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"But you're civvy, Lincoln. So it couldn't have been your decision. It mighta been your suggestion. It mighta been your recommendation. But I don't think it was your decision."
Dellray's attention had turned to Sachs again. His eyes on her, he said to Rhyme, "You told Peretti not to run the scene? That's mighty curious, Lincoln. Why'd you go and do something like that?"
Rhyme said, "I'm better than he is."
"Peretti's not a happy boy scout. Nosir. He and I had a chin wag with Eckert."
Eckert? The Dep Com? How was he involved?
And with one glance at Sachs, at the evasive blue eyes, framed by strands of mussed red hair, he knew how.
Rhyme nailed her with a look, which she promptly avoided, and he said to Dellray, "Let's see . . . Peretti? Wasn't he the one opened up traffic on the spot where the unsub'd stood to watch the first vic? Wasn't he the one released the scene before we'd had a chance to pick up any serious trace? The scene my own Sachs here had the foresight to seal off. My Sachs had it right and Vince Peretti and everybody else had it wrong. Yes, she did."
She was gazing at her thumb, a look that bespoke seeing a familiar sight, and slipped a Kleenex from her pocket, wrapped it around the bloody digit.
Dellray summarized, "You shoulda called us at the beginning."
"Just get out," Polling muttered. Something snapped in his eyes and his voice rose. "Get the hell out!" he screamed.
Even cool Dellray blinked and eased back as the spittle flew from the captain's mouth.
Rhyme frowned at Polling. There was a chance they might salvage something of the case but not if Polling had a tantrum. "Jim . . ."
The captain ignored him. "Out!" he shouted again. "You are not taking over our case!" And startling everyone in the room, Polling leapt forward, grabbed the agent by his green lapels and shoved him against the wall. After a moment of stunned silence Dellray simply pushed the captain back with his fingertips and took out a cellular phone. He offered it to Polling.
"Call the mayor. Or Chief Wilson."
Polling eased instinctively away from Dellray--a short man putting some distance between himself and a tall one. "You want the case, you fucking got it." The captain strode to the stairs and then down them. The front door slammed.
"Jesus, Fred," Sellitto said, "work with us. We can nail this scumbag."
"We need the Bureau's A-T," said Dellray, now sounding like reason itself. "You're not set up for the terrorist angle."
"What terrorist angle?" Rhyme asked.
"The UN peace conference. Snitch o' mine said word was up that something was gonna go down at the airport. Where he snatched the vics."
"I wouldn't profile him as a terrorist," Dobyns said. "Whatever's going on inside him's psychologically motivated. It's not ideological."
"Well, fact is, Quantico and us're pegging him one way. 'Preciate that you feel different. But this's how we're handling it."
Rhyme gave up. Fatigue was spiriting him away. He wished Sellitto and his scar-faced assistant had never shown up this morning. He wished he'd never met Amelia Sachs. Wished he wasn't wearing the ridiculous crisp white shirt, which felt stiff at his neck and felt like nothing below it.
He realized that Dellray was speaking to him.
"I'm sorry?" Rhyme cocked a muscular eyebrow.
Dellray asked, "I mean, couldn't politics be a motive too?"
"Motive doesn't interest me," Rhyme said. "Evidence interests me."
Dellray glanced again at Cooper's table. "So. The case's ours. We all together on that?"
"What're our options?" Sellitto asked.
"You back us up with searchers. Or you can drop out altogether. That's about all that's left. We'll take the PE now, you don't
mind."
