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He tried to push aside the prickly feeling and said evenly, "I need to discuss the case with you, Corporal."
Poitier looked around again. "I'm afraid I've told you all I can."
"I want to see the evidence reports. I want to see the crime scene itself."
"That's not practical. The scene is sealed."
"You seal crime scenes from the public, not from forensics officers."
"But you're..." A hesitation; Poitier managed not to look at his legs. "You're not an officer here, Captain Rhyme. Here you are a civilian. I'm sorry."
Pulaski said, "Let us help you with the case."
"My time is very occupied." He was happy to glance toward Pulaski, someone who was on his feet. Someone who was normal. "Occupied," Poitier repeated, turning now to a bulletin board on which was pinned a flyer: The headline was MISSING. Beneath that stark word was a picture of a smiling blonde, downloaded from Facebook, it seemed.
Rhyme said, "The student you were mentioning."
"Yes. The one you..."
The corporal had been going to add: the one you don't care about. Rhyme was sure of this.
But he'd refrained.
Because, of course, Rhyme wasn't fair game. He was weak. A snide word might shatter him beyond repair.
His face flushed.
Pulaski said, "Corporal, could we just see copies of the evidence report, the autopsies? We could look at them right here. We won't take t
hem off the premises."
Good approach, Rhyme thought.
"I'm afraid that will not be possible, Officer Pulaski." He endured another look at Rhyme.
"Then let us have a fast look at the scene."
Poitier coughed or cleared his throat. "I have to leave it intact, depending on what we hear from the Venezuelan authorities."
Rhyme played along. "And I will make sure the scene remains uncontaminated for them."
"Still, I'm sorry."
"Our case for Moreno's death is different from yours--you pointed that out the other day. But we still need certain forensics from here."
Otherwise the risk you took in calling me from the casino that night will be wasted. This was the implicit message.
Rhyme was careful not to mention any U.S. security agencies or snipers. If the Bahamians wanted Venezuelan drug runners he wasn't going to interfere with that. But he needed the goddamn evidence.
He glanced at the poster of the missing student.
She was quite attractive, her smile innocent and wide.
The reward for information was only five hundred dollars.
He whispered to Poitier, "You have a firearms tracing unit. I saw the reference on your website. At the very least, can I see their report on the bullet?"
"The unit has yet to get to the matter."
