The Steel Kiss

“I checked out the Baxter file. I’ve read it a thousand times, been through every word of testimony, every sentence of forensic analysis, all the detectives’ notes. Over and over. I found something that didn’t make sense.” Pulaski sat forward, and despite the fact that his cover was blown and his mission in peril—Amelia by rights should put an end to it immediately—he felt the rush of being on a hunt that wasn’t yet over. “Baxter was a criminal, yes. But he was just a rich man screwing over other rich men. At the end of the day: He was harmless. His gun was a souvenir. He didn’t have bullets in it. The gunshot residue had ambiguous sources.”

“I know all this, Ron.”

“But you don’t know about Oden.”

“Who?”

“Oden. I’m not sure who he is, black, white, age, other than that he’s got some connection with the crews in East New York. There was a reference to him in the notes of one of the detectives that ran the Baxter case. Baxter was tight with Oden. I talked to the detective, and he never followed up on Oden because Baxter was killed, and the case was dropped. The gang unit and Narcotics haven’t heard the name. He’s a mystery man. But I asked on the street and at least two people said they’d heard about him. He’s connected with some new strain of drugs. Called Catch. You ever hear of it?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe he was smuggling it in from Canada or Mexico. Maybe financing. Maybe even fabricating it. I was thinking that might be the reason he was killed. It wasn’t a random prison fight. He was targeted because he knew too much about this stuff. Anyway, I’ve been working undercover…  No, not sanctioned, just on my own. I told people I needed this stuff Oden was making. I was claiming my head injury was really bad.” He felt he was blushing. “God’ll get me for that. But I’ve got the scar. People’d believe I needed this stuff, whatever it was.”

“And?”

“My point was to prove to Lincoln that Baxter wasn’t innocent at all. He was working with Oden, financing the fabrication or importing of Catch. That maybe Baxter did use his gun. That people were dying because of the shit he was involved in.” Pulaski shook his head. “And Lincoln would realize that he didn’t screw up so bad—and he’d un-quit.”

“Why—?”

“—didn’t I tell anyone, why make up the story? What would you have said? To give it up, right? An unauthorized undercover op, using my own money to score drugs—”

“To what?”

“Only once. I bought some Oxy. I dumped it in the sewer five minutes later. But I needed to make the buy. I had to build some street cred. I dropped a weapons charge to get some banger to vouch for me. I’m walking line here, Amelia.”

He looked at the Gutiérrez file. Stupid. Thinking: Why didn’t I check it?

“I’m close, I’m really close. I paid two thousand bucks for a lead to this Oden. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to work out.”

“You know what Lincoln would say about feelings.”

“Has he said anything, now he’s helping on Unsub Forty, getting back to work for the NYPD?”

“No. He told me nothing’s changed.” She grimaced. “He’s working with us mostly to make a civil case for Sandy Frommer.”

Pulaski’s own face remained stony. “I wish you hadn’t found out about this, Amelia. But now you know. Only I’m not stopping. I’ll tell you right up front. I’ve got to play this out. I’m not letting him retire without a fight.”

“East New York, that’s where this Oden hangs?”

“And Brownsville and Bed-Stuy.”

“The most dangerous parts of the city.”

“Gramercy Park is just as dangerous if that’s where you get shot.”

She smiled. “I can’t talk you out of this?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll forget all about it on one condition. You don’t agree, I’ll report you and get your ass suspended for a month.”

“What condition?”

“I don’t want you on this alone. You go to meet Oden, I want somebody with you. Anybody you know who can back you up?”

Pulaski thought for a moment. “I’ve got a name in mind.”

* * *

Lincoln Rhyme dialed Sachs’s mobile.

No response. He’d called twice already this morning, once early—at 6 a.m. She hadn’t picked up then either.

He was in the lab with Juliette Archer and Mel Cooper. The hour was early but they were already looking over the evidence chart and kicking ideas back and forth like players in a soccer game. A simile Rhyme had used coyly, given the sedentary nature of two of the participants.

Cooper said, “Got something here.”

Rhyme wheeled over to him, his chair nearly colliding with Archer’s.

“Sorry.” He looked at the screen.

“It’s the varnish that Amelia found at one of the earlier scenes. It just came in from the bureau’s database.”

Braden Manufacturing, Rich-Cote.

“Took their sweet time.”

Cooper continued, “Used in fine furniture making. Not for floors or general carpentry. Expensive.”

“Sold in how many stores?” Archer asked.

The appropriate question.