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"And voluptuous," Tash Farada interjected.
Sachs ignored him and gave the detective the address.
Sellitto said, "I got that canvass team together--from Myers's division. I'll get 'em started on the building. See if anybody's heard of a Lydia."
After they disconnected she asked Farada, "Where did they go from here?"
"Downtown. Wall Street."
"Let's go."
The man eased the Town Car into traffic. Speeding up, the big, spongy Lincoln wove through the congested traffic. If she had to be a prisoner in the passenger seat, at least she could take comfort that the driver wasn't a plodder. She'd rather have a fender-bender than a hesitant ride. And in her opinion faster was safer.
When you move...
As they made their way downtown she asked, "Did you hear what they talked about, Mr. Moreno and Lydia?"
"Yes, yes. But it wasn't what I thought it would be, about her job, so to speak."
Voluptuous...
"He talked much about politics. Lecturing in a way. Lydia, she was polite and asked questions but they were the questions you ask at a wedding or funeral when you're a stranger. Questions you don't care about the answers to. Small talk."
Sachs persisted. "Tell me what he said."
"Well, I remember he was angry with America. This I found troubling, offensive really. Perhaps he thought he could say these things in front of me because of my accent and I am of Middle Eastern descent. As if we had something in common. Now, I cried when the Trade Towers came down. I lost clients that day, who were my friends too. I love this country as a brother. Sometimes you are angry at your brother. Do you have?"
He sped around a bus and two taxis.
"No, I'm an only child." Trying to be patient.
"Well, at times you are angry with your brother but then you make up and all is well. That makes your love real. Because after all you're joined by blood, forever. But Mr. Moreno wasn't willing to forgive the country for what it had done to him."
"Done to him?"
"Yes, do you know that story?"
"No," Sachs said, turning toward him. "Please tell me."
CHAPTER 18
I N ALL ENDEAVORS MISTAKES HAPPEN.
You can't let them affect you emotionally.
You try to whip cream without chilling the bowl and beaters and you're going to end up with butter.
You and the tech department datamine the name of a client's regular driver at a limo company and it turns out he was sick the one day you need to ask him about. And even removing a few careful strips of flesh couldn't get the man lying in front of you to give up the substitute's name. Which meant that he didn't know.
Silverskin...
Jacob Swann reflected that he should have known this, should have prepared, and that gave him a dose of humble. You can't make assumptions. The first rule to any good meal is prep. Get all the work done ahead of time, all the chopping, all the measuring, all the stock reduction.
Everything.
Only then do you assemble, cook and finish.
He now cleaned up quickly in Vlad Nikolov's house, reflecting that the hour wasn't a complete waste of time--refining your skills never is. Besides, Nikolov might have known something helpful to the police (though as it turned out, he hadn't). Since he had people like that ADA Nance Laurel and the whistleblower to take care of, he wanted to keep Vlad Nikolov's corpse a secret for as long as possible. He wrapped the oozing body in a dozen towels and then in garbage bags, taping them shut. He dragged the corpse to the basement, thud thud thud on the stairs, and eased it into a supply room. The odor wouldn't begin to escape for a week or so.
