Читать книгу Manhattan Serenade: A Novel - Joseph Sinopoli Steven - Страница 20

CHAPTER 13

Moran listened patiently while Hernandez told him about his meeting with Linda Garcia. When Hernandez finished, Moran drew back his arms, placed his hands behind his head, and intertwined his fingers. “And then they say it doesn’t snow in Mexico City,” Moran said.

Hernandez twisted his mouth. “Played me for a chump,” the sergeant said and slapped the surface of the office’s conference table with the palm of his hand.

“Relax.” Moran said. “Happens to the best of us.”

“There were three women named Maria Luisa Torres in the Mexico City area phone listing, but the police told me that one had died two months ago, the other has been in prison for the last two years on a drug trafficking charge, and the last one was a patient at a local nuthouse.”

“I’ve had your Dragon Lady from the bank checked out and something’s not right,” Moran said.

The door to the office opened and a middle-aged stout man in a white lab coat marched in. The laminated photo ID that hung from his coat’s breast pocket said he was Roy Fielding, Chief of the NYPD Ballistics Unit.

As Fielding walked toward Moran and Hernandez, the thick crest of ruffled brown hair that capped his head bounced as if on springs, giving him the appearance of some sort of mad scientist. His right hand clutched two typed pages while his left hand gripped a half-eaten onion bagel.

“I completed the ballistics tests,” he said when he reached the table. “Sorry it took so long.” He took a large bite from the bagel, wiped his mouth with the hem of his lab coat and set the report down on the table. “It’s the same weapon that killed Lacy Wooden.”

“Thought so,” Moran said. “The wounds were similar.”

“There’s more, my children.” Fielding began with a professorial air. “The .22 has a left-hand rate of twist 1 in 10, and the .38 right-hand rate of twist of 1 in 12. You’ll find that one bullet came from a barrel with six grooves while the other came from a barrel with eight grooves.”

For a long moment, the words hung over the room like a thick fog. Moran and Hernandez looked at each other.

“Are you saying that two guns were used?” Hernandez said.

“That’s where I have a problem,” Fielding said. He picked up the report and flipped to the last page. He pointed to a paragraph that was highlighted in yellow. “Read it.”

Moran grasped the report and when he finished, he dropped it on the table and rose from his chair. “Both casings were struck on the same side and with the same firing pin indentation,” Moran said.

“Exactly,” Fielding said. “You and I know that no two pins strike the primer at the same angle and with the same indentation. All of which throws the two-gun theory out the window.”

Moran slid the report to Hernandez and turned to the ballistics chief. “What’s your take?”

Fielding massaged his chin. “Never seen anything like it.”

“What about a derringer?” Hernandez asked.

“If it is, it’s got to be one hell of a custom job,” Fielding answered.

Hernandez scratched his head. “Then it’s got to be two killers and the firing pin markings are just a fluke. Which could mean the killer used two guns to make it look like two shooters.”

“And both guns left the identical firing pin markings?” Roy Fielding said. “I can’t buy that.”

“I agree,” Moran said. “Two separate shooters can’t produce a pattern that tight. It’s impossible for two separate weapons to produce the same angle of entry.”

Hernandez furrowed his brow and his gaze drifted back and forth between Moran and Fielding. “Maybe you’re right.”

Moran began to pace. “Let’s play it out. Myer and his assailant have a violent argument. They struggle, and in the heat of the fight, the killer strikes Myer on the side of the head with a heavy object, and then shoots him twice,” the lieutenant stopped and faced Fielding and Hernandez. “If it was a planned hit the killer would’ve just shot the guy and been done with it,” Moran said.