“When I first saw what you sent, I assumed that’s ’cause it was a toy. Or a 3D-printed model that guys paint and put on their wall. You don’t need a screw if it’s a model, you know? You can just put a dab of glue there.”

“So it’s a toy?” Remy confirmed.

“Well, you may know this already. There ain’t no 3D-printed assault weapons that work more than two or three minutes before falling apart. That’s the edge of 3D technology right now. AKs that fall apart. That’s what these 3D printers are all trying to make.”

Remy and I had discussed this on the drive over. That 3D gun printing may be part of this story.

“So sniper rifles are well beyond anything in process?” she asked.

Chester leaned in closer. He smelled like kerosene. “That’s the going knowledge,” he said.

“What about the other piece?” I asked. “The box?”

Chester walked to the table at the far side of the room. “That piece had a pin inserted to hold things in place,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind. I took it out so I could look inside.”

I stared at a number of tiny parts laid out. Whitish, unstained plastic pieces. One circle looked like a ball bearing. Another was the metal flange we’d seen sticking out. Also a tiny plastic clip.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I said, swinging over a magnifying arm from nearby.

Chester was nodding, and his face had grown serious. “So you see now,” he said.

“What?” my partner asked.

“This box has a half-dozen discrete parts inside, Rem,” I said. “You wouldn’t make those if this was just a model or a toy. Models are empty inside. You don’t need the guts of something to hang it on your wall or put in a case.”

I exhaled, shaking my head.

Because suddenly I realized why all these bodies were piling up. I also knew what had been in that case on the back seat of the Chevy Caprice.

This crime wasn’t about drugs. And this wasn’t a plastic model of a gun or some toy.

“You’re saying it might work,” I whispered.

Chester’s eyes met mine, and he held his hand out, warning me. “So far all we got are two pieces, Paul.”

Remy swiveled the magnifying arm her way, glancing from the tiny pieces to Chester. “I thought you just said the edge of the technology was assault rifles. That these 3D makers couldn’t even get the assault rifles right.”

“I said that was the going knowledge.” Chester ran his hands through his curly hair. “So I called up a friend who builds models. I mean really intricate shit. Most of it 3D-printed.”

“He looked at the two parts?” Remy asked.

“Five minutes before you got here.”

“What’d he say?”

“I told him you were coming, and he took off. Doesn’t like cops.”

I walked over to one of the monitors and saw a man, sitting on the edge of a lowered, black pickup truck, two parking spots down from my Silverado. He wore a big coat, but even in black and white, I could see he was bone thin.