Lincoln Rhyme: The Kill Room Part 54

"I don't really have anything more to say on that topic, Counselor. Take it up with State."

"Who's al-Barani Ras.h.i.+d?"

So she had at least two entries in the STO queue-Moreno's and Ras.h.i.+d's.

"I can't discuss NIOS operations with you. You don't have a clearance."

"Is he dead?"

Metzger said nothing. He kept his hazel eyes locked easily on hers.

Laurel pressed ahead, "You're positive Ras.h.i.+d is guilty?"

The Smoke boiled and cracked his skin like an eggsh.e.l.l. He whispered harshly, "Walker used me, he used NIOS."

"You let yourself be used. You heard what you wanted to about Moreno and stopped asking questions."

Smoke, plumes and plumes of Smoke now. "What's wrong, Counselor? Upset that all you ended up with was a run-of-the-mill homicide? A CEO at a defense contractor orders a couple of hits? Boring. Won't make CNN the way a federal security director's going to jail would."

She didn't rise to the argument. "And Ras.h.i.+d? No mistakes there, you're convinced?"

Metzger couldn't help but recall that Barry Shales-and he-had nearly blown two children to oblivion in Reynosa, Mexico.

CD: Not approved...

An urge to strike Laurel swelled. Or to lash out with cruel words about her short stature, wide hips, excessive makeup, her parents' bankruptcy, her failed love life-a deduction but surely accurate. Metzger's anger had inflicted only a half dozen bruises or welts over the years; his words had hurt legions. The Smoke did that. The Smoke made you inhuman.

Just leave.

He turned.

Laurel said evenly, "And what's Ras.h.i.+d's crime-saying things about America you didn't like? Asking people to question the values and the integrity of the country?...But isn't being free to ask questions like that what America's all about?"

Metzger stopped fast, turned and snapped, "Spoken like the most simple-minded, cliche-ridden of bloggers." He reseated himself in front of her. "What is it with you? Why do you resent what we do so much?"

"Because what you do is wrong. The United States is a country of laws, not men."

"'Government' of laws," he corrected. "John Adams. It's a nice-sounding phrase. But pa.r.s.e it and things aren't so simple. A government of laws. Okay. Think about that: Laws require interpretation and delegations of power, down and down the line. To people like me-who make decisions on how to implement those laws."

She fired back with: "Laws don't include ignoring due process and executing citizens arbitrarily."

"There's nothing arbitrary about what I do."

"No? You kill people you think are going to commit an offense."

"All right, Counselor. What about a policeman on the street? He sees a perp in a dark alley with what might be a gun. It seems that he's about to shoot someone. The cop is authorized to kill, right? Where's your due process there, where's your reasonable search and seizure, where's your right to confront your accuser?"

"Ah, but Moreno didn't have a gun."

"And sometimes the guy in the alley only has a cell phone. But he gets shot anyway because we've chosen to give the police the right to make judgments." He gave a deep, chill laugh. "Tell me, aren't you guilty of the same thing?"

"What do you mean?" she snapped.

"What about my due process? What about Barry Shales's?"

She frowned.

He continued, "In making the case, did you datamine me? Or Barry? Did you get cla.s.sified information from, say, the FBI? Did you somehow 'accidentally' happen to get your hands on NSA intercepts?"

An awkward hesitation. Was she blus.h.i.+ng beneath the white mask? "Every bit of evidence I present at trial can pa.s.s Fourth Amendment scrutiny."

Metzger smiled. "I'm not talking about trial. I'm talking about unwarranted gathering of information as part of an investigation."

Laurel blinked. She said nothing.

He whispered, "You see? We both interpret, we judge, we make decisions. We live in a gray world."

"You want another quotation, Shreve? Blackstone: 'Better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.' That's what my system does, makes sure the innocent don't end up as victims. Yours doesn't." She fished her keys from her battered purse. "I'm going to keep watching you."

"Then I'll look forward to seeing you in court, Counselor."

He turned and walked back to his car. He sat, calming, in the front seat, not looking back. Breathing.

Let it go.

Five minutes later he started at his phone's buzz. He noted Ruth's number on caller ID.

"Hi, there."

"Uhm, Shreve. I heard. Is it true about Spencer?"

"Afraid it is. I'll tell you more later. I don't want to talk on an open line."

