Part 20 (1/2)
Hands were shaken, this time with less uncertainty. But Poitier looked Thom up and down. Perhaps the concept of ”caregiver” was new to him.
The corporal gazed about him and found several fellow officers frozen in different att.i.tudes, like children playing the game of statue, as they stared.
Mychal Poitier's attention returned at once to the wheelchair and Rhyme's insensate legs. The slow movements of the right arm seemed to rivet him the most, though. Finally, Poitier, using all his willpower, forced himself to stare into Rhyme's eyes.
The criminalist found himself at first irritated at this reaction but then he felt a sensation he hadn't experienced for some time: He was ashamed. Actually ashamed of his condition. He'd hoped the sense would morph into anger but it didn't. He felt diminished, weakened.
Poitier's dismayed look had burned him.
Ashamed...
He tried to push aside the p.r.i.c.kly 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 them 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 G.o.dd.a.m.n 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.”
”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 a.s.sistant 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.”