The Deliveryman (Lincoln Rhyme 11.50)

Sachs continued, "Came into the area by train. New Jersey. Coelho got a tip that it was being transferred at the armory but that was today. Rinaldo was long gone. They don't have any other leads."

"What was the source?"

"He said they think it came from Mexico or Canada, but intel there hasn't been helpful."

"This agent. Is he--"

"Legit. Yes." Sachs was at that moment online with the secure database, reading. Coelho was in good standing. She looked over at Rhyme. "His boss, the regional agent in charge, gave him the orders to find the shipment. Or heads will roll." She laughed. "This Coelho, he's quite a piece of work. Right out of the movies. He said his boss has a hard-on the size of Maine to find the shipment. Coelho said, 'Why Maine? I would've picked Texas.' He seemed genuinely perplexed."

"Any thoughts on who killed Rinaldo?"

"No. All ATF cares about is the shipment."

It was true, Rhyme reflected, that the victim in the murder case, normally the hub of an investigation, was presently almost an afterthought.

"So they don't have anything more than we do?"

"No. He's been in touch with Homeland Security, FBI, CIA. There's no terrorist connection that anybody knows about. ATF thinks it's a for-profit thing. He said the BK gangs might be looking for firepower like this."

Rhyme sighed. "Cop-killing rounds, big ones, two-twenty-threes. Fully silenced. Just what we need on the street."

"I kept the rounds I dug up, but Coelho took some pictures. He

's going to check their database and see what he can find."

Mel Cooper approached. "Hope they have better luck than I do. They're homemade. No known brand. Though built to high tolerances. Professional. Oh, and no prints. Whoever loaded them into the mag wore gloves."

Rhyme leaned his head back against the chair's rest. "And the evidence doesn't show any indication of where Rinaldo went after the transfer at the armory. Somehow we'll have to reconstruct his whereabouts during the day."

"You're forgetting," she said.

He looked at the evidence.

"Not that," she chided. "Rinaldo wasn't alone, remember. At least for a portion of the day."

"Oh, the boy."

"Javier."

"Javier." Rhyme grimaced. "An eight-year-old, though? Who's undoubtedly traumatized? What would he know?"

"At least he won't have a motive to lie."

He conceded that. "Well, ask him."

Sachs called the foster couple. Sally Abbott answered the phone.

"It's Amelia Sachs. The detective that brought Javier over to you."

"Sure. Yes. How are you?"

"Fine. You're on speaker with my partner here. How's Javier doing?"

Rhyme lifted his eyebrow, impatiently. Sachs ignored him.

"Quiet. Doesn't want to talk. But adjusting pretty well, all things considered." She was speaking softly and Sachs guessed that Javier wasn't far away. "He's drawing up a storm with those colored pencils of his and he and Peter watched some soccer."

Rhyme cleared his throat.