Lincoln Rhyme: The Kill Room Part 14

An officer from Information Services called and reported that while there were many database hits for "Don Bruns" or "Donald Bruns," none was ranked as significant by IS's Obscure Relations.h.i.+p Algorithm system. ORA takes disparate information, like names, addresses, organizations and activities, and uses supercomputers to find connections that traditional investigation might not. Rhyme was only mildly disappointed with the negative results. He hadn't expected much; government agents at that level-especially snipers-surely would swap out their covers frequently, use cash for most purchases and stay off the grid as much as possible.

He now glanced toward Sachs, her eyes fixed on her notebook as she typed a memo for Laurel. She was fast and accurate. Whatever afflicted her hip and knee had spared her fingers. She never seemed to hit backs.p.a.ce for corrections. He recalled when he started in policing, years ago, women officers never admitted they could type, for fear of being marginalized and treated like administrative a.s.sistants. Now that had changed; those who keyboarded faster could get information faster and were therefore more efficient investigators.

Sachs's expression, however, suggested that of a put-upon secretary.

Thom's voice: "Can I get you-?"

"No," Rhyme snapped.

"Well, since the question was directed toward Amelia," the aide fired back, "why don't we let her answer? Can I get you anything to eat, drink?"

"No, thanks, Thom."

Which gave Rhyme a certain sense of petty satisfaction. He declined Thom's offer too. And he returned to brooding.

Sachs took a phone call. Rhyme heard music tinning from her phone and knew who the caller was. She hit speaker.

"What do you have for us, Rodney?" Rhyme called.

"Lincoln, hi. Moving slowly but I've traced the whistleblower's email from Romania to Sweden."

Rhyme looked at the time. The hour was early morning in Stockholm. He supposed the body clock of geeks operated on its own time.

The Computer Crimes Unit cop said, "I actually know the guy operating the proxy service. We had a running argument about The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo a year or so ago and we played hack against each other for a while. He's good. Not as good as me, though. Anyway, I charmed him into helping us, as long as he doesn't have to testify."

Despite his sour mood at the moment Rhyme had to laugh. "The good old boy network is alive and well-literally, a network."

Szarnek may have laughed too, though it was hard to tell because of the music that filled in the gaps between his words.

"Now, he knows for sure that the email originated in the New York area and that no government servers were involved in any of the routing. They were sent from a commercial Wi-Fi. The whistleblower might've bootlegged somebody's account or used free Wi-Fi at some coffee shop or hotel."

"How many locations?" Sachs asked.

"There are about seven million unprotected accounts in the New York area. Give or take."

"Ouch."

"Oh, but I've managed to eliminate one."

"Only one? Which?"

"Mine." He laughed at his own joke. "But don't worry, we can shrink the number down pretty fast. There's some code we have to break but I'm borrowing supercomputer time at Columbia. I'll let you know ASAP if I find something."

They thanked the cop. He returned to his awful music and beloved boxes, Sachs to her angry keyboarding and Rhyme to the anemic whiteboards.

His own mobile rang and he gripped the unit, noting that the area code was 242.

Well, this is interesting, he thought and answered the call.

CHAPTER 22.

h.e.l.lO, IS THAT YOU, CORPORAL?"

"Yes, Captain, yes," replied Royal Bahamas Police Force officer Mychal Poitier. A faint laugh. "You seem surprised to hear me. You didn't think I would call back."

"No, I didn't."

"It's late. I have called at a bad time, maybe?"

"No, I'm glad you did."

Ringing bells sounded in the distance. Where was Poitier? The hour was late, yet Rhyme could hear the murmur of crowds, large crowds.

"When we spoke earlier I wasn't alone. Some of my answers may have seemed odd."

"I was wondering about that."

Poitier said, "You may have gathered that there was some disinclination to cooperate." He paused as if wondering whether or not this was actually a word.

"I did gather that."

A blast of music like a calliope, the cla.s.sic circus theme, swelled.

Poitier continued, "And you were perhaps curious why a young officer like me was put in charge of what would seem to be a very important case when I'd never run a homicide before."

"Are you young?" Rhyme asked.

"I am twenty-six."

Young under some circ.u.mstances, not so young under others. But for homicide work, yes, he was a rookie.

Now a loud noise, a clanging, filled the air around Poitier.

The corporal continued, "I'm not in the office."

"I gathered that too." Rhyme laughed. "You're on the street?"

"No, no, I have a job in the evenings. Security at a casino in a resort on Paradise Island. Near the famous Atlantis. You know it?"

Rhyme didn't know. He had never been to a beach resort in his life.

Poitier asked, "Do your police officers have second jobs too?"

"Yes, some of them do. It's hard to make a good living in policing."

"Yes, yes, that is true. I didn't want to come in to work, though. I would rather have stayed on the missing student case but I need the money...Now, I don't have much time. I bought a phone card, ten minutes. Let me explain about the Moreno case and my involvement. You see, I have been on the waiting list to move to our Central Detective Unit for some time. It's always been my goal to be a detective. Well, last week a supervisor told me that I had been selected for a junior position at CDU. And, far more surprising, that I would be given a case to supervise-the Moreno homicide. I had believed it would be a year or more before I would even be considered for the unit. And to be given a case myself? That was unthinkable. But I was, naturally, delighted.

"Then I was told I'd been selected because the case was merely administrative at that point. A cartel was behind the death-as I told you before. Probably from Seor Moreno's home country of Venezuela. Certainly the sniper had already left the country, returned to Caracas. I was to gather the evidence, take some statements at the inn where Seor Moreno died and send the file to the Venezuelan national police. I would be the liaison if they wished to come to Na.s.sau to investigate further. Then I was to a.s.sist some senior detectives running the case of the other murder I mentioned."

