He identified himself and gave instructions to move Duncan to a more secure cell.

The jailer said nothing. Rhyme assumed this was because he didn’t want to take orders from a civilian.

The tedium of politics . . .

He grimaced then glanced at Sachs, meaning that she should authorize the transfer. It was then that the real reason for the supervisor’s silence became clear. “Well, Detective Rhyme,” the man said uneasily, “he was only here for a few minutes. We never even booked him.”

“What?”

“The prosecutor, he cut some deal or another, and released Duncan last night. I thought you knew.”

Chapter 35

Lon Sellitto was back in Rhyme’s lab, pacing angrily.

Duncan’s lawyer, it seemed, had met with the assistant district attorney and in exchange for an affidavit admitting guilt, the payment of $100,000 for misuse of police and fire resources, and a written guarantee to testify against Baker, all the criminal charges were dropped, subject to being reinstated if he reneged on the appearance in court as a witness against Baker. He’d never even been printed or booked.

The big, rumpled detective stared at the speakerphone, glowering, hands on his hips, as if the unit itself were the incompetent fool who’d released a potential killer.

The defensiveness in the prosecutor’s voice was clear. “It was the only way he’d cooperate,” the man said. “He was represented by a lawyer from Reed, Prince. He surrendered his passport. It was all legit. He’s agreed not to leave the jurisdiction until Baker’s trial. I’ve got him in a hotel in the city, with an officer guarding him. He’s not going anywhere. What’s the big deal? I’ve done this a hundred times.”

“What about Westchester?” Rhyme called into the speakerphone. “The stolen corpse?”

“They agreed not to prosecute. I said we’d help them out on a few other cases they needed our cooperation for.”

The prosecutor would see this as a gold ring in his career; bringing down a gang of corrupt cops would catapult him to stardom.

Rhyme shook his head, livid. Incompetence and selfish ambition infuriated him. It’s hard enough to do this job without interference from politicians. Why the hell hadn’t anybody called him first, before releasing Duncan? Even before Kathryn Dance’s opinion about the interview tape, there were too many unanswered questions to release the man.

Sellitto barked, “Where is he?”

“Anyway, what proof—?”

“Where the fuck is he?” Sellitto raged.

The prosecutor hesitated and gave them the name of a hotel in Midtown and the mobile number of the officer guarding him.

“I’m on it.” Cooper dialed the number.

Sellitto continued. “And who was his lawyer?”

The assistant district attorney gave them this name too. The nervous voice said, “I really don’t see what all the fuss—”

Sellitto hung up. He looked at Dance. “I’m about to push some serious buttons. You know what I’m saying?”

She nodded. “We’ve got fan-hitting shit out in California too. But I’m comfortable with my opinion. Do whatever you can to find him. I mean, everything. I’ll give that same opinion to whoever you want me to. Chief of department, mayor, governor.”