"What's he look like?"
"In his early, mid-thirties, I guess. Not tall. But he was strong. Man, he had muscles. Crew-cut black hair. Round face. Look, I'll do one of those drawings . . . The police sketch thing."
"Did he give you a name? Anything? Where he's from?"
"I don't know. He has kind of a southern accent. Oh, and one thing--he said he wears gloves all the time because he's got a record."
Rhyme asked, "Where and for what?"
"I don't know where. But it's for manslaughter. He said he killed this guy in his town. When he was a teenager."
"What else?" Dellray barked.
"Look," Jodie said, crossing his arms and looking up at the agent, "I've done some bad shit but I've never hurt anybody in my life. This guy kidnaps me and he's got all these guns and is one crazy fucked-up guy and I was scared to death. I think you woulda done the same thing I did. So I'm not putting up with this crap anymore. You want to arrest me, do it and, like, take me to detention. But I'm not gonna say anything else. Okay?"
Dellray's gangly face suddenly broke into a grin. "Well, the rock cracks."
Amelia Sachs appeared in the doorway and she walked in, glancing at Jodie.
"Tell them!" he said. "I didn't hurt you. Tell 'em."
She looked at him the way you'd look at a wad of used chewing gum. "He was going to brain me with a Louisville Slugger."
"Not so, not so!"
"You okay, Sachs?"
"Another bruise is all. On my back. Bookends."
Sellitto, Sachs, and Dellray huddled with Rhyme, who told Sachs what Jodie'd reported.
The detective asked Rhyme in a whisper, "We believe him?"
"Little skel," Dellray m
uttered. "But I gotta say I think he's telling the God-ugly truth."
Sachs nodded too. "I guess. But I think we have to keep him on a tight leash, whatever we do."
Sellitto agreed. "Oh, we'll keep him close."
Rhyme reluctantly agreed too. It seemed impossible to get ahead of the Dancer without this man's help. He'd been adamant about keeping Percey and Hale in the safe house but in fact he hadn't known that the Dancer was going for a transport hit. He was only leaning toward that conclusion. He might easily have decided to move Percey and Hale and they might have been killed as they drove to the new safe house.
The tension gripped his jaw.
"How do you think we should handle it, Lincoln?" Sellitto asked.
This was tactical, not evidentiary. Rhyme looked at Dellray, who tugged his unlit cigarette out from behind his ear and smelled it for a moment. He finally said, "Have the mutt make the call and try to get whatever dope he can from the Dancer. We'll set up a decoy car, send the Dancer after it. Have it full of our folks. Stop it fast, sandwich him in with a couple unmarkeds, and take him down."
Rhyme nodded reluctantly. He knew how dangerous a tactical assault on a city street would be. "Can we get him out of midtown?"
"We could lead him over to the East River," Sellitto suggested. "There's plenty of room there for a takedown. Some of those old parking lots. We could make it look like we're transferring them to another van. Doin' a round-robin."
They agreed this would be the least dangerous approach.
Sellitto nodded toward Jodie, whispered, "He's diming the Coffin Dancer . . . what're we gonna give him? Gotta be good to make it worth his while."
"Waive conspiracy and aiding and abetting," Rhyme said. "Give him some money."