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Authors: Patricia Cornwell
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isn’t.”
I look up at two rubbed bronze hanging fixtures shaped like inverted tulip bulbs. Cheap. What’s called
antique inspired
. Their bulbs are glaring, the dimmer switches near the door pushed up as bright as the lights will go. I doubt Jamal Nari did that when he came in with groceries and left the door ajar. I have a feeling Machado did plenty of looking around when he did his walk-through, and I suggest this to Marino. I ask him if the lights were on when the police got here or if Machado might have done it.
“I’m sure he turned them on so he could see anything in plain view before we got the warrant.” Marino is skimming through it, his mouth set angrily. “And guess what? I don’t see a sniper rifle on it. What if we find one in the closet or under the bed? It’s not like I didn’t damn tell him.”
“I don’t understand. Are you implying Joanna Cather shot her husband with a rifle they keep in the apartment?”
“I’m implying that Machado is being bullheaded and jerking me around. What he doesn’t want to hear is we’re probably looking for a special type of firearm. One that not so long ago wasn’t readily available to the public. So he’s not acknowledging anything I tell him.” Marino’s gloved hands pick up keys on the kitchen counter next to three upright brown paper Whole Foods bags. “A 5R. Like the rifle used in New Jersey.”
He’s talking about the engraving on the bullet made by the rifling of the barrel.
“Five lands and grooves with rolled leading edges,” he says. “And when do you see that in shooting cases?”
“I’m not sure I have.”
“I personally don’t know of any homicides where the shooter used a rifle with a 5R barrel except the two Jersey cases,” Marino says. “Even now there’s only a few models out there unless you custom-build, and most people don’t know crap about barrels or even think they’re important. But this shooter does because he’s damn smart. He’s a gun fanatic.”
“Or he somehow got hold of a gun like that …”
“We need to look for anything that might be related, put everything on a warrant including solid copper bullets, cartridge cases, a tumbler.” Marino talks over me. “Anything you can think of in any place we search including any vehicles like the wife’s rental car. But Machado’s fighting me. Basically he’s giving me the finger because if I’m right it’s a huge case and it’s mine not his.”
“Under ordinary circumstances it should be both of yours.”
“Well the circumstances aren’t ordinary and I should be the lead investigator. He’s already run the wrong way with the ball.”
“Your hope is that it’s Machado who gets reassigned.”
“Maybe he will and maybe he should before there’s a bigger problem.”
“What bigger problem?” There’s more to this than Marino is saying.
“Like him pinning this murder on some kid who maybe was fooling around with the dead man’s wife. A kid didn’t do this,” Marino says but that’s not his reason. There’s something else.
HE OPENS HIS SCENE case on the floor as I survey the sitting area.
A chesterfield brown leather sofa and two side chairs. A coffee table. A flat-screen TV has been dismounted from the wall and so have framed Jimi Hendrix, Santana and Led Zeppelin posters. In a corner are three black carbon fiber guitars on stands, iridescent like a butterfly wing when the light catches just right, and I get close to inspect.
RainSong
.
“He must have really loved his guitars to get a tattoo,” I comment, and I’m in the kitchen now.
Four wall-mounted cabinets, a three-burner stove, an oven, a refrigerator. On the counter are a microwave, the keys and bags of groceries Nari carried in before he returned to his car and was shot to death. I work my hands into a pair of fresh gloves before inspecting what he bought.
“Sliced cheeses, coffee, jars of marinara sauce, pasta, butter, several different spices, rye bread,
I look up at two rubbed bronze hanging fixtures shaped like inverted tulip bulbs. Cheap. What’s called
antique inspired
. Their bulbs are glaring, the dimmer switches near the door pushed up as bright as the lights will go. I doubt Jamal Nari did that when he came in with groceries and left the door ajar. I have a feeling Machado did plenty of looking around when he did his walk-through, and I suggest this to Marino. I ask him if the lights were on when the police got here or if Machado might have done it.
“I’m sure he turned them on so he could see anything in plain view before we got the warrant.” Marino is skimming through it, his mouth set angrily. “And guess what? I don’t see a sniper rifle on it. What if we find one in the closet or under the bed? It’s not like I didn’t damn tell him.”
“I don’t understand. Are you implying Joanna Cather shot her husband with a rifle they keep in the apartment?”
“I’m implying that Machado is being bullheaded and jerking me around. What he doesn’t want to hear is we’re probably looking for a special type of firearm. One that not so long ago wasn’t readily available to the public. So he’s not acknowledging anything I tell him.” Marino’s gloved hands pick up keys on the kitchen counter next to three upright brown paper Whole Foods bags. “A 5R. Like the rifle used in New Jersey.”
He’s talking about the engraving on the bullet made by the rifling of the barrel.
“Five lands and grooves with rolled leading edges,” he says. “And when do you see that in shooting cases?”
“I’m not sure I have.”
“I personally don’t know of any homicides where the shooter used a rifle with a 5R barrel except the two Jersey cases,” Marino says. “Even now there’s only a few models out there unless you custom-build, and most people don’t know crap about barrels or even think they’re important. But this shooter does because he’s damn smart. He’s a gun fanatic.”
“Or he somehow got hold of a gun like that …”
“We need to look for anything that might be related, put everything on a warrant including solid copper bullets, cartridge cases, a tumbler.” Marino talks over me. “Anything you can think of in any place we search including any vehicles like the wife’s rental car. But Machado’s fighting me. Basically he’s giving me the finger because if I’m right it’s a huge case and it’s mine not his.”
“Under ordinary circumstances it should be both of yours.”
“Well the circumstances aren’t ordinary and I should be the lead investigator. He’s already run the wrong way with the ball.”
“Your hope is that it’s Machado who gets reassigned.”
“Maybe he will and maybe he should before there’s a bigger problem.”
“What bigger problem?” There’s more to this than Marino is saying.
“Like him pinning this murder on some kid who maybe was fooling around with the dead man’s wife. A kid didn’t do this,” Marino says but that’s not his reason. There’s something else.
HE OPENS HIS SCENE case on the floor as I survey the sitting area.
A chesterfield brown leather sofa and two side chairs. A coffee table. A flat-screen TV has been dismounted from the wall and so have framed Jimi Hendrix, Santana and Led Zeppelin posters. In a corner are three black carbon fiber guitars on stands, iridescent like a butterfly wing when the light catches just right, and I get close to inspect.
RainSong
.
“He must have really loved his guitars to get a tattoo,” I comment, and I’m in the kitchen now.
Four wall-mounted cabinets, a three-burner stove, an oven, a refrigerator. On the counter are a microwave, the keys and bags of groceries Nari carried in before he returned to his car and was shot to death. I work my hands into a pair of fresh gloves before inspecting what he bought.
“Sliced cheeses, coffee, jars of marinara sauce, pasta, butter, several different spices, rye bread,
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