“No, it’s easy. He can work backward from the cell base stations and then interpolate the signal data from adjacent towers. The sniper will’ve thrown the phone out by now but the records should be able to—”

“Lincoln.”

“What?”

“It’s not prepaid and it’s still active.”

Rhyme was speechless for a moment. This was unbelievably good luck.

“And are you ready for this?”

Words returned. “Rookie! Get to the point!”

“It’s registered in the name of Don Bruns.”

“Our sniper.”

“Exactly. He used a Social Security number on the phone account and gave an address.”

“Where?”

“PO box in Brooklyn. Set up by a shell corporation in Delaware. And the social’s fake.”

“But we’ve got the phone. Start Rodney scanning for usage and location. We can’t get a Title Three at this point, but see if Lon or somebody can charm a magistrate into approving a five-second listen-in for a voiceprint.”

This would allow them to compare the vocal pattern with the .wav file the whistleblower had sent and confirm that it was, in fact, the sniper, who was presently using the phone.

“And have Fred Dellray look into who’s behind the company.”

“I will. Now, a couple other things.”

Couple of other things. But Rhyme refrained. He’d beaten the kid up enough for one day.

“The reporter, de la Rua? He didn’t leave anything here at the inn. He came to the interview with a bag or briefcase but they’re sure the police took it with them, along with the bodies.”

He wondered if Poitier—if he actually showed up and was in a cooperative mood—would give them access to those items.

“I’m still waiting to talk to the maid about the American who was here the day before the shooting. She gets in in a half hour.”

“A competent job, Pulaski. Now, are you being cautious? Any sign of that Mercury with our dope-smoking surveillers?”

“No, and I’ve been looking. How about with you?…Oh, wait. If you asked me, that means you gave ’em the slip.”

Rhyme smiled. The kid was learning.

Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

SO LYDIA’S NOT A PROSTITUTE,” Amelia Sachs said.

“Nope,” Lon Sellitto replied, “she’s an interpreter.”

“Translating wasn’t a cover for being a call girl? You’re sure?”

“Positive. She’s legit. Been a commercial interpreter for ten years, works for big companies and law firms. And, I still checked: no rap sheet—city, state or FBI, NCIC. Looks like Moreno had used her before.”

Sachs gave a brief, cynical laugh. “I was making assumptions. Escort service, terrorist. Brother. If she’s legitimate, Moreno wouldn’t have used her at any illegal meetings but odds are she’ll know something helpful. Probably she’d have a lot of information about him.”

“She’d have to,” Sellitto agreed.