himself and William but Wu didn't know where or even in what line of work. Then she said that the family also had a baby whose mother had drowned on the Dragon. "Po-Yee. It means 'Treasured Child.' "
Rhyme noticed a certain look in Sachs's eyes when she mentioned the infant. He knew how much Sachs wanted a child--and wanted a child with him. As bizarre as this idea would have seemed to him several years ago he now secretly liked it. Part of his motive wasn't completely paternal, though. Amelia Sachs was one of the best crime scene searchers he'd ever seen. Most important was her empathy. She, more than any other CS professional he'd known, except himself, had the ability to transport herself into the mind of the perpetrator at the scene and, in that persona, find evidence that most other officers would have missed. Sachs, however, had another aspect to her psyche. What drove her to perfection at crime scenes drove her into danger. A champion pistol shot, an expert driver, she was often first on the scene at takedowns, ready to pull her weapon and engage a perp. Just like tonight, in the alleyway beside the Wus' apartment.
Rhyme would never ask her to give that up. But with a child at home he hoped she'd restrict herself to the crime scene work, where her true talent as a cop lay.
Then Mel Cooper interrupted his thoughts. "Chromatograph results from the carpet." He explained that it was a wool-nylon blend. He determined the color temperature of the gray shade and then went online, logging into the FBI's carpet-fiber database.
A few minutes later the results popped onto the screen. "It's Lustre-Rite brand and the manufacturer's Arnold Textile and Carpeting in Wallingham, Mass. I've got phone numbers," the slim man said.
"Get somebody calling them," Rhyme said. "We want to know about installations in Lower Manhattan. Recent, you think, Mel?"
"Probably. With this many fibers."
"Why that?" Li asked.
The tech explained, "Most fiber loss from carpets happens within six months of installation, give or take."
"I'll do it," Sellitto said. "Only don't hope for miracles, considering the company's probably been closed for hours." He nodded at the clock. It was nearly 11 P.M.
Rhyme said, "It's a manufacturing company. And what does that mean?"
"I don't know, Linc. Why don't you tell me?" Sellitto grumbled. Nobody was in the mood for object lessons.
"That there's probably a night shift. And a night shift means a foreman, and a foreman'll have the boss's number at home. In case of fire or some such."
"I'll see what I can do."
Cooper was testing the trace Sachs had found in the Blazer. "More of the bentonite," he said. "On both the Ghost's shoes and on his partners'." The slim man turned to the microscope and examined another bit of material. "What do you think, Lincoln. Is this mulch?" He looked up from the 'scope. "Came from the SUV's carpet, driver's side."
"Command, input, microscope," Rhyme ordered. The image that Cooper was looking at in the microscope came up on Rhyme's computer screen. The criminalist saw what he recognized immediately as traces of fresh cedar mulch, the sort used in decorative gardens. "Good."
"Lot of landscaping around Battery Park City," Sellito pointed out, referring to the large residential development in downtown Manhattan, where the trace evidence they'd found earlier had suggested the Ghost
might maintain his safehouse.
Too much landscaping, though, thought Rhyme. "Trace it to a particular manufacturer?"
"Nup," Cooper said. "Generic."
Well, this sample alone wouldn't pin down a particular location. The fact that the mulch was still damp, however, might help. "If we find a number of possible locations we can eliminate the ones that didn't have mulching done in the past few days. Long shot, but it's something." Then Rhyme asked, "How about the body?"
"Not much," she said. She explained that the man had had no identification on him--only some cash, about $900, extra ammo for his weapon, cigarettes and a lighter. "Oh, and a knife, which had traces of blood on it."
Cooper had already ordered the typing test on the blood. But Rhyme knew it would match Jerry Tang's or Jimmy Mah's.
AFIS results came back on the prints from the Blazer and from the dead man. All negative.
Sonny Li pointed to a Polaroid of the face of the corpse. "Hey, I got it right, Loaban. His face--check it out. He's Kazakh, Kyrgyz, Tajik, Uighur. A minority, like I telling you, remember?"
"I remember, Sonny," Rhyme said to him. "Call our friend from the tong--Cai. Tell him that we think the gang is of those minorities you mentioned, Sonny. Might help him narrow things down." Then he asked, "Ballistics?"
