“Just tell me, am I right?” Codella knew her words sounded more like a plea than a question. She was now disobeying McGowan’s direct order.
Muñoz moved the glossy four-by-six photograph under his desk lamp and stared at it long and hard. “You’re right. You’re definitely right. What does it mean?”
“It means I’ve been lied to all along and didn’t see it coming.”
“It’s understandable.”
“It was stupid. I ignored the signals.” She shook her head and slapped Muñoz’s squad room desk in frustration.
“We’re only three days into this,” he reminded her. “We’ve sifted through a lot.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “It ends today. I’m going to make an arrest. I’m out of time.”
“But you don’t have anything that will stick. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to talk to Merchant. I think he knows.” When Merchant had come to Manhattan North, she’d asked him all the wrong questions. The answers she needed, she realized now, were not concealed in the events of the past few days or weeks. They were buried in the dirt-black past. And if she didn’t dig them up soon, someone else would die.
“You want me to come?”
She shook her head. “No. I want you to get a search warrant.”