“There were none, no number plates. And it won’t do any good to look up gold-and-black Mercurys or white pickup trucks. I’m sure they were stolen. I will look at mug shots back in the station but that will be useless too. Still we have to go through the motions.”

Suddenly a plume of dust rose from the direction of the SW Road. A car, no, two cars were moving in fast.

The RBPF officers who were standing nearby stiffened uneasily.

Not because these cars represented a physical threat. Rhyme could see that the unmarked Ford sported red grille lights, which flashed dramatically. He wasn’t surprised that the man in the backseat was Assistant Commissioner McPherson. A second car, a marked RBPF cruiser, was behind.

They both skidded to a stop near the ambulance and McPherson climbed angrily from the car, slammed the door.

Storming toward Poitier, he said, “What has happened here?”

Rhyme explained, shouldering the blame.

The assistant commissioner glared at him then turned and raged in a low growl at his corporal, “I will not have this insubordination. You should have told me.”

Rhyme expected the young man would roll over. But he stared into his boss’s eyes.

“Sir, with all respect. I was given the Moreno homicide to handle.”

“It was your case to handle according to proper procedures. And that doesn’t include bringing an interloper into the field with you.”

“This was a lead. The sniper was here. I should have searched last week.”

“We have to see what the—”

Poitier interjected, “Venezuelan authorities have to say.”

“Do not interrupt me again, Corporal. And do not take that attitude with me.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Rhyme said, “This is an important case, Commissioner, with implications for both our countries.”

“And you, Captain Rhyme, you. Do you understand you nearly got a policeman on my force killed?”

The criminalist fell silent.

His voice flinty he added, “And yourself too. We don’t need any more dead Americans in the Bahamas. We’ve had our share.” A cool glance to his side. “You’re suspended, Corporal. There will be an inquiry that may result in your termination. At the very least, you’ll be reassigned back to Traffic.”

Dismay flooded Poitier’s face. “But—”

“And you, Captain Rhyme, you are leaving the Bahamas immediately. My officers here will escort you to the airport, along with your associates. Your belongings will be collected from your motel and given to you there. We have already called the airline. You have seats on a flight that leaves in two hours. You’ll be in custody until then. And you, Corporal, you will surrender your weapon and your identification at headquarters.”

“Yes, sir.”

But suddenly Ron Pulaski strode forward and confronted the assistant commissioner, who was easily twice his weight and several inches taller. “No,” the young patrolman said.

“I beg your pardon?”