I braced on the dash, then refocused on the notes. Boyce Lingo’s phone number. “Glenn Evans says Rinaldi never caled his boss. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. What’s important is Rinaldi recorded Lingo’s number. Why?” “I don’t know. Yet. But I do know one thing. I’m gonna put a car on Miss April Pinder.” “You think she might be hiding Gunther?” “A little surveilance never hurts.” I went back to the notes. “Greensboro. Evans said he and Lingo were in Greensboro on October ninth. Was that what interested Rinaldi? And if so, why?” Suddenly, a line connected two dots. 30 “RN EQUALS BLA EQUALS GYE.” I TWISTED IN MY SEAT, EXCITED. “BLA. Boyce Lingo Assistant. GYE. Glenn Evans. That’s got to be it.” Slidel flicked his eyes to me, back to the road. “Check out Evans’s middle name,” I said. “I’l bet the farm it begins with a Y.” We rode in silence as Slidel merged onto I-277 to loop southeast around uptown. I tried to reach out to my subconscious.