"Okay. But that's not why I called. We heard from Was.h.i.+ngton."

The Wizard.

"He wanted to schedule a call with you for tomorrow afternoon."

Didn't firing squads gather at dawn?

"That's fine," he said. "Send me the details." He stretched. A joint popped. "Say, Ruth?"

"Yes?"

"What did he sound like?"

There was a pause. "He...It wasn't so good, I don't think, Shreve."

"Okay, Ruth. Thank you."

He disconnected and looked out over the busy crime scene at Spencer Boston's house. The sour chemical vapors still lingered, surrounding the Colonial home and the grounds.

Smoke...

So that was it. Whether Moreno was guilty or not was irrelevant; Was.h.i.+ngton now had plenty of reason to disband NIOS. Metzger had picked for his administrations director a whistleblower, and for his defense contractor a corrupt CEO who'd ordered people tortured and killed.

This was the end.

Metzger sighed and put the car in gear, thinking: Sorry, America. I did the best I could.

SAt.u.r.dAY, MAY 20.

VII.

MESSAGES.

CHAPTER 93.

AT NINE ON SAt.u.r.dAY MORNING Lincoln Rhyme was maneuvering through the lab and dictating the evidence report to back up the Walker trial and the Swann plea agreement.

He noted too his calendar, up on a big monitor.

Surgery Friday, May 26. Be at hospital at 9 a.m.

NO liquor after midnight. None. Not a drop.

He smiled at the second line, Thom's entry.

The town house was quiet. His aide was in the kitchen and Sachs was in her apartment in Brooklyn. She'd had bas.e.m.e.nt problems and was waiting for the contractor. She would also be seeing Nance Laurel later today-getting together for drinks and dinner.

And dish on men too...

Rhyme was pleased the women had, against all odds, become friends. Sachs didn't have many.

The sound of a doorbell echoed and Rhyme heard Thom's footfalls making for the portal. A moment later he returned with a tall figure in a brown suit, white s.h.i.+rt and green tie whose hue he couldn't begin to describe.

NYPD Captain Bill Myers. Special Services Division. Whatever that might be.

Greetings were exchanged and the man fell into an effusive tone, with Myers complimenting Rhyme on the resolution of the case.

"Never in a million years would have seen that potentiality," the captain said.

"Was surprised at how it turned out."

"I'll say. Some pretty decent deductions on your part."

The word "decent" only describes that which is socially proper or non-obscene; it doesn't mean fair or good. But you can't change a jargonist so Rhyme kept mum. He realized that silence had descended as Myers took in the gas chromatograph with an intensity that circ.u.mstances-and the equipment itself-didn't warrant.

Then the captain looked around the lab and observed that they were alone.

And Rhyme knew.

"This's about Amelia, right, Bill?"

Wis.h.i.+ng he hadn't used her first name. Neither of them was the least superst.i.tious, except in this tradition. They never referred to each other by their givens.

"Yes. Lon talked to you? About my problems with her health issues?"

"He did."

"Let me unpack it further," Myers said. "I allowed her some time to finish this case and then have her take a medical. But I'm not going that route. I read the report of the take-down in Glen Cove, when she and Officer Pulaski collared Jacob Swann. The medic's report said that her knee gave out completely after the suspect noticed she was in pain and kicked or hit it. If Officer Pulaski hadn't been there she would have been killed. And Spencer Boston too, and maybe a few of the tactical officers as they did a dynamic entry."

Rhyme said bluntly, "She took down the perp, Bill."

"She was lucky. The report said afterward she could hardly walk."

"She's fine now."

"Is she?"

No, she wasn't. Rhyme said nothing.

"It's the elephant in the room, Lincoln. n.o.body wants to talk about it but it's a problematic circ.u.mstance. She's putting herself and other people at risk. I wanted to talk to you alone about this. We huddled and conjured up a decision. I'm promoting her out of the field. She'll be a supervisor in Major Cases. And we'll rank her. Sergeant. But I know there'll be pushback from her."

Rhyme was furious. This was his Sachs the captain was talking about in the cheapest of cliches.

But he kept silent.

The captain continued, "I need you to talk her into it, Lincoln. We don't want to lose her; she's too good. But the department can't keep her if she insists on being in the field. Desking her's the only option."