Well, Unsub 47 may have been psychotic but, if his goal was to make a statement about the sanctity of diamonds, he was pretty damn effective.
“Now, I could have called that in, of course. But I wanted to stop by. Brought you a present.” He was speaking to Rhyme. He reached into the plastic bag he held and extracted a box about six by nine inches, glossy, pictures of some electronic product on the top. He stripped off the plastic wrapping and extracted what seemed to be a tablet device. He set it next to Rhyme’s chair and pushed a button on the side. It came to life and a menu appeared. “Electronic crosswords. These are cryptics. There’re over ten thousand, all different levels of difficulty.”
Rhyme explained to Sachs that Ackroyd and his husband competed at crossword tournaments. And he gave her a brief description of how cryptics worked.
She was even less a game person than Rhyme but admitted that she found the idea intriguing.
Ackroyd said, “And this unit? It’s voice-activated. Made for…”
“You can say ‘crip’ or ‘gimp.’ I do.”
“I was going to say ‘handicapped.’ I don’t think that’s correct, however.”
“My response is what is a four-letter word starting with ‘s’ and completing the sentence, ‘I don’t give a…’?”
Ackroyd laughed briskly.
“Well, thank you, Edward.” Rhyme was truly pleased. He played chess some—and had tried Go, an Asian board game that was even more complicated. The cryptics seemed more up his alley. He loved words and how they fit together. The puzzles would be a good way to keep his mind active, a shield against his worst enemy: boredom.
After Ackroyd left, the team received a call from Rodney Szarnek. He said that Vimal’s phone had been detected. “He’s out of the area. GPS puts him on an expressway in Pennsylvania. Headed west. Doing sixty miles an hour or so. He’s driving or on a bus.”
“Bus probably,” Sachs said. “The family only has one car and my security team’d spot him if he snuck back to take it.”
“Maybe a friend’s driving him,” Cooper suggested.
“He made that call from the Port Authority on Saturday,” Rhyme pointed out. “Maybe he was checking out bus schedules then. I’d go with bus. You and Lon Sellitto set up a tracking operation. Get in touch with the state police in Pennsylvania.”
When he disconnected, Rhyme called Lon Sellitto to arrange to intercept the vehicle.
The doorbell rang again and Rhyme glanced at the security video screen. A short, round balding man stood there. He didn’t recognize him but had a pretty good idea who he was.
Thom slipped a glance toward Rhyme, who said, “Go ahead, let him in.”
A moment later the man was in the doorway. He glanced around the lab. He seemed impressed—and pleased—more than surprised.
“Captain Rhyme.”
Rhyme didn’t introduce him to the others. He said “Let’s go in the den. Across the hall.”
If Sachs or Cooper was curious about the visitor, their interest didn’t show and they went back to their work. Just as well.
What would they think if they knew…?
Chapter 38
Antonio Carreras-López wasn’t as portly as he’d seemed in the security video, though he was a solid man. Rhyme wondered if he’d been a weight lifter or wrestler in his youth. Now apparently in his late fifties, he still seemed quite strong though some of the weight was gone to fat.
His black hair, what remained, that is, was swept back and fixed in place with spray or cream. He wore glasses with thick tortoiseshell frames, perched atop a fleshy nose. His eyes were amused. Quick too.
The men were in the small formal room, across the entry hall from the parlor. Three walls were lined with bookcases and on the other hung four muted prints of pen-and-ink drawings of New York City in the nineteenth century. The guest said, “As I told you on the phone, I represent Mr. Eduardo Capilla—El Halcón—though I’m not admitted to the bar here in the United States. I am, however, supervising his defense.”
“Who are the lawyers representing him here?”
Carreras-López mentioned three names—all lawyers from Manhattan, though the trial was in the Eastern District of New York, which included Long Island, Staten Island, Brooklyn and Queens. Rhyme knew of the lead trial attorney, a high-profile and respected criminal defense lawyer. Rhyme had never testified in a case involving any of his clients.
He wasn’t sure this would have been a conflict, but the situation was certainly fraught with the smoke of impropriety so he thought it best, if he proceeded, that there be no connection with El Halcón’s legal team. The prosecutor on the other side was Henry Bishop, and Rhyme knew he hadn’t been involved in a case he’d prosecuted.
“Now, Captain Rhyme, as a first matter…”
“I’m retired and, please, ‘Lincoln’ is fine.”
“And I am Tony. Now the first thing. I will give you this.” He pushed an envelope toward Rhyme. “It’s a one-thousand-dollar retainer. Which makes you a contractor with the defense team. The attorney-client privilege extends to you now.”
So they would not have to speak hypothetically any longer.
Carreras-López hesitated as he held out a receipt, his eyes on Rhyme’s arm.
“I can sign,” Rhyme said, and he took the pen the lawyer offered and jotted his signature on the document. “Now. The details?”
“Yes. In essence: My client came into the U.S. illegally. We admit this. He flew to Canada on a commercial flight and entered legally into that country. But then he flew in a helicopter to Long Island, entering illegally. Yes, the craft flew under the radar, but that is not illegal in a helicopter. There are no minimum altitude requirements. So there is no FAA violation. El Halcón was met by a bodyguard who worked for the owner of a warehouse that El Halcón was going to buy. While the pilot waited, they drove to this complex so Mr. Capilla could look it over and discuss the purchase with the man.”
“Any controlled substances anywhere in this scenario?”
“No, sir. Absolutely not. The warehouse was solely for a transportation company that my client wanted to start up in America.”
“Aside from this, any warrants on your client?”
“None.”
“Then why enter illegally?”
“The answer is that my client’s profession in Mexico is well known. It is suspected that he is responsible for the influx of large quantities of drugs into the U.S. He was concerned that he would be detained at Passport Control on technicalities. Perhaps imprisoned on trumped-up charges.”
“Go on.”
“At the warehouse my client met with the owner of the facility—”
“His name?”
“Christopher Cody. They discussed the terms of the deal and my client took a tour. Now, it happened that Cody was under investigation on some weapons charges. Completely independent of my client. El Halcón did not know this. A local police officer was conducting some surveillance. When my client and the bodyguard showed up he grew suspicious. He thought these might be arms dealers. He sent a picture of my client to his office, which alerted the FBI. They identified my client, checked with Border Protection and learned he had entered illegally. A team of FBI and some local police hurried to the warehouse. A gunfight ensued. Mr. Cody and his bodyguard were killed, and one FBI agent and the local officer who had taken the photos were badly injured.”
Facts Rhyme was aware of.
“The prosecution claimed what?”
A shrug. “What they always claim. That officers and agents approached, calling for surrender, and the men inside opened fire.”
“And your client’s story?”
“The officers fired first without identifying themselves and the men in the warehouse returned fire. They believed it was a robbery or hijacking. In any event, my client did not participate. He was in the restroom at the time. On the floor, hiding, so he would not be hit by a stray bullet. And, quite frankly, terrified. There he stayed until the firing stopped. He came out, saw what had happened and was arrested.”
“Did the other men with him, inside, give any statements?”