The Vanished Man

imminent. Thursday night or early Friday morning Grady’s office had been burglarized. At that point the decision was made to call Roland Bell.
    The soft-spoken North Carolina native’s official assignment was working Homicide and other major crimes with Lon Sellitto. But he also headed up an unofficial division of NYPD detectives known as SWAT, which wasn’t the same famous acronym that every viewer of Cops knows; this version stood for the “Saving the Witness’s Ass Team.”
    Bell had, as he expressed it, “this sorta knack for keeping people alive other people want dead.”
    The result was that in addition to his regular investigation caseload with Sellitto and Rhyme, Bell ended up doing double duty running the protection detail.
    But now Grady’s bodyguards were in place and the brass downtown—the unhappy brass—had decided to gear up the effort to nail the Conjurer. More muscle was needed on the Sellitto-Rhyme team and Bell was a logical choice.
    “So that was Andrew Constable,” Grady said to Bell, with a nod through the greasy window into the interview room.
    Sachs stepped to the window and saw a slim, rather distinguished-looking prisoner in an orange jumpsuit, sitting at a table, his head down, nodding slowly.
    “He what you expected?” Grady continued.
    “Don’t reckon,” Bell drawled. “Was thinkin’ he’d be more hill country. More of a blueprint bigot, you know what I mean? But that fella, he’s fair mannerable. Fact is, Charles, I have to say, he didn’t feel guilty.”
    “Sure doesn’t.” Grady grimaced. “Gonna be hard to get a conviction.” Then a wry laugh. “But that’s what they pay me the big bucks for.” Grady’s salary was less than that of a first-year associate at a Wall Street law firm.
    Bell asked, “Anything more about the break-in at your office? The preliminary crime scene report ready yet? I need to see it.”
    “It’s being expedited. We’ll make sure you get a copy.”
    Bell said, “We got another situation needs looking into. I’ll leave my fellows and girls with you and your family. But I’ll be a phone call away.”
    “Thanks, Detective,” Grady said. He then added, “My daughter says hi. We’ve got to get her together with your boys. And meet that lady friend of yours. Where’s she live again?”
    “Lucy’s down in North Carolina.”
    “She’s police too, right?”
    “Yep, acting head of the sheriff’s department. Metropolis of Tanner’s Corner.”
    Luis Martinez noticed Grady start for the door and he was instantly at the prosecutor’s side. “You just want to wait here for a minute, Charles?” The bodyguard left the secure area and retrieved his pistol from the guard who oversaw the lockbox behind the desk and looked over the hallway and bridge carefully.
    It was then that a soft voice sounded behind them.
    “Hello, miss.”
    Sachs detected in the words a particular lilt, formed by a history of service labor and contact with the public. She turned and saw Andrew Constable standing next to a huge guard. The prisoner was quite tall, his posture completely erect. His salt-and-pepper hair was wavy and thick. His short, round lawyer stood next to him.
    He continued, “Are you part of the team looking out for Mr. Grady?”
    “Andrew,” his lawyer cautioned.
    The prisoner nodded. But kept his eyebrow raised as he looked at Sachs.
    “It’s not my case,” she said to him dismissively.
    “Ah, no? Was just going to tell you what I told Detective Bell. I honestly don’t know anything about those threats against Mr. Grady.” He turned to Bell, who gazed back at the suspect. The Tarheel cop could sometimes look bashful and reserved but that was never the case when confronting a suspect. A cool glare was his response now.
    “You have to do your job. I understand that. But believe me, I wouldn’t hurt Mr. Grady. One of the things that made this country great is playing fair.” A laugh. “I’ll beat him at trial. Which I will do—thanksto my brilliant young friend here.” A nod toward his lawyer. Then a look of curiosity at Bell. “One thing I wanted to mention, Detective. I was wondering if you might have some interest in what my Patriots’ve been doing up in Canton Falls.”
    “Me?”
    “Oh, I don’t mean that crazy conspiracy nonsense. I mean what we’re really about.”
    The prisoner’s lawyer said, “Come on, Andrew. Better to keep quiet.”
    “Just conversing here, Joe.” A glance at Bell. “How ’bout