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"They're waiting for the Venezuelan authorities."
"That's right."
Rhyme inhaled deeply, trying to remain calm. "Please--"
"Corporal Poitier." A voice cut through the lobby.
A man in a khaki uniform stood in an open doorway, a dim corridor beyond. His dark face--both in complexion and expression--was staring toward the four men beside the wall of service.
"Corporal Poitier," he repeated in a stern voice.
The officer turned. He blinked. "Yes, sir."
A pause. "When you have finished your business there, I need your presence in my office."
Rhyme deduced: The stern man would be the RBPF's version of Captain Bill Myers.
"Yes, sir."
The young officer turned back, shaken. "That's Assistant Commissioner McPherson. He is in charge of all of New Providence. Come, you must leave now. I will see you to your car."
As he escorted them out, Poitier paused awkwardly to open the door for Rhyme and, once again, avoided looking at the disturbing sight of a man immobile.
Rhyme motored outside. Thom and Pulaski were in the rear. They headed back to the van.
Poitier whispered, "Captain, I went to a great risk to give you the information I did--about the phone call, about the man at the South Cove Inn. I had hoped you'd follow up on it in the United States. Not here."
"And I appreciate what you told me. But it wasn't enough. We need the evidence."
"That's not possible. I asked you not to come. I'm sorry. I can't help." The slim young officer looked away, back toward the front lobby door, as if his boss was still observing. Poitier was furious, Rhyme could see. He wanted to rage. But the officer's only reaction was a figurative pat on the head.
God bless you...
"There is nothing for you here, sir. Enjoy a day or two, some restaurants. I don't imagine you get out..." He braked his words to a halt. Then changed tack. "You are probably so busy at your job you don't get a chance to enjoy yourself. There are some good restaurants down by the docks. For the tourists."
Where the facilities are disabled-accessible because of the elderly passengers from the cruise ships.
Rhyme persisted, "I offered to meet you elsewhere. But you declined."
"I didn't think you would actually come."
Rhyme stopped. He said to Thom and Pulaski. "I'd like a word with the corporal in private."
The two men wandered back toward the van.
Poitier's eyes swept the criminalist's legs and body once more. He began, "I wish--"
"Corporal," Rhyme spat out, "don't play these fucking games with me." The shame had finally solidified into the ice of anger.
The officer blinked in shock.
"You gave me a couple of leads that don't mean shit without the forensics to back them up. They're useless. You might as well've saved your goddamn phone card money."
"I was trying to help you," he said evenly.
"You were trying to purge your guilt."
"My--?"
