"Not much. Damn, not much at all."
Then Rhyme blinked. Another pounding on the door. Thom went to answer it. Mel Cooper moved away from the whiteboard and his hand slipped to the thin pistol on his hip.
But the visitor wasn't 522. It was an inspector with the NYPD, Herbert Glenn. A middle-aged man, with impressive posture, Rhyme observed. His suit was cheap but the shoes were polished to perfection. Several other voices sounded in the hallway, behind.
After introductions, Glenn said, "I'm afraid I have to talk to you about an officer you work with."
Sellitto? Or Sachs? What had happened?
Glenn said evenly, "His name is Ron Pulaski. You do work with him, don't you?"
Oh, no.
The rookie . . .
Pulaski dead, and his wife in the bureaucratic hell of detention with her baby. What would she do?
"Tell me what happened!"
Glenn glanced behind him and gestured two other men into the room, a gray-haired man in a dark suit and a younger, shorter one, dressed similarly, but with a large bandage on his nose. The inspector introduced Samuel Brockton and Mark Whitcomb, employees of SSD. Brockton, Rhyme noted, was on the suspect list, though apparently he had an alibi for the rape/murder. Whitcomb, it turned out, was his assistant in the Compliance Department.
"Tell me about Pulaski!"
Inspector Glenn continued. "I'm afraid--" His phone rang and he took the call. Glenn glanced at Brockton and Whitcomb as he spoke in hushed tones. Finally he disconnected.
"Tell me what's happened to Ron Pulaski. I want to know now!"
The doorbell rang and Thom and Mel Cooper ushered more people into Rhyme's lab. One was a burly man with an FBI agent identification badge around his neck and the other was Ron Pulaski, who was in handcuffs.
Brockton pointed to a chair and the FBI agent deposited the young officer there. Pulaski was obviously shaken, and dusty and rumpled, flecked with blood, but otherwise unhurt, it seemed. Whitcomb too sat and gingerly touched his nose. He didn't look at anyone.
Samuel Brockton showed him his ID. "I'm an agent with the Compliance Division of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. Mark's my assistant. Your officer attacked a federal agent."
"Who was threatening me at gunpoint without identifying himself. After he'd--"
Compliance Division? Rhyme had never heard of it. But within the complex warren of Homeland Security, organizations came and went like unsuccessful Detroit cars.
"I thought you were with SSD?"
"We have offices at SSD but we're federal government employees."
And what the hell had Pulaski been up to? Relief now ebbing, while irritation flowed.
The rookie started to continue but Brockton silenced him. Rhyme, though, said sternly to the gray-suited man, "No, let him talk."
Brockton debated. His eyes revealed a patient confidence that suggested Pulaski, or anyone else, could say whatever he wanted and it wouldn't affect Brockton in the least. He nodded.
The rookie told Rhyme about meeting Whitcomb, in hopes of getting Jenny released from INS detention. The man asked him to sabotage the 522 investigation, then pulled a gun and threatened him when he refused. Pulaski had struck Whitcomb in the face with his backup gun and they'd fought.
Rhyme snapped to Brockton and Glenn, "Why're you interfering with our case?"
Brockton now seemed to notice that Rhyme was disabled, then disregarded the fact immediately. He said in a calm baritone, "We tried it the subtle way. If Officer Pulaski had agreed we wouldn't have to crack the whip. . . . This case has caused a lot of headaches for a lot of people. I was supposed to be meeting with Congress and Justice all week. Had to cancel everything and hightail it back up here to see what the hell was going on. . . . All right, this is off the record. Everybody?"
Rhyme muttered agreement, and Cooper and Pulaski concurred.
"The Compliance Division does threat analysis and provides security to private companies that might be targets of terrorists. Big players in the country's infrastructure. Oil companies, airlines, banks. Data miners, like SSD. We have agents on site."
Sachs had said Brockton spent a lot of time in Washington. That explained why.