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"According to his time sheets, no. He's taken a few days' medical--I guess for the cancer treatment--but he hasn't been on a vacation since last year."
"Could you check with his fellow employees and see if they know about places he goes, friends outside of the company, any groups he's in?"
"Yessir."
Thinking of the Greek food connection, Rhyme asked, "And anybody he goes to lunch with regularly."
"Yessir."
"Mr. Wahl, what about Galt's next of kin?" McDaniel asked.
Wahl reported that Galt's father was dead but his mother and a sister lived in Missouri. He recited the names, addresses and phone numbers.
Rhyme--and McDaniel too--could think of nothing else to ask the security chief. The criminalist thanked him and they disconnected.
McDaniel instructed his underling to contact the FBI's resident agency in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, and have them start surveillance.
"Probable cause to get a tap?" the Kid asked.
"Doubt it. But push for one. Get a pen register, at least."
"I'm on it."
"Rhyme," Sachs called.
He looked up at the screen, which revealed the fruits of Sachs's frantic keyboarding. The DMV picture showed a pale man, gazing unsmiling at the camera. He was blond, hair trimmed short. About an inch long.
"So," McDaniel said, "we've got a suspect. Good job, Lincoln."
"We'll congratulate ourselves when he's in custody."
He then squinted at the DMV information, which confirmed the address. "His place is on the Lower East Side? . . . Not many colleges or museums there. I think the volcanic ash must've come from the place he's going to attack. Maybe the next target. And he'd want a public location, lots of people."
Lots of victims . . .
A glance at the clock. It was ten-thirty.
"Mel, check again with your geology person at HQ. We need to move!"
"I'm on it."
McDaniel said, "I'll call a magistrate for a warrant and get a tac team ready to hit Galt's place."
Rhyme nodded and
called Sellitto, still en route to city hall.
The detective's voice rattled from the speaker, "I've just blown through about five hundred traffic lights, Linc. I'm thinking if this asshole shuts down the grid and the lights go, we're fucked. No way to--"
Rhyme cut him off. "Lon, listen, we've got a name. Raymond Galt. He's a troubleman at Algonquin. Not absolute but it looks likely. Mel's going to email you the particulars."
Cooper, juggling the phone call about the lava search, began typing the relevant information about the suspect into a text.
"I'll get ESU down there now," Sellitto called.
"We're sending our tac team," McDaniel said quickly.
Like schoolkids, Rhyme thought. "Whoever it is, I don't think matters. But the point is now."
