"Knowing the Ghost," Rhyme said, "any gun of his, even with serial numbers, is going to be untraceable."
The criminalist looked toward the hallway. "Thom! We need our scribe! Thom!"
The harried young man entered the room. He wrote down the information that Rhyme had dictated about the explosives, the letter and the trace on it, the guns.
There was an electronic trill as a cell phone rang and--typical nowadays--everyone looked down to see if it was his or hers ringing. Sachs was the winner and she pulled the unit off her belt.
"Hello?"
"Amelia?"
She recognized John Sung's voice. Her stomach did a little flip at the memory of last night.
"John."
"How are you?"
Been for one hell of a swim, she thought, but aside from that, doing okay. "Fine," she said. "Kind of busy right now."
"Of course," the doctor said. What a voice, she thought. Pure bedside manner. "Any luck finding Sam Chang and his family?"
"Not yet. We're working on that right now."
"I was just wondering if you might have some time to stop by later."
"I think that'll work out. But can I call you in a bit, John? I'm at Lincoln's right now and it's a little crazy."
"Of course. I'm sorry to interrupt."
"No, no, I'm glad you did. I'll call you later."
She hung up and started to return to the evidence. But she glanced up and saw Lon Sellitto looking at her with what could only be described as a glare.
"Detective," she said to him, "can I talk to you outside for a minute?"
Gruffly Sellitto said, "What's there to--"
"Now," she snapped.
Rhyme glanced at them for a moment but lost interest in the curious exchange and returned to examining the evidence boards.
Sachs walked into the corridor and Sellitto followed, his feet pounding heavily on the floor. Thom had noticed something was wrong. "What's going--" But the aide's voice was lost as Sachs swung the door shut angrily. They continued down the hallway to where she gestured--the back of the town house--and they entered the kitchen.
She spun around, hands on her narrow hips. "Why've you been on my case for the past two days, Detective?"
The big man pulled his belt up over his belly. "You're crazy. It's your imagination."
"Bullshit. You have something to say to me, say it to my face. I deserve that."
"Deserve it?" he asked in a snide tone.
"What is all this?" she snapped.
There was a pause while he looked at the butcher block, where Thom had set a half-dozen tomatoes and a pile of basil. Finally he said, "I know where you were last night."
"Yeah?" she asked.
"The baby-sitters outside of Sung's apartment told me you went there after you left here and you didn't leave till one forty-five."
"My personal life is my own business," she said coldly.
The burly cop looked around and then whispered vehemently, "But it's not just your business anymore, Amelia. It's his business too."
She frowned. "His? Who?"
"Rhyme. Who d'you think?"
"What're you talking about?"
"He's tough. Tougher than anybody I know. But the one thing that'll break him into little pieces is you--if you keep going the way you're headed."
She was bewildered. "Headed?"
"Look, you didn't know him back then--that woman he was in love with, Clare. When she died, it took him forever to get over it. He came to work, he did his job, but it took a year for that light to come back in his eyes. And his wife . . . They had some fights, sure--I'm talking MGM Grand kind of fights. It wasn't the greatest marriage in the world but, after the accident, when he knew it wasn't going to work and he got divorced, that was hard for him, real hard."
"I don't know where you're going with this."
"You don't? It's pretty clear to me. You're the center of his life. He's let down all his defenses with you. You're going to break him. And I'm not going to let that happen." His voice dropped even further. "Just think about--if you keep seeing this guy it's going to kill Rhyme. It's . . . What the hell're you laughing at?"
"You're talking about me and John Sung?"
"Yeah, the guy you've been sneaking off to see." Sachs's hands rose to her face and she began shaking with laughter. "Oh, Lon . . . " Then she turned away quickly from the detective because a moment later--as she'd suddenly known would happen--the laughter turned into tears.
"I've got to talk to you about something."
"You're looking like it's bad news, Doctor."
"Why don't we sit down over there in the corner?"
"Jesus," Sellitto said, starting forward. Then stopping, hands at his side, awkward. "Amelia, what . . . "
She held up a hand and turned away.
"What's going on?"
Finally she caught her breath, wiped her face and turned back to the detective. "It's not what you're thinking, Lon."
Another tug of his belt. "Go on."
"You know Rhyme and I've talked about having kids."
"Yeah."
She gave a sour laugh. "It didn't work. It's not like we were trying that hard but I wasn't getting pregnant. I was worried that there was something wrong with Lincoln. So a few weeks ago we went in and we both had checkups."
"Yeah, I remember he went to the doctor."
She thought back to that day in the waiting room.
"Ah, Ms. Sachs. Here you are."
"Hello, Doctor."
"I've just been meeting with Lincoln Rhyme's physician."
"Yes?"
"I've got to talk to you about something."
"You're looking like it's bad news, Doctor."
