The Deliveryman (Lincoln Rhyme 11.50)

His eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Birds. All those birds. There, yeah."

Morales's wife, Connie, pointed out, "And at three thirty he dropped off something in Chinatown. You know Chinatown."

"Yeah. I 'member that."

"What delivery did he make in between? Around three?"

"Nothing. Didn't drop nothing off."

Morales's face revealed no emotion. He studied the boy closely. He wondered if he was lying and if Coelho should go to work on him. "But it wouldn't take an hour to get from the river to Chinatown. We're sure he made a delivery."

"No." Then stridently: "He didn't."

Morales sighed. "So he didn't stop anywhere?"

"Sure, we stopped. But he didn't deliver anything. You asked me if he delivered something and he didn't."

Morales laughed. The kid was right. He'd been asking the wrong question. "Where did he stop?"

"The church."

"Church?"

"Yeah. After the place with all the birds we drove for a while and he went into this church and then we left and drove to Chinatown."

"Church? Was your dad religious?" Coelho asked.

"Huh?" The boy was frowning.

"Did he go to church Sundays, to mass?"

"No. That's why I thought it was, you know, weird."

"Can you show us where the church is?"

"I guess. Only, can I get my paper and pencils?"

"We don't have time to worry about that now," Coelho snapped.

"My daddy gave them to me," the boy said defiantly.

Morales smiled. "Sure, son." And Connie climbed the stairs to fetch the set.

Getting away from the building without being seen was the hardest part: Up to the roof, over three buildings then down again.

Morales was worried that the boy would freak out at the heights, and cry out in fear, even if they weren't near the edge. But, no, he was fine, though he was upset when they told him that Officer Lamont, the bodyguard, was actually working for the men who'd killed his father and they couldn't trust him.

Morales was feeling a little bad that he'd have to kill the kid as soon as they got their hands on the delivery. That was one hit he wouldn't do himself. Stan Coelho would. The ATF agent would ice anyone, any age, any sex. He suspected the man was psy

cho. Though that condition had come in helpful from time to time.

Once on the street, and nowhere near the surveilling cop, the five of them slipped into Connie's Lexis SUV and headed off, downtown.

Javier told them that he could not remember exactly where the church was, but once they arrived in the vicinity of Chinatown and started driving in lazy circles it took only ten minutes for the boy to sit up and cry out, "There!" He pointed excitedly to St. Timothy's, a grimy gothic Catholic church near the Bowery.

Ortiz and Connie smiled, but Morales shook his head as he eyed the place carefully. It was small and without a back entrance or loading dock. There was a service door but in the front; you reached it via the main sidewalk, which was crowded now and would have been just as congested when Rinaldo had been here, around three yesterday afternoon.

Morales muttered, "How could he get two tons of...product through the door and not be seen?"