“How long ago?”
“I don’t know, three, four weeks, I guess.”
“How’d he shoot with it?”
“Sweet, just like with everything else.”
“Jimmy, let me ask you something entirely off the record.”
Jimmy’s expression didn’t change, and he said nothing.
“If Carlos wanted a silencer made for the rifle, who would he go to?”
Jimmy didn’t move, didn’t say a word.
31
Holly waited him out. Jimmy stared at her for the longest moment, before he spoke.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because there are a lot of pieces to this puzzle, and if I’m going to put them all together, I’ve got to know everything. The silencer is an important piece.”
“I might be able to arrange a brief meeting,” he said. “But no names, and when it’s over, it never happened.”
“That’s good with me.”
“Pour yourself another cup of coffee,” Jimmy said, getting up from his desk. “I’ll be back.” He left the office and closed the door behind him.
Holly got up and walked around the room. There was a display of army stuff on the walls—Jimmy’s shooting qualification certificates, awards for winning competitions.
The door opened and a man followed Jimmy into the room. Small, rat-like, nervous, he took a chair, as did Jimmy.
“Go ahead,” Jimmy said.
Holly looked at the man. “Did you ever make a silencer for Carlos Alvarez?”
The man looked at Jimmy, then at the floor.
“This is completely off the record,” Jimmy said. “A meeting that never happened.”
“I’ll never be asked to testify?”
Holly shook her head. “Carlos is dead; you can’t hurt him.”
The man looked at her again. “I made something for a Winchester twenty-two rifle,” he said.
“He does good work,” Jimmy chimed in.
“My work is as good for accuracy as for noise,” the little man said. “I do rifling; they’re perfectly machined.”
“He’s right,” Jimmy said. “I’ve seen his work.”
“How long ago?”
“A month, maybe; I didn’t count.”
“Thanks,” Holly said. “I appreciate your help.”