The Kill Room

He knows he’ll be at risk. He didn’t tip off the press that some company’s using shitty wheat in their breakfast cereal; he’s accusing the government of committing murder. Amelia, you?”
    Sachs replied, “I’ve sent Rodney the information about the email and the STO. I’ll coordinate with him and Computer Crimes. If anybody can trace an anonymous upload, he can.” She thought for a moment and said, “Let’s call Fred too.”
    Rhyme considered this and said, “Good.”
    “Who’s that?” Laurel asked.
    “Fred Dellray. FBI.”
    “No,” Laurel said bluntly. “No feds.”
    “Why not?” Sellitto’s question.
    “A chance word’ll get to NIOS. I don’t think we can risk it.”
    Sachs countered, “Fred’s specialty’s undercover work. If we say be discreet, that’s how he’ll handle it. We need help, and he’ll have access to a lot more information than NCIC and state criminal databases.”
    Laurel debated. Her round, pale face—pretty from some angles, farm girl pretty—registered a very subtle change. Concern? Pique? Defiance? Her expressions were like lettering in Hebrew or Arabic, tiny diacritical marks the only clues to radically different meanings.
    Sachs glanced once at the prosecutor, said insistently, “We’ll tell him how sensitive it is. He’ll go along.”
    She hit speaker on a phone nearby before Laurel could say any more. Rhyme saw the prosecutor stiffen and wondered if she was actually going to step forward and press her finger down on the cradle button.
    The hollow sound of ringing filled the air.
    “S’Dellray here,” the agent answered. The muted tone suggested he might’ve been on an undercover set somewhere in Trenton or Harlem and didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
    “Fred. Amelia.”
    “Well, well, well how’s it goin’? Been a while. Now how imperiled am I, speaking into a telephone that on my end is nice and private but on yours is broadcasting to Madison Square Garden? I do truly hate speakers.”
    “You’re safe, Fred. You’re on with me, Lon, Lincoln—”
    “Hey, Lincoln. You lost that Heidegger bet, ya know. I’ma peeking in my mailbox everday and as of yesterday, ain’t a single check appeared. Pay to the order of Fred Don’t-Argue-Philosophy-With Dellray.”
    “I know, I know,” Rhyme grumbled. “I’ll pay up.”
    “Y’owe me fifty.”
    Rhyme said, “By rights, Lon should pay part of it. He egged me on.”
    “Fuck no I didn’t.” Delivered essentially as one word.
    Nance Laurel took in the exchange with a bewildered look. Of all the things she wasn’t, a banterer would be high on the list.
    Or maybe she was just angry that Sachs had overridden her and called the FBI agent.
    Sachs continued, “And a prosecutor, ADA Nance Laurel.”
    “Well, this is a special day. Hey there, Counselor Laurel. Good job with that Longshoremen’s convic. That was you, right?”
    Pause. “Yes, Agent Dellray.”
    “Never, never, never thought you’d pull that one off. You know the collar, Lincoln? The Joey Barone case, Southern District? We got some fed charges on that boy but the jury went for wrist slaps. Counselor Laurel, other hand, ran downfield in state court and bought that boy twenty years min. I heard the U.S. attorney put a pictura you up in his office…on a dartboard.”
    “I don’t know about that” was her stiff response. “I was pleased with the outcome.”
    “So, pro -ceed.”
    Sachs said, “Fred, we’ve got a situation. A sensitive one.”
    “Well, I gotta say the tone of your voice sounds so perplexingly intriguing, don’t stop now.”
    Rhyme saw a brief smile on Sachs’s face. Fred Dellray was one of the bureau’s best agents, a renowned runner of confidential informants and a family man and father…and amateur philosopher. But his years as an undercover agent on the street had given him a unique speaking style, as bizarre as his fashion choices.
    “The perp’s your boss, the federal government.”
    A pause. “Hm.”
    Sachs glanced at Laurel, who debated a moment and then took over, reiterating the facts they knew so far about the Moreno killing.
    Fred Dellray’s waiting state was calm and confident but Rhyme detected unusual concern now. “NIOS? They’re not really us us. They’re in their own dimension. And I don’t necessarily mean that in a good way.”
    He didn’t elaborate, though Rhyme wasn’t sure he needed to.
    “I’ll check out a few things now. Hold on.” The sound of typing flew from