“Torture?”
She described the knife work.
“Distinctive technique,” he assessed. “That might be helpful.”
He’d be referring to the fact that perps who use knives or other mechanical weapons, like clubs, tended to leave wounds that were consistent from one victim to another, which can often identify them. She noted too that this detached, clinical comment was his only reaction to the horrific attack.
But this was just Lincoln Rhyme. She knew it; she accepted it. And wondered in passing why the same attitude in Nance Laurel set her so on edge.
She asked, “How’s it going down in the balmy Caribbean?”
“Not making much headway, Sachs. We’re under house arrest.”
“What?”
“One way or the other, it’ll be resolved tomorrow.” He clearly wasn’t going to say any more, maybe concerned that his line was tapped. “I should go. Thom’s making something for dinner. I think it’s ready. And you really should try dark rum sometime. It’s quite good. Made from sugar, you know.”
“I may pass on the rum. There are some unpleasant memories. Though I guess they’re not memories if you can’t remember them.”
“What do you think of the case now, Sachs? You still in the policy and politics camp? Leaving it all to Congress?”
“Nope. Not anymore. One look at the crime scene at Lydia Foster’s convinced me. There’re some real bad sons of bitches involved in this. And they’re going down. Oh, and Rhyme, by the way: If you hear something about an IED blast up here, don’t worry, I’m fine.” She explained about the explosion that took out the computer at the coffee shop, without going into the details of the near miss.
He then said, “It’s rather pleasant down here, Sachs. I’m thinking we might want to come back some time — unofficially.”
“A vacation. Yeah, Rhyme, let’s do it.”
“You couldn’t drive very fast. Traffic’s terrible.”
She said, “I’ve always wanted to try a Jet Ski. And you could go to a beach.”
“I’ve already been in the water,” he told her.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, indeed. I’ll tell you about it later.”
She said, “Miss you.” She disconnected before he had a chance to say the same.
Or not.
Nance Laurel received a call on her own mobile. Sachs was aware of her reacting stiffly as she glanced at caller ID. When she answered, the tone in the ADA’s voice told Sachs immediately that this was a private matter, unrelated to the case. “Well, hi…How are you?”
The woman turned away from Sachs and Cooper, turned as far as she could. But Sachs could still hear. “You need them? I didn’t think you did. I packed them up.”
Odd. Sachs had not thought of the prosecutor as having a personal life. She wore no wedding or engagement ring — very little jewelry at all. Sachs could imagine her vacationing with her mother or sister; Nance Laurel as a wife or lover was hard to picture.
Still coddling her conversation, Laurel said into the phone, “No, no. I know where they are.”
What was that tone?
Sachs realized: She’s vulnerable, defenseless. Whoever she was talking to had some kind of personal power over her. A breakup that isn’t completely broken yet? Probably.
Laurel disconnected, sat for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts. And then she rose, picked up her purse. “There’s something I have to take care of.”
Odd to see her so shaken.
Sachs found herself asking, “Anything I can do?”
“No. I’ll see you in the morning. I…I’ll be back in the morning.”
Clutching her briefcase, the prosecutor walked from the parlor and out the front door of the town house. Sachs noted that her workstation remained cluttered, documents shuffled and scattered about — completely the opposite of how she’d left things last night.
As Sachs gazed toward the table, one piece of paper stood out. She walked over and picked it up. She read:
From: Assistant District Attorney Nance Laurel
To: District Attorney Franklin Levine (Manhattan County)
Re: People v. Metzger, et al. Update, Tuesday May 16
In researching leads to the case, I identified the chauffeur with Elite Limousines who drove Robert Moreno throughout the city on May 1. The driver’s name is Atash Farada. There are several things to consider from my research, relevant to this case.
Robert Moreno was accompanied by a woman in her thirties, possibly an escort or prostitute. He might have paid her a “significant” sum of cash. Her given name was “Lydia.”
He and this individual left the driver in his limo at a downtown location for a period of several hours. Farada’s impression was that Moreno did not want him to know where he was going.
The driver offered a motive for Moreno’s anti-American sentiments. A good friend was killed by U.S. troops in the Panama invasion, December 1989.
Sachs was taken aback. The memo was nearly identical to the email she had sent to Laurel earlier, as instructed by the Overseer. Except for a few variations.
From: Detective Amelia Sachs, NYPD
To: Assistant District Attorney Nance Laurel
Re: Moreno Homicide, Update, Tuesday May 16
In researching leads to the case I identified the driver (Atash Farada) with Elite Limo, who drove Robert Moreno throughout the city on May 1. My discussions with him revealed several things of importance to the investigation:
Moreno was accompanied by a woman in her thirties possibly an escort or prostitute. I considered too whether or not she was a terrorist or other operative. He might have paid her a “significant” sum of cash. Her first name was Lydia.
He and the woman left the driver in a downtown location for a period of time. Driver’s impression was that Moreno did not want him to know where he and Lydia were going.
Driver suggested motive for anti-American activity. Good friend was killed in Panama invasion.
Laurel stole my work.
And not only that but she had to fucking edit it too.
Sachs went through the half dozen other memos that she’d dutifully written and sent to the ADA.
If you don’t mind…
Well, Sachs did mind — because they were all doctored to make it sound like Laurel had done the research. In fact, Sachs’s name didn’t appear on a single piece of paper. Rhyme’s was prominently featured but Sachs was virtually cut out of the investigation altogether.
Goddamn it. What was this about?
Looking for answers, she dug through the stacks. Many of the documents were copies of court opinions and legal briefs.
But one at the bottom was different.
And it explained a great deal.
Sachs glanced at Mel Cooper, who was hunched over a microscope. He hadn’t seen her pilfering Laurel’s paperwork. Sachs took the document she’d just uncovered and photocopied it, slipping the sheet into her purse. She returned the original to Laurel’s workstation and was very careful to put it back exactly where she’d found it. Even though the space seemed cluttered, Sachs wouldn’t have been surprised if the prosecutor had memorized the position of every paper — and paper clip — before leaving.
Sachs wanted to be sure the woman had no idea she’d been busted.
IV
SLICE
WEDNESDAY, MAY 17
CHAPTER 46
Captain Rhyme, you are feeling better?”
After a suitable pause: “I am,” he told Royal Bahamas Police Force assistant commissioner McPherson. “Thank you for asking. We’re packed and will be en route to the airport shortly.” Rhyme’s mobile was on speaker.