The prominent lawyer.

More clanging, shouting. What was it, a slot machine payoff?

There was a pause and then Poitier called to someone nearby. "No, no, they're drunk. Just watch them. I'm busy. I must make this call. Escort them out if they get belligerent. Call Big Samuel."

Back to Rhyme: "You are suspecting conspiracy at the top, dark intrigues, to quash the Moreno investigation. In a way, yes. First, we must ask, why would the cartels want to kill him? Seor Moreno was well liked in Latin America. The cartels are businessmen first. They would not want to alienate the people they need for workers and mules by killing a popular activist. My impression-from some research I have done-is that the cartels and Moreno tolerated each other."

Rhyme told him, "Like I told you, we feel the same."

The corporal paused. "Seor Moreno was very outspoken against America. And his Local Empowerment Movement, with its anti-U.S. bias, was growing in popularity. You know that?"

"Yes, I do."

"And he had connections with organizations that had terrorist leanings. This is no surprise either, I'm sure."

"We're aware of that, as well."

"Now, it occurred to me that perhaps-" His voice lowered. "-your government wished this man dead."

Rhyme realized he'd been selling the corporal short.

"And so you see the situation my superiors-in fact the entire Ministry of National Security and our Parliament-found themselves in." Nearly whispering now. "What if our investigation shows that this was true? The CIA or the Pentagon sent a sniper down here to shoot Seor Moreno? And what if a police investigation finds that man and identifies the organization he works for. The implications could be great. In retaliation for that embarra.s.sing revelation, there might be decisions made in the U.S. to change the immigration policy regarding the Bahamas. Or to change Customs' policy. That would be very hard for us. The economy is not good here. We need Americans. We need the families who come here so their children can play with the dolphins and grandmother can do aerobics in the pool and husband and wife slip back to the room for their first romance in months. We can't lose our tourists. Absolutely. And that means we can't ruffle the feathers of Was.h.i.+ngton."

"Do you think there would be that retribution if you conducted a more rigorous investigation?"

"It's a reasonable explanation for the otherwise inexplicable fact that the lead investigator in the Moreno case-that is, myself-was, only two weeks ago, making certain proper fire exits existed in new buildings and that Jet Ski rental companies had paid all their fees on time."

Poitier's voice rose in volume and there was some steel in it. "But I have to tell you, Captain: I may have been a.s.signed to Business Inspections and Licensing but there wasn't a single inspection or license I handled that was not completed in a timely, thorough and honest manner."

"I don't doubt it, Corporal."

"So it is troublesome for me to be given this case and yet not be given this case, if you understand my meaning."

Silence, broken by a slot machine clattering loudly into Rhyme's ear.

When the noise stopped, Mychal Poitier whispered, "The Moreno case is in dry dock here, Captain. But I a.s.sume yours is steaming ahead."

"Correct."

"And you are, I a.s.sume, pursuing a conspiracy charge."

Selling him short indeed. "That's right."

"I looked for that name, Don Bruns. You said it was a cover."

"Yes."

"There was nothing in any of our records here. Customs, Pa.s.sport Control, hotel registers. He could easily have slipped onto the island, though, unseen. It's not difficult. But there are two things that might help you. I will say I didn't neglect the case entirely. I interviewed witnesses, as I said. A desk clerk at the South Cove Inn told me that someone called the front desk two days before Robert Moreno arrived to confirm his reservation. A male caller, an American accent. But the clerk thought this was odd because Moreno's guard had called just an hour or so before, also to check on the reservation. Who was the second caller-the one in or from America-and why was he so interested in Moreno's arrival?"

"Did you get the number?"

"I was told it was an American area code. But the full number was not available. Or, to be frank, I was told not to dig further to find the number. Now, the second thing is that the day before the shooting, someone was at the inn, asking questions. This man spoke to a maid about the suite where Seor Moreno was staying, if there were groundskeepers regularly outside, did the suite have curtains, where did his guard stay, about the men's comings and goings. I'm a.s.suming this was the man who called, but I don't know, of course."

"Did you get a description?"

"Male, Caucasian, mid-thirty years of age, short-cut hair, light brown. American accent too. Thin but athletic, the maid said. She said too he seemed military."

"That's our man. First, he called to make sure Moreno was still arriving. Then he showed up the day before the shooting to check out the target zone. Any car? Other details?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

Beep.

Rhyme heard the sound over the line and he thought: s.h.i.+t, NIOS's tapping us.

But Poitier said, "I only have a few minutes left. That's the tone warning me the time on my card is expiring."

"I'll call you back-"

"I must go anyway. I hope this-"

Rhyme said urgently, "Please, wait. Tell me about the crime scene. I asked you earlier about the bullet."

That's key to the case...

A pause. "The sniper fired three times from a very far distance, more than a mile. Two shots missed and those bullets disintegrated on the concrete wall outside the room. The one that killed Moreno was recovered largely intact."

"One bullet?" Rhyme was confused. "But the other victims?"

"Oh, they were not shot. The round was very powerful. It hit the windows and showered everyone with gla.s.s. The guard and the reporter interviewing Moreno were badly cut and bled to death before they got to the hospital."

The million-dollar bullet.

"And the bra.s.s? The cartridges?"

"I asked a crime scene team to go search where the sniper had to shoot from. But..." His voice dimmed. "I was, of course, very junior and they told me they didn't want to bother."

"They didn't want to bother?"

"The area was rugged, they said, a rocky sh.o.r.eline that would be hard to search. I protested but by then the decision had been made not to pursue the case."

"You yourself can search it, Corporal. I can tell you how to find the place he shot from," Rhyme said.