"Why don't we sit down over there in the corner?"
"Here's fine. Tell me. Let me have it straight."
"Well, Lincoln's doctor tells me that the results of his fertility workup are well within normal levels. A slightly diminished sperm count, which is typical of someone in his condition, but nowadays that's a very slight hurdle to pregnancy. I'm afraid, though, that you have a more serious problem."
"Me?"
Staring at the butcher block next to her, she now told Sellitto about this conversation with the doctor. Then she added, "I've got something called endometriosis. I've always had problems but I never believed it was as bad as what the doctor told me."
"Can they cure it?"
Sachs shook her head. "No. They can operate, do hormonal therapy, but it wouldn't really help the fertility thing."
"Jesus, I'm sorry, Amelia."
She wiped her face again. A sad smile blossomed on it. "Dryness and heat in the kidney."
"What?"
Sachs offered a hollow laugh. "That's what I was doing at John Sung's. Dryness and heat in the kidney--those're the reasons for infertility, according to Chinese medicine. Last night he examined me and gave me an acupressure treatment. And he's getting some herbs that he thinks'll help. That's what he just called about. Wait here." Sachs walked to the hallway, dug into her purse and returned with what Sung had just given her when she'd seen him last night. She handed the book to the detective. The title was Herbal Treatments and Acupressure Techniques to Assist Fertility.
"It turns out a lot of Western doctors recommend that women with endometriosis use Chinese medicine to treat it. Last night, when I took Lincoln upstairs we talked about it. He thought it was pretty silly but he'd noticed how upset I've been lately because of this. He's right--he said I've been distracted. It's even bothering me when I'm running scenes. So we decided I'd go ahead and see what Sung could do for me." She fell silent. Finally she said, "There's so much death around me, Lon . . . my father, my relationship with my boyfriend, Nick--when he went off to prison it was like he died. Then all the crime scenes I run. I wanted to have some life around us, Lincoln and me. I wanted so badly to fix what's wrong inside me."
Whatever it takes, look out for yourself first. If you're not whole, you'll never be able to take
care of anybody else.
Sung's treatment, she hoped, was a way to do this--to make herself whole.
Lifting his palms, Sellitto said, "I didn't know. You were real secret about it."
Angrily she said, "Because it's nobody's business but Lincoln's and mine." She nodded toward Rhyme's room. "Don't you know what he and I are to each other? How could you think I'd do something like that?"
The disorderly detective couldn't hold her gaze. "With Betty leaving and everything, I was just thinking about what happened to me." The big cop's marriage had broken up some years before. No one knew the details of Sellitto's divorce but it was a well-known fact that being married to a cop was tough and many a spouse had gone looking for a more attentive alternate. She supposed Betty had had an affair. "I'm sorry, Officer. I shoulda thought better." He extended his hand and she reluctantly shook his huge palm.
"Will that do any good?" He nodded at the book.
"I don't know," she answered. Then smiled wistfully. "Maybe."
"Back to work?" Sellitto asked.
"Sure." She wiped her eyes a final time and they returned to Rhyme's living room.
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, Battery Park City area.
* Suspected accomplices from Chinese ethnic minority. Presently pursuing whereabouts.
* Uighurs from Turkestan Community and Islamic Center of Queens.
* Cell phone calls lead to 805 Patrick Henry Street, downtown.
Canal Street Shooting Crime Scene * Additional trace suggesting safehouse is in Battery Park City area.
* Stolen Chevrolet Blazer, untraceable.
* No match on prints.
* Safehouse carpet: Arnold company's Lustre-Rite, installed in past six months; calling contractors to get list of installations.
* Location of installations determined: 32 near Battery Park City.
* Fresh gardening mulch found.
* Body of Ghost's accomplice: ethnic minority from west or northwest China. Negative on prints. Weapon was Walther PPK.
* Details on immigrants:
* The Changs: Sam, Mei-Mei, William and Ronald; Sam's father, Chang Jiechi, and infant, Po-Yee. Sam has job arranged but employer and location unknown. Driving blue van, no make, no tag number. Changs' apartment is in Queens.
* The Wus: Qichen, Yong-Ping, Chin-Mei and Lang.
Safehouse Shooting Crime Scene
* Fingerprints and photos of Chang Jiechi's hands reveal father--and son Sam--are calligraphers. Sam Chang might be doing printing or sign painting. Calling stores and companies in Queens.
* Biosolids on deceased's shoes suggest they live in neighborhood near sewage treatment plant.
* Ghost uses feng shui practitioner to arrange his living space.
Fuzhou Dragon Crime Scene * Ghost used new C4 to blow up ship. Checking origin of explosive through chemical markers.
* Large quantity of new U.S. bills found in Ghost's cabin.
* Approx. $20,000 in used Chinese yuan found in cabin.
