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Holly went back to her dinner, now cold. “You’d bloody well better talk to me tomorrow,” she said aloud to herself.
33
Holly got an early start for home the following morning. Once she was on I-95, she called Hurd Wallace.
“Good morning.”
“Morning, Holly.”
“Hurd, I’d like you to get ahold of our divers and do a search of the waters under and around the North Bridge.”
“What are we looking for?”
“A Heckler and Koch forty-caliber pistol with a silencer.”
“The weapon used on Carlos?”
“I think so. He owned such a gun, and it’s missing.”
“Okay.”
“Which side of the road was the van parked on?”
“The south side.”
“Then search the south side of the bridge first, to a distance that you could throw a semiautomatic pistol. Start at the center of the river and work outward.”
“I’m on it. When will you be back?”
“I’m on the way now; see you later this morning.”
“Right.” Hurd hung up.
Holly continued up I-95. An hour later, her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Harry.”
“Good morning.”
“We’ve ru
n a check on Pio and his old man, whose name is Ignacio.”
“Isn’t Ignacio a Spanish name?”
“Who knows? Anyway, they’ve both got a clean sheet, federal and state.”
“That doesn’t add up,” Holly said. “How far back did you go?”
“When they’ve got a clean sheet, it’s from childhood.”
“Harry, do a background check on both of them; this needs more than just a records check. Find out how long they’ve been in business, how long they’ve lived where they live, all that stuff.”
“This is looking like a dead end to me, Holly.”
“I don’t think it is, Harry. I mean, I think the trail is meant to end with Pellegrino, if somebody investigates, but I don’t think that’s where the trail ends.”