"The Ghost was still using his Model 51," Sachs said.
Li offered, "I'm saying, very solid-rock gun."
"I found some nine-millimeter casings too." She held the evidence bag up. "But no distinctive ejection marks. Probably a new Beretta, SIG Sauer, Smittie or Colt."
"And the dead guy's weapon?"
"I processed it," she explained. "His prints only. It was an old Walther PPK. Seven-point-six-five."
"Where is it?" Rhyme studied the evidence bag and saw no sign of the weapon.
A look passed between Sachs and Sonny Li--a look decidedly not for Detective Lon Sellitto. She said, "I think the feds have it."
"Ah."
Li looked away from Rhyme and he knew immediately that Sachs had slipped the Chinese cop the weapon after she was through processing it.
Well, good for him, the criminalist thought. If not for the Chinese detective, then Deng, Sachs and the Wus' daughter might've been killed tonight. Let him have some protection.
Sachs gave Cooper the serial number of the Walther and he ran it through the firearms database. "Zip," he said. "Made in the 1960s. Probably's been stolen a dozen times since then."
Sellitto called, "Just got through to a senior VP at Arnold Textile. Woke him up but he was pretty cooperative, considering. That particular carpeting is for commercial sale only--original developers and installers--and it's the top of their line. He gave me a list of twelve big developers in the area who buy directly from the manufacturer and twenty-six distributors who market to installers and subcontractors."
"Hell," Rhyme said. It would be a marathon of canvassing to find the addresses of buildings where Lustre-Rite had been installed. He said, "Get somebody on it."
Sellitto said, "I'll have 'em start waking people up. Fuck--I'm awake; why the hell shouldn't the rest of the world be?" He made a call to the Big Building to line up some detectives to help and faxed the list downtown to them.
Then Rhyme's private line rang and he answered it.
"Lincoln?" a woman's voice asked through the speakerphone.
He was thrilled to hear the caller's voice. "Dr. Weaver."
Rhyme's neurosurgeon, who'd be performing the operation next week.
"I know it's late. Am I interrupting anything? You busy?"
"Not a thing," Rhyme said and ignored Thom's exaggerated glance at the whiteboard, which attested to the fact that he was somewhat occupied at the moment.
"I've got the details for the surgery. Manhattan Hospital. Week from Friday at 10 A.M. Neurosurgery pre-op. Third floor."
"Excellent," he replied.
Thom jotted the information down and Rhyme and the doctor said good night.
"You going to doctor, Loaban?"
"Yes," he said.
"About . . . " The Chinese cop couldn't seem to think of a way to summarize Rhyme's condition and he waved toward his body.
"That's right."
Sachs said nothing, just stared at the sheet of instructions that Dr. Weaver had dictated to Thom. Rhyme knew that she would prefer he not have the operation. Most of the successes with the technique had occurred with patients whose injuries were far less severe than Rhyme's, those with the damage much lower on the spinal cord, at the lumbar or thoracic level. The surgery, as she'd told him, would probably produce no discernible benefit and was risky--it might even make him worse. And, given his lung impairment, it was possible that he could die on the table. But Sachs understood how important it was to him and was going to support him.
"So," she finally said, a stoic smile on her face, "we'll make sure we nail the Ghost before next Friday."
Rhyme noticed that Thom had been studying him closely.
"What?" the criminalist snapped.
The aide took Rhyme's blood pressure. "Too high. And you don't look good."
"Well, thank you very much," he snapped back, "but I don't think my appearance has anything to do--"
"It's quitting time," the aide said firmly. And he wasn't speaking to his boss.
Sellitto and Cooper also voted to call it a night.
"Mutiny," Rhyme muttered.
"No," Thom retorted. "Common sense."
Sellitto made a call to check on the Wus and John Sung. The family was now in the NYPD safehouse in the Murray Hill section of New York. John Sung had declined Sachs's invitation to join them, afraid that it would remind him too much of the many Chinese security bureau facilities he'd been detained in as a dissident. Instead, Sellitto added another cop to the team guarding him. All of the protective officers reported that the immigrants were safe.