* List of victims, air charter details and bank deposit information. Checking name of sender in China.
* Captain alive but unconscious.
* Beretta 9mm, Uzi. Unable to trace.
Chapter Thirty-nine
"Fred," Rhyme said as Dellray--now wearing the orangest shirt that the criminalist had ever seen--walked into his living room laboratory.
"Hey," Sachs said to the agent. "They let you wear shirts like that? Say, is that a real color?"
"You gave us a hell of a scare," Rhyme said.
" 'Magine what I myself was feelin', settin' my ass down on a few sticks of Mr. Noble's creation." He looked around the room. "Where Dan?"
"Dan?" Rhyme asked.
"The SSA?"
Noting the blank stares, Dellray continued, "The super-visin' agent, the guy who took over for me. Dan Wong. From our San Francisco office. Wanna thank him for takin' over."
Rhyme and Sachs looked at each other. The criminalist said, "Nobody took over for you. We're still waiting."
"Still waitin'?" Dellray whispered in disbelief. "I talked to Dan myself last night. He's the man you need. Run dozens of human smuggling cases. He's some kinda expert in snakeheads and Chinese culture. He was gonna call you an' be out here on a army jet this morning."
"No word."
Dellray's expression of astonishment turned to anger. "What about SPEC-TAC?" he asked suspiciously. "They are here, ain't they?"
"Nope," Sachs said.
With a snarl he pulled his phone off his belt as if he were quick-drawing his weapon. One speed-dial button later he was connected. "This's Dellray . . . Put him on. . . . Don't care. Want him now. . . . Like I said, which mebbe you din't hear. I. Want. Him. Now. . . ." A disgusted sigh. "Well, have him call me. An' you tell me--what happened to Dan Wong?" He listened for a long moment then snapped the phone off without a farewell.
"Dan got some emergency assignment in Hawaii. Word came from Washington, so it got priority over our li'l pissy insignificant case here. Somebody was s'posed to call me--and you--but it fell through the cracks."
"And SPEC-TAC?"
"The SAC's calling me back. But if they ain't here by now something's fucked up in a big way."
Rhyme said, "They told us it was on the 'scroll' for a meeting today."
"Hate that crappy way they talk," Dellray
snapped. "I'ma get it taken care of when I get back to the office. No excuse for this."
"Thanks, Fred. We need the help. We've got half the Fifth Precinct trying to find the print shop or painting company where Sam Chang works and we're coming up with zilch."
"This ain't good."
Sellitto asked, "Where're you with the bomb investigation?"
"That's th'other reason I came by. Simon says zip . . . Can't make a baby step of headway. My CIs, they're scouring Brighton Beach but they ain't turning up anything. Not. A. Peep. And I run dozens of skels there."
"You're sure the device's Russian?"
"When're we sure 'bout anyfuckin'thing?"
That much was true. Rhyme nodded at a paper bag he carried. "What've you got?"
He dug out a plastic bag containing the bright yellow stick of explosive and tossed it across the room to Sachs.
She caught it one-handed. "Holy Mother, Fred," she called.
"S'only dynamite. And if it din't go off with a detonator it sure ain't gonna go bang with a little lob to left field. Hey, Aye-melia, you wanna play softball on the bureau team? That was a good catch."
She examined the stick of dynamite.
"Friction ridges?" Sellitto asked.
"Wiped clean. No prints."
She held it up for Rhyme, who noticed numbers printed on the side.
"What'd the lot numbers turn up?" he asked Dellray.
"Nothin'. Our boys said it was too old to trace. 'Nother dead end."
"One man's dead end is another man's door," Rhyme said, reminding himself to share this saying, which he'd just made up, with Sonny Li when the Chinese cop returned. "Did they test it for markers?"
"Nup. Said it was too old for marker additives too."
"Probably is. But I want to test it anyway." He shouted to Mel Cooper, "Get it over to the lab ASAP. I want it analyzed. The works."
Chromatography--the analytical process of choice to test the dynamite--usually required that the samples be burned. But Rhyme wasn't about to set fire to a piece of explosive in his town house. The NYPD lab downtown had special equipment for doing so.
Mel Cooper called one of his technicians downtown and made arrangements for the test then handed the stick back to Dellray, giving him instructions on where to drop it off.
"We'll do what we can, Fred."
Then Cooper looked over a second bag Dellray handed him. It contained a Duracell battery, wires and a switch. "All generic, nothing helpful. It's your tract housing of bombs," the tech announced. "Detonator?"
A third bag appeared. Cooper and Rhyme examined what was left of the scorched piece of metal. "Russian, military grade," Rhyme said.
A detonator was basically a blasting cap, which contained a core of fulminate of mercury or a similar explosive and wires, which heated up when an electrical charge was sent through them and set off the primer explosive, which in turn set off the main charge.
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