The Stone Monkey

prints.
    • Safehouse carpet: Arnold company’s Lustre-Rite, installed in past six months; calling contractors to get list of installations.
         • Location of installations determined: 32 near Battery Park City.
    • Fresh gardening mulch found.
    • Body of Ghost’s accomplice: ethnic minority from west or northwest China. Negative on prints. Weapon was Walther PPK.
    • Details on immigrants:
         • The Changs: Sam, Mei-Mei, William and Ronald; Sam’s father, Chang Jiechi, and infant, Po-Yee. Sam has job arranged but employer and location unknown. Driving blue van, no make, no tag number. Changs’ apartment is in Queens.
         • The Wus: Qichen, Yong-Ping, Chin-Mei and Lang.
    Safehouse Shooting Crime Scene
    • Fingerprints and photos of Chang Jiechi’s hands reveal father—and son Sam—are calligraphers. Sam Chang might be doing printing or sign painting. Calling stores and companies in Queens.
    • Biosolids on deceased’s shoes suggest they live in neighborhood near sewage treatment plant.
    • Ghost uses feng shui practitioner to arrange his living space.
    Fuzhou Dragon Crime Scene
    • Ghost used new C4 to blow up ship. Checking origin of explosive through chemical markers.
    • Large quantity of new U.S. bills found in Ghost’s cabin.
    • Approx. $20,000 in used Chinese yuan found in cabin.
    • List of victims, air charter details and bank deposit information. Checking name of sender in China.
    • Captain alive but unconscious.
    • Beretta 9mm, Uzi. Unable to trace.

Chapter Thirty-nine
    “Fred,” Rhyme said as Dellray—now wearing the orangest shirt that the criminalist had ever seen—walked into his living room laboratory.
    “Hey,” Sachs said to the agent. “They let you wear shirts like that? Say, is that a real color?”
    “You gave us a hell of a scare,” Rhyme said.
    “ ’Magine what I myself was feelin’, settin’ my ass down on a few sticks of Mr. No ble’s creation.” He looked around the room. “Where Dan?”
    “Dan?” Rhyme asked.
    “The SSA?”
    Noting the blank stares, Dellray continued, “The super-visin’ agent, the guy who took over for me. Dan Wong. From our San Francisco office. Wanna thank him for takin’ over.”
    Rhyme and Sachs looked at each other. The criminalist said, “Nobody took over for you. We’re still waiting.”
    “Still waitin’?” Dellray whispered in disbelief. “I talked to Dan myself last night. He’s the man you need. Run dozens of human smuggling cases. He’s some kinda expert in snakeheads and Chinese culture. He was gonna call you an’ be out here on a army jet this morning.”
    “No word.”
    Dellray’s expression of astonishment turned to anger.“What about SPEC-TAC?” he asked suspiciously. “They are here, ain’t they?”
    “Nope,” Sachs said.
    With a snarl he pulled his phone off his belt as if he were quick-drawing his weapon. One speed-dial button later he was connected. “This’s Dellray . . . Put him on. . . . Don’t care. Want him now. . . . Like I said, which mebbe you din’t hear. I. Want. Him. Now. . . .” A disgusted sigh. “Well, have him call me. An’ you tell me—what happened to Dan Wong?” He listened for a long moment then snapped the phone off without a farewell.
    “Dan got some emergency assignment in Hawaii. Word came from Washington, so it got priority over our li’l pissy insig nif icant case here. Somebody was s’posed to call me—and you—but it fell through the cracks.”
    “And SPEC-TAC?”
    “The SAC’s calling me back. But if they ain’t here by now something’s fucked up in a big way.”
    Rhyme said, “They told us it was on the ‘scroll’ for a meeting today.”
    “Hate that crappy way they talk,” Dellray snapped. “I’ma get it taken care of when I get back to the office. No excuse for this.”
    “Thanks, Fred. We need the help. We’ve got half the Fifth Precinct trying to find the print shop or painting company where Sam Chang works and we’re coming up with zilch.”
    “This ain’t good.”
    Sellitto asked, “Where’re you with the bomb investigation?”
    “That’s th’other reason I came by. Simon says zip . . . Can’t make a baby step of headway. My CIs, they’re scouring Brighton Beach but they ain’t turning up anything. Not. A. Peep. And I run dozens of skels there.”
    “You’re sure the device’s Russian?”
    “When’re we sure ’bout anyfuckin’thing?”
    That much was