“Almost seven.”
She sat up. “I slept that late?”
“I’ve been up for two hours,” he said. “Phoning some of the noble characters I consorted with on my journey through the shadowy world of arms trafficking.”
“Why?”
“It struck me in our afterglow last night. Oh, yes, it was an afterglow. . . . I got thinking about military grade C4. And then I started thinking, I bet I already know people—outside the military, I mean—who might supply it.”
The sleep was slowly lifting from her. “You mean to Lancer Standard?”
“No, Hays would have his own source and wouldn’t need to go black market. I inquired about another organization we posted on Murder Board South.”
“Justicia a Garda.”
“Correct. And what I just learned from a guy we shall call only T-Rex—hailing from the smuggler’s port of choice, Buenaventura—is that a shipment of an unspecified nature left Colombia and was delivered three weeks ago, off the books, in Perth Amboy, New Jersey, to one Pascual Guzman.” He held up his hand. “Come on, up top for the Rookster.”
Instead of fiving him, Nikki sat cross-legged and frisked the fingers of both hands through her hair to wake up. “Did this T-Rex say it was C4?”
“Mm, no. T’s exact words were, some kind of shipment, he didn’t know what.”
“Then we don’t know squat. Unless we confirm it was C4.”
“Shouldn’t we at least talk to Guzman?”
Heat shook no. “First rule I learned from Captain Montrose about interrogations was, don’t initiate a meeting blindly. Know what you want or are likely to get. What I know about Pascual Guzman is that he’s a circumspect stone wall who will answer nothing at best, and at worst, light me up on the radar to Zach Hamner when he files another harassment complaint. We’ll have to go at him another way.”
Rook was unfazed. “I think this guy hacked my computer. Plus he admitted he had a smack-down with Graf the day he died. I think we should shake down Pascual Guzman and ask him about the secret shipment. He’s smelling to me like our killer.”
“Last night you were sure it was Lawrence Hays.”
“I know. I get excited. Hays was the bright, shiny object of the moment.”
Nikki said, “And what is Guzman?”
He hung his head. “Again, you chasten me with your need for reason.”
* * *
Two hours later, Nikki had a cab drop them between Tenth Avenue and 41st, just blocks off Times Square. The forecast promised it would be slightly warmer that day, but at 9 &A.M.& it was still under five degrees and the shadows of the low sun ran long and chilly on the West Side of Manhattan. While Roach worked the photo of the cable guy, Heat’s plan was to try to find him by locating the woman who appeared in the Pleasure Bound surveillance photo with him. According to the missing woman’s landlord, Shayne Watson worked as a prostitute in Hell’s Kitchen. The former roommate of the dominatrix was still off the radar, and Heat’s agenda for the day was to hit the streets and show her photo to other prostitutes, hoping to get a line on her.
“I’ve got this one,” said Rook. He took a photocopy of the surveillance shot and stepped up to a woman leaning against the wall and smoking outside a diner. “Morning, miss.” She looked him up and down and began to step away. “Please, this will just take a second. I’m trying to find one of your colleagues, a fellow prostitute and—”
The woman flicked her cigarette at him and it bounced off his forehead. “Asshole. Calling me a hooker . . .” She hurried away, shouting something about calling the cops mixed in with more curses until she rounded the corner.