“Sure,” I said, staring at the bag of filaments. “Someone put part of this sniper rifle together. But they had to sand a little paint off some pieces to make it work.”

“’Xactly,” Wolf said.

“But tell me something, Wolf,” I said. “Knowing this rifle will fall apart—”

“And with a high-velocity rifle,” Chester said, “it probably will after one or two shots.”

“Then who the hell would buy it?” I asked.

“Someone like him.” Wolf pointed at Chester.

We all looked at my friend since third grade. “Hey, man.” Chester held up his hands. “Okay. Sure, there’ll be a market for this, and I’d be interested.”

“You mean a collector?” I asked Wolf.

“Sure.”

“Disregard a guy like that,” I said. “I don’t care about someone who has a room like this to show off to their friends. Who else wants one?”

“Someone who only needs to shoot once,” Wolf said.

“Meaning what?” Remy asked.

“Someone principled,” Wolf said. “And angry. A cause in mind.”

I squinted at Wolf.

“A guy who buys this,” Wolf said, “he wants to pull a trigger from a half mile away and kill someone. Then take his time packing up and go home to his family. Tuck his kids in bed. Like nothing happened.”

“Why not just get a gun like that one?” Remy asked. Pointing at Chester’s real M24 rifle.

“That might fall under the category of making a statement,” Wolf said. “Lately the bullets are even different in 3D guns. So when cops like you find a body—you’re gonna know.” Wolf made a gun with his hand. “Pow, I got you with a ghost gun.”

I swallowed.

“And if he’s real careful,” Wolf added, “he’ll melt the gun so it never existed. ’Cause some dude in Britain figured out how to trace 3D guns using plastic polymers. So the non-traceable thing—that just got harder.”

A synapse in my brain fired.

I took out my case notebook and paged backward, to my notes on the Chevy Caprice.

Carlos had told Remy that there was a ring in the shape of a semicircle on the trunk carpet. A mark where something had eaten away at the fabric of the trunk.

“So if I sold you this gun,” I said to Wolf, “but also included a vat of acid, that’s a good pairing, right?”

“For sure,” Wolf said. “Drop the gun in that after and go home to the wife. Poof goes the proof.”

I nodded, seeing the story from start to finish. Then I told Wolf his warrant was clear.

31

It was chilling to hear Wolf describe it, but a story line was emerging. Someone had engineered plans to make a 3D-printed sniper rifle that was untraceable. Unregistered. And disposable.

A prototype was made, most likely for a one-time use.

I stepped outside while Remy went back through the details with Wolf and Chester. Meanwhile, I called Abe and asked him to double the canvass around the Homewood Suites. To trace anywhere that the old assassin might have gone.