Page 115 of Witness 8

‘And you trust him?’

Lake shrugged, rubbed the steering wheel rhythmically as his heel bounced on the floor. As a naturally anxious man, it was hard to tell when he was genuinely worried or just conscious.

‘I want you waiting outside for when he comes out. Tell him to meet me at seven thirty tonight. I’ll be at 102 Norfolk Street – the Lower East Side Toy Company.’

‘What the hell are you doing? You’re going to meet a man that wants to kill you?’

‘I’ve met a lot of people that want to kill me. My ex-wife, for one. Look, it’ll be okay. I don’t walk into any place that I don’t know how to walk out of. Just set it up. After you talk to him, stay on Ruby. Kate thinks Ruby is at the heart of all of this. She saw the real killer that night. Somehow took the gun, planted it in John Jackson’s home. She has access to that house. And she did it all to blackmail the real killer into paying her a quarter of a million dollars. I don’t know how she got John’s DNA, and there’s no way to prove any of this. If Kate is right, and I think she is, then Ruby should be halfway to Rio by now. Why is she still here? I have a feeling she’s going to make some moves and we need to be there.’

I left the vehicle, was about to close the door behind me when I stopped, leaned down and said, ‘You know, the best place to look at this car is from the inside. And even that makes me feel ill.’

Lake gave me the finger.

As I stood on the street looking for a cab, I called Bugs. My guy who moonlighted as a tow-truck driver with his buddies, playing the part for me during the Jayden case against Sergeant Ben Gray.

‘How would you feel about coming out of retirement?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, Eddie. I can’t do any more time. I’m too old for breaking and entering.’

‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I need you and a couple of your buddies tonight – Karl and Little Sacks. I’m paying fifty grand. What do you say?’

‘For fifty grand I’ll break into Fort Knox.’

‘Relax, it’s not that big a deal. Just some light B’n’E. There’s two jobs. First one is real easy,’ I said.

‘What’s the first job?’

I waved down a yellow cab, said, ‘I need you to break into my car.’

52

Kate

Ansen Bude was one of the most handsome men Kate had ever laid eyes on.

He had those classic Scandinavian looks. Tall. Blond. An Olympian gymnast’s build under a tasteful suit, violet-blue eyes that made her legs feel funny and cheekbones as sharp as the tail fins on a ’57 Plymouth Fury. She wasn’t the only one who was checking out Mr. Bude. Several of the female jurors were practically beaming at the man as he finished his oath and sat in the witness chair.

‘Mr. Bude . . .’ began Castro, pronouncing the name to rhyme with ‘dude’.

‘Actually, it’s pronouncedboo-day,’ said the witness in perfect English, with only a slight Scandinavian accent. The ladies on the jury clearly liked his voice too.

‘My apologies, perhaps you could outline your position and professional credentials for this jury,’ replied Castro coldly. As well as a dirty player, Castro was also a vain man. Kate could see it in the way he checked his hair, adjusted the line of his suit every time he got to his feet. And, like most imperious men, he disliked Bude. Kate could tell by Castro’s tone.

In that lovely accent, Bude said he had studied various biological sciences in Stockholm before moving to New York to study latent fingerprint extraction and analysis, and he was employed by the NYPD in their forensics laboratory.

‘What is a latent print?’ asked Castro.

‘Well, first I have to explain what a palm print or fingerprint is,’ said Bude.

Castro nodded, as if he was expecting it, and told him to go right ahead. Secretly, Castro was pissed – here was a pedantic witness picking apart his questions. Kate formed the view that Bude cared about his responsibility as a witness and as a scientist.

‘Fingerprints, like palm prints, are formed before we are born. These are the friction ridges on our hands and fingers, which form whorls, loops and patterns.’

He finished his answer and looked to Castro. Bude was clearly an experienced witness. And one who followed the rules. Instead of going ahead and finishing the full answer, he stopped. Waited for the question. Witnesses who keep talking all have the same problem – inevitably they say something that comes back to bite them on the ass.

‘And what are latent prints?’ asked Castro.

‘Natural oils and biomaterial like dead skin cells are constantly coating every surface of our skin. When we touch something, often we leave some of that material behind. And this is in the unique form and pattern of our fingerprints or palm prints.’