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* Ghost used new C4 to blow up ship. Checking origin of explosive through chemical markers.
* North Korean arms dealer is source.
* Large quantity of new U.S. bills found in Ghost's cabin.
* Total approximately $120,000.
* Approx. $20,000 in used Chinese yuan found in cabin.
* List of victims, air charter details and bank deposit information. Checking name of sender in China.
* Ling Shui-bian resides in Fuzhou. Name and address sent to local police.
* Captain alive but unconscious.
* Regained consciousness, now in INS detention.
As Thom was writing on the board, Rhyme's computer beeped.
"Command, email," he snapped.
The computer accepted his gruff tone without affront and offered him the list of new messages.
"Command, cursor down. Command, double-click."
He read the message that had just come in.
"Ah," Rhyme announced. "I was right."
He explained to Sachs that the body of John Sung had in fact been found in the trunk of the red Honda that the Ghost had stolen. As Rhyme predicted, the car had been found sunk in a pond only 200 feet from Easton Beach.
So there would be one more murder count to add to the charges against Kwan Ang.
There was another message that interested him. This one was from Mel Cooper, who was back in his office at the NYPD forensics lab in Queens.
From: M. Cooper
To: L. Rhyme
Re: Results of chromatographic and spectrometric analyses of Department of Justice PERT Evidence Sample 3452-02
The official-sounding heading was in contrast to the informal message below it.
Lincoln:
We have met the dynamite and it is phony.
Dellray's butt wasn't in any danger. The perp screwed up and used dummy explosive--stuff used for training. I tried to follow up and trace it, but nobody has a database on fake bomb materials. Might be something to think about.
Rhyme laughed. Some arms dealer had scammed Fred Dellray's attacker by selling him the fake explosives. He was relieved that the agent hadn't really been at risk.
The doorbell rang and Thom went down to see who it was.
Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Two sets. He believed they belonged to Sellitto and Dellray--the cop walked with distinctive, heavy footfalls and the agent took the stairs two at a time on his long legs.
For a moment Rhyme, otherwise reclusive, was glad they were here. He'd tell them about the fake bomb. They'd all get a laugh out of it. But then he was aware of something else and an alarm bell went off inside his head. The men had stopped outside the doorway and were whispering. It was as if they were debating between themselves who should deliver bad news.
He was right about whom the steps belonged to. A moment later the rumpled cop and the lanky FBI agent pushed into the bedroom. "Hey, Linc," Sellitto said.
