Cross Fire - James Patterson [48]
“He may have been on a drop right here,” Perkins added with a shake of his head. “They found a key of coke in his trunk.”
Four words flashed through my mind: Foxes in the henhouse.
Suddenly Tambour was a lot more in line with the snipers’ victim profile than he’d been a minute ago.
At the same time, though, he was an unknown to the general public. He hadn’t been in the headlines like the others, at least not yet, and that was a difference.
An important one? I couldn’t be sure, but I also couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe something was off here.
“I want to impose radio silence on anything to do with the investigation,” I told Perkins. “Whoever made this hit obviously has some kind of inside line.”
“Agreed,” he said. “And, Alex?” Perkins put a hand on my arm as I turned to go. His eyes looked strained. Maybe even a little desperate. “Work the hell out of this,” he told me. “This is close to getting out of control.”
If this hit wasn’t by our sniper team, it already was out of control.
Chapter 63
FBI PERSONNEL STARTED showing up right after I did. That was definitely a double-edged sword for me. Their Evidence Response Teams bring some of the best toys in the business — but it also meant Max Siegel wouldn’t be far behind.
In fact, we bumped heads over Nelson Tambour’s body.
“That’s a hell of an exit wound,” Siegel said, coming into my airspace with his usual sensitivity. “I heard the guy was dirty. Is it true? I’ll find out anyway.”
I ignored the question and answered the one he should have been asking. “It was definitely long-range,” I said. “There’s no stippling at all. And, given the body position, the shots probably had to come from over there.”
Directly across from us, maybe 250 yards offshore, we could see flashlight beams crisscrossing the underbrush on Roosevelt Island. We had two teams over there, scouring for shells, suspicious footprints, anything.
“You said shots, plural?” Siegel asked.
“That’s right.” I pointed at the slope behind the spot where Tambour had gone down. Four yellow flags were stuck into the ground, one for each of the slugs that had been recovered so far.
“Three misses and one hit,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not sure we’re looking at the same gunmen here.”
Siegel peered back and forth between the river and Tambour’s body several times. “Maybe they were firing from a boat of some kind. There’s a decent chop out there today. Could explain the multiple shots, the misses.”
“There’s no cover on the open water,” I said, “and all kinds of risk for an eyewitness. Besides, it’s always been one shot, one kill with these guys. They don’t miss.”
“The sniper’s motto,” Siegel said. “What about it?”
“I think it’s a point of pride for them. If nothing else, the work’s been immaculate. Up until now.”
“So it’s more likely that we have another wackjob with a high-powered sniper rifle running around out there?”
I could just hear the disdain rising in his voice. Here we go again.
“Isn’t that exactly the contingency your office has been working on?” I said. “That’s what Patel told me — at the meeting you blew off.”
“I see.” Siegel rocked back on his heels. “So are you working up any theories of your own these days — or just going by what you overhear at the office?”
My guess was that he felt threatened by me, and it helped him if he could goad me into some kind of unprofessional behavior. I’d already put a toe in, but I pulled back now and focused on the ground around Tambour’s body instead.
When it became clear I wasn’t going to respond, he tried again from a different angle.
“You know, it’s possible these guys are just that good,” he said casually. “Terrorism One Oh One, right? Best way to stay ahead of the police is to keep everything unpredictable. That’s a valid perspective on this, right?”
“I’m not ruling anything out,” I said without turning around.
“That’s good,” he said. “It’s good that