But the men moving toward him didn’t pull out suppressed Berettas or SIGs. The palms of their hands glinted with metal, yes – but they were gold. New York City Police Department shields.
“Barry Shales?” the older of the two asked.
“I…yes, I’m Shales.”
“I’m Detective Brickard. This is Detective Samuels.” The badges and IDs disappeared. “You’re under arrest, sir.”
Shales gave a brief, surprised laugh. A mistake. Word hadn’t filtered down to them that the investigation was over.
“No, there’s some mistake.”
“Please turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
“But what’s the charge?”
“Murder.”
“No, no – the Moreno case…it’s been dropped.”
The detectives looked at each other. Brickard said, “I don’t know anything about any Moreno, sir. Please. Your hands. Now.”
CHAPTER 76
“It may be a tough sell to the jury,” Lincoln Rhyme said, speaking of the theory behind a new case against Metzger and Shales.
Amelia Sachs’s theory, not his. And one he was quite enamored of – and proud of her for formulating. Rhyme secretly loved it when people–some people – outthought him.
Sachs glanced at her humming phone. “A text.”
“Nance?”
“No.” She looked from the querying eyes of Mel Cooper to Ron Pulaski to, finally, Rhyme. “Barry Shales’s in custody. No resistance.”
So, they were proceeding now according to Sachs’s theory, which she’d come up with from a simple entry in the evidence charts.
Victim 2: Eduardo de la Rua.
COD: Loss of blood. Lacerations from flying glass from gunshot, measuring 3–4mm wide, 2–3cm long.
Supplemental information: Journalist, interviewing Moreno. Born Puerto Rico, living in Argentina.
Camera, tape recorder, gold pen, notebooks missing.
Shoes contained fibers associated with carpet in hotel corridor, dirt from hotel entryway.
Clothing contained traces of breakfast: allspice and pepper sauce.
Her thinking was all the more brilliant because of its simplicity: People born in Puerto Rico are U.S. citizens.
Therefore Barry Shales had killed an American in the attack on May 9 in the South Cove Inn.
Nance’s boss, the DA, had decided not to pursue the case only because Moreno wasn’t a citizen. But de la Rua was. Even an unintended death under some circumstances can subject the killer to murder charges.
Sachs continued, “But at the very least, I’d think we could get manslaughter. Shales inadvertently killed de la Rua as part of the intentional act of killing Moreno. He should have known that someone else in the room could have been fatally wounded when he fired the shot.”
A woman’s voice filled the room. “Good analysis, Amelia. Have you ever thought of going to law school?”
Rhyme turned to see Nance Laurel striding into the parlor, lugging her briefcase and litigation bag once again. Behind her was the detective they’d asked to collect her, a friend of Sachs’s. Bill Flaherty. Rhyme had thought it safer for her to have an escort. He was still uneasy that Unsub 516 was at large, especially now that there was a chance of reviving the Moreno case.
Laurel thanked the detective, who nodded and – with a smile toward Sachs and Rhyme – left the town house.
Rhyme asked the ADA, “So? Our case? What do you think? Legally?”
“Well,” she said, sitting down at her desk and extracting her files once more, organizing them, “we probably can get Barry Shales on murder two. The penal code provision covers us there.” She paraphrased, “A person is guilty of murder in the second degree when he intends to cause the death of someone and he causes the death of a third person. But Amelia’s right, manslaughter’s definitely a possibility. We’ll make it a lesser included offense, though I’m confident I can make murder stick.”
“Thanks for coming back,” Sachs said.
“No, thanks to you all for saving our case.” She was looking around the room.
Our case…
“Amelia came up with the idea,” Lon Sellitto said.
Rhyme added, “I missed the option entirely.”
Sellitto added that he’d been in touch with Captain Myers and the man had – with some reluctance – agreed they should proceed with the new charges. The attorney general had given his tentative approval too.
“Now we have to consider how to proceed,” Laurel said, surprising Rhyme by not only unbuttoning but slipping off her jacket. She could smile, she could sip whiskey, she could relax. “First, I’d like some background. Who was he, this reporter?”
Ron Pulaski had been researching. He said, “Eduardo de la Rua, fifty six. Married. Freelance journalist and blogger. Born in Puerto Rico, U.S. passport. But he’s been living in Buenos Aires for the past ten years. Last year he won the Premio a la Excelencia en el Periodismo. That’s ‘Award for Excellence in Journalism.’”
“You speak Spanish too, rookie?” Rhyme interrupted. “You never fail to astound. Good accent too.”
“Nada. ”
“Ha,” Sellitto offered.
The young officer: “Lately de la Rua’s been writing for Diario Seminal Negocio de Argentina .”
“The Weekly Journal of Argentina ,” Rhyme tried.
“Almost. Weekly Business Journal .”
“Of course.”
“He was doing a series on American businesses and banks starting up in Latin America. He’d been after Moreno for months to do an interview about that – the alternative view, why U.S. companies shouldn’t be encouraged to open operations down there. Finally he agreed and de la Rua flew to Nassau. And we know what happened next.”
Sachs told Laurel, “Shales is in custody.”
“Good,” the prosecutor said. “Now, where are we with the evidence?”
“Ah, the evidence,” Rhyme mused. “The evidence. All we need to prove is that the bullet caused the flying glass, and the glass was the cause of the reporter’s death. We’re close. We’ve got the trace of glass splinters on the bullet and on de la Rua’s clothes. I’d just really like some of the shards that actually caused the laceration and bleeding.” He looked to Laurel. “Juries love the weapons, don’t they?”
“They sure do, Lincoln.”
“The morgue in the Bahamas?” Sachs asked. “The examiner would still have the glass, wouldn’t you think?”
“Let’s hope. People may steal Rolexes and Oakleys down there but I imagine broken glass is safe from sticky fingers. I’ll call Mychal and see what he can find. He can ship some up here with an affidavit that states the shards were recovered from the body and were the cause of death. Or, hell, maybe he could come up himself to testify.”
“That’s a great idea,” Thom said. “He could stay with us for a while, hang out.”
Rhyme exhaled in exasperation. “Oh, sure. We’ve got so much time for socializing. I could take him on a tour of the Big Apple. You know, haven’t been to the Statue of Liberty in…ever . And I intend to keep it that way.”
Thom laughed, irritating Rhyme all the more.
The criminalist called up the autopsy pictures and scrolled through them. “A shard from the jugular, carotid or femoral would be best,” he mused. “Those would be the fatal ones.” But an initial review didn’t show any obvious splinters of glass jutting from the pale corpse of Eduardo de la Rua.
“I’ll give Mychal a call in the morning. It’s late now. Don’t want to interfere with his moonlighting job.”
Rhyme could have called now but he wanted to speak to the corporal in private. The fact was that he had been considering inviting Poitier to New York at some point in the near future and this would be a good excuse to do so.
And, he reflected with some irony, yes, he did intend to show Poitier around town. The Statue of Liberty, however, would not be on the tour.