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Client of SSD (?)
Awaiting list from Sterling
UNSUB recruited by Andrew Sterling (?)
Sachs looked at her watch. "Ron, Mameda should be in by now. Could you go back and talk to him and Shraeder? See where they were yesterday at the time of the Weinburg murder. And Sterling's assistant should have the client list ready. If not, perch in his office until he gets it. Look important. Better yet, look impatient."
"Go back to SSD?"
"Right."
For some reason, he didn't want to, Rhyme could see.
"Sure. Just let me call Jenny and check up on things at home." He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.
Rhyme deduced from part of the conversation that he was talking to his young son, and then, sounding even more childish, presumably the baby girl. The criminalist tuned it out.
It was then that his own phone rang; 44 was the first number on caller ID.
Ah, good.
"Command, answer phone."
"Detective Rhyme?"
"Inspector Longhurst."
"I know you're working on that other case of yours but I thought you might like an update."
"Of course. Please, go ahead. How's the Reverend Goodlight?"
"He's fine, if a bit scared. He's insisting that no new security people or officers come into the safe house. He only trusts the ones who've been with him for weeks."
"Hardly blame him."
"I have a man screening everyone who gets close. Former SAS chap. They're the best in the business. . . . Now, we went through the Oldham safe house from top to bottom. Wanted to share with you what we found. Traces of copper and lead, consistent with bullets that had been milled or shaved. A few grains of gunpowder. And a few very small traces of mercury. My ballistics expert says he might be making a dumdum bullet."
"Yes, that's right. Liquid mercury's poured into the core. Causes hideous damage."
"They also found some grease used in lubricating the receivers of rifles. And there were traces of hair bleach in the sink. And several dark gray fibers--cotton, quite thick with laundry starch. Our databases suggest they match the fabric in uniforms."
"Do you think that the evidence was planted?"
"Our forensics people say not. The traces were quite minuscule."
Blond, sniper, uniform . . .
"Now, one other incident set off alarms here: an attempted breakin at an NGO near Piccadilly--that's a nongovernmental organization. A nonprofit. The office was the East African Relief Agency, Reverend Goodlight's outfit. Guards came by and the culprit fled. He threw away his lock pick down the sewer. But we had a stroke of luck. Fellow on the street saw where. Well, to summarize, our people found it and discovered some soil on the tool. It contained a type of hop that's grown exclusively in Warwickshire. This hop had been processed for use in making bitter."
"Bitter? Like beer?"
"Ale, yes. Now it so happens that we have a database of alcoholic drinks here at the Met. And their ingredients."
Just like mine, he reflected. "You do?"
"Put that together myself," she said.
"Excellent. And?"
