Page 20 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“We can rope in Lyle.” Knox twisted toward Zhào. “He’s the acting chief of police in our town. If we give him whatever information you already have, plus whatever Flynn’s come up with, he could probably persuade the proper sheriff’s department to open a legitimate investigation. Something that could lead to actual arrests and convictions.”
Zhào buried her face in her hands and made a noise. “All right.” She lifted her head. “But Kevin has to agree. He’s the one who’s out in the field.”
“Oh, he’ll agree,” Russ said.
Knox shot him a look. “How soon can you get word to Flynn?”
“I can send a letter tomorrow. It should get there Monday or Tuesday.”
Russ tried not to wince. “That’s… not how a dead-letter drop works.”
“I know, but it would have looked damn strange if I kept popping up in a town of, like, four hundred, leaving newspapers on a gravestone.”
“He’s in a town?” Knox sat up straighter. “Let’s just go there.”
“No, they’re camping in the edge of the High Peaks region.”
“At this time of year? That’s crazy.”
“Their post office box is in a little dot on the map called Newcomb. They pick up the mail every week or two.”
“That’s too long,” Knox said, at the same time Russ blurted out, “That’s not secure!”
Zhào held up her hands. “That’s as fast as it goes. And it’s secure enough. I’m supposed to be Kevin’s girlfriend, so he’s talking about what he’s doing generally. There have been two times when he was one of the guys making the mail run, and when that happened, he added in a few lines of raw data before posting the letter.”
“Girlfriend.” Knox nodded. “Huh.”
“We figured it would give us an excuse, if we needed, to meet in person privately. Everybody understands a motel booty call.”
“Do any of the militia group know, uh, that you’re…”
“Chinese? Yeah, I sent a couple pics to Kevin. White supremacists are freaking weird. Half of them have yellow fever. They want Asian girlfriends because they think we’re all submissive and shy.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, and that we have mysterious eastern sexual techniques.”
“Uh.” Hadley paused. “Do you?”
Zhào laughed. “I learned all my sexual techniques at Hamilton College, so no.”
Russ figured it was high time to get back to the subject. “Do you have a way to let Kevin know he needs to get in touch with Syracuse? Does he have access to a phone?”
“Yes and no. We have some phrases to use to signal certain things, but the militia is paranoid about being tracked, so cell phones are a no-no.”
“We should go up there,” Knox insisted.
Russ held up his hand. “What we should do is think about this for more than fifteen minutes and come up with a decent plan. One that involves making sure Kevin is okay, his job back in Syracuse is okay, and that doesn’t blow the investigative workif”—he looked pointedly at Zhào—“there’s something there worth the Essex County Sheriff’s time.”
Knox made a strangled sound. Russ ignored it. “First thing we should do is pull together what you and Kevin have gotten up to this point. Do you have access to the records of the combined task force?”
“You mean Kevin’s reports from before when they pulled the plug? Sure. And a bunch of the background material, too.”
“Good. That will help when we pitch Lyle on getting involved. Can you email the documents to me tonight?”
“No.” Zhào sounded as if he had suggested flying across New York with the papers clutched in her toes. “Scans and emails can be reconstructed. I’ll bring you the documents in person. We can make copies then, and I’ll return the originals to the office. No electronic trail.”
Hadley looked like she didn’t know whether to be concerned or impressed. “You do a good job thinking like a criminal.”
“Prosecutors have to think like criminals all the time. When would be good for you?”
Russ hesitated. If she went back to the state building and met them here, it would be at least an hour, and where would they find a copy machine? “I guess I could come back down on Monday…”
