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"Please hold."
"No, please...Wait!"
Click.
Fuck.
Five minutes later he found himself talking to the woman officer he was sure had taken his first call, though she didn't seem to remember him. Or was pretending not to. He repeated his request and this time--after a burst of inspiration--added, "I'm sorry for the urgency. It's just that the reporters keep calling. I'll have to send them directly to your office if I can't give them information myself."
He had no idea what threat this was meant to convey exactly; he was improvising.
"Reporters?" she asked dubiously.
"CNN, ABC, CBS. Fox. All of them."
"I see. Yes, sir."
But the ploy had its effect, because the next hold was for three seconds, tops.
"Poitier speaking." Deep, melodious, with a British accent and a Caribbean inflection; Rhyme knew the lilt not from having been to the islands himself but owing to his role in putting a few people from that part of the world in New York jails. The Jamaican gangs outstripped the Mafia for violence, hands down.
"Hello. This is Lincoln Rhyme with the New York Police Department." He wanted to add, Do not, under any fucking circumstances, put me on hold. But refrained.
The Bahamian cop: "Ah, yes." Cautious.
"Who'm I speaking to? Officer Poitier, did I hear?"
"Corporal Mychal Poitier."
"And you're with Crime Scene?"
"No. I'm the lead investigator in the Moreno shooting...Wait, you said you're Lincoln Rhyme. Captain Rhyme. Well."
"You've heard of me?"
"We have one of your forensics books in our library. I've read it."
Maybe this would earn him a modicum of cooperation. On the other hand, the corporal had not said whether he'd liked the book or found it helpful. The latest edition's bio page reported that Rhyme was retired, a fact that Poitier, fortunately, didn't seem to know.
Rhyme now made his pitch. Without naming Metzger or NIOS, he explained that the NYPD believed there was an American connection in the Moreno killing. "I have some questions about the shooting, about the evidence. Do you have some time now? Can we talk?"
A pause worthy of Nance Laurel. "I'm afraid not, sir. The Moreno case has been put on hold for the time being and there are--"
"I'm sorry, on hold?" An open case of a homicide that occurred a week ago? This was the time when the investigation should be at its most intense.
"That's correct, Captain."
"But why? You have a suspect in custody?"
"No, sir. First, I don't know what American connection you're speaking of; the killing was committed by members of a drug cartel from Venezuela, most likely. We're waiting to hear from authorities there before we proceed further. And I personally have had to focus on a more urgent case. A part-time student who's just gone missing, an American girl. Ah, these crimes happen some in our nation." Poitier added defensively, "But rarely. Very rarely. You know how it is, sir. A pretty student disappears and the press descends. Like vultures."
The press. Maybe that was why Rhyme finally got put through. His bluff had touched a nerve.
The corporal continued, "We have less rape than Newark, New Jersey, much less. But a missing student in the Islands is magnified like a telephoto lens. And I have to say, with all respect, your news programs are most unfair. The British press too. But now we have lost an American student and not a British one, so it will be CNN and the rest. Vultures. With all respect."
He was rambling now--to deflect, Rhyme sensed. "Corporal--"
"It's most unfair," Poitier repeated. "A student comes here from America. She comes here on holiday or--this girl--to study for a semester. And it's always our fault. They say terrible things about us."