Rhyme said to Sachs, "You taking those herbs with you? I hope you are. They stink."
"I was going to leave them as air freshener but if you don't like them . . . " She leaned close. "How are you feeling? You look pale."
"Just tired," he said. Which was the truth. Oddly tired. He supposed he should be concerned about it but he believed his exhaustion was nothing more than the demands of the case, which had been consuming him for days. But the fatigue was something that he knew he should pay attention to--did it indicate anything more serious? One of the major problems plaguing SCI patients, of course, isn't just paralysis. There are related problems because the nerves aren't responding--lung impairment and resulting infections--but perhaps the worst problem is the absence of pain. You have no early warning system of pain from cancer, say, which Rhyme's own father had died of--as had Sachs's. He remembered that his dad had first learned of the disease after he'd gone to the doctor complaining about stomach pain.
"Good night," Mel Cooper called.
"Wan an," Li called.
"Whatever," Sellitto grumbled and walked into the corridor.
"Sonny," Rhyme said. "You'll stay here tonight."
"Not got other place to go, Loaban. Sure."
"Thom'll make up a room. I'll be upstairs, taking care of a few things. Come up and visit if you feel like it. Give me twenty minutes."
Li nodded then turned back to the whiteboard.
"I'll take you up," Sachs said. Rhyme wheeled into the tiny elevator that ran between the first and second floors, formerly a closet. She joined him and closed the door. Rhyme glanced at her face. It was thoughtful but in a way that didn't have to do with the case, he sensed.
"Anything you want to talk about, Sachs?"
Without answering, she closed the elevator door and pressed the UP button.
GHOSTKILL
* * *
Easton, Long Island, Crime Scene
* Two immigrants killed on beach; shot in back.
* One immigrant wounded--Dr. John Sung.
* "Bangshou" (assistant) on board; identity unknown.
* Assistant confirmed
as drowned body found near site where Dragon sank.
* Ten immigrants escape: seven adults (one elderly, one injured woman), two children, one infant. Steal church van.
* Blood samples sent to lab for typing.
* Injured woman is AB negative. Requesting more information about her blood.
* Vehicle awaiting Ghost on beach left without him. One shot believed fired by Ghost at vehicle. Request for vehicle make and model sent out, based on tread marks and wheelbase.
* Vehicle is a BMW X5.
* Driver--Jerry Tang.
* No vehicles to pick up immigrants located.
* Cell phone, presumably Ghost's, sent for analysis to FBI.
* Untraceable satellite secure phone. Hacked Chinese gov't system to use it.
* Ghost's weapon is 7.62mm pistol. Unusual casing.
* Model 51 Chinese automatic pistol.
* Ghost is reported to have gov't people on payroll.
* Ghost stole red Honda sedan to escape. Vehicle locator request sent out.
* No trace of Honda found.
* Three bodies recovered at sea--two shot, one drowned. Photos and prints to Rhyme and Chinese police.
* Drowned individual identified as Victor Au, the Ghost's bangshou.
* Fingerprints sent to AFIS.
* No matches on any prints but unusual markings on Sam Chang's fingers and thumbs (injury, rope burn?).
* Profile of immigrants: Sam Chang and Wu Qichen and their families, John Sung, baby of woman who drowned, unidentified man and woman (killed on beach).
Stolen Van, Chinatown
* Camouflaged by immigrants with "The Home Store" logo.
* Blood spatter suggests injured woman has hand, arm or shoulder injury.
* Blood samples sent to lab for typing.
* Injured woman is AB negative. Requesting more information about her blood.
* Fingerprints sent to AFIS.
* No matches.
Jerry Tang Murder Crime Scene
* Four men kicked door in and tortured him and shot him.
* Two shell casings--match Model 51. Tang shot twice in head.
* Extensive vandalism.
* Some fingerprints.
* No matches except Tang's.
* Three accomplices have smaller shoe size than Ghost, presumably smaller stature.
* Trace suggests Ghost's safehouse is probably downtown, in Battery Park City area.
* Suspected accomplices from Chinese ethnic minority. Presently pursuing whereabouts.