It felt good to hear her call him Pete. He went into his e-mail to attach the scanned photograph as an image.
“I get any calls,” she said, “I’ll let you know first and foremost. I’d appreciate the reciprocation. There are a lot of people running around who’d love the credit for solving my lady here in Baltimore and the kid in Greenwich. Did I mention how weird people are about getting credit? See, my theory? That’s what led up to the mortgage crisis. Everybody wants credit. I’m not being a comedian.”
“Especially if Morales calls,” Marino added. “I’m surprised he hasn’t. But then, he doesn’t seem to be a follow-up kind of guy.”
“Yup. What I call fuck and run. Shows up for the big moment, then disappears, lets everybody else clean up after him or finish what he started. Sort of like a deadbeat dad.”
“You got kids?”
“Not in the house anymore, happy to report. They turned out pretty good, considering. I’m looking at the picture now. And nobody seems to know why the victim there, Terri Bridges, was wearing the bracelet?”
“That’s the story. Her boyfriend, Oscar, said he’d never seen it before.”
“A bracelet’s not rocket science, but I’m not one of those who ignores circumstantial evidence,” she said. “I guess you can tell I’m over forty and superstitious about putting my entire case in a lab coat pocket. All the young ones? Shit. It’s Forensic Let’s Make a Deal. Behind door number one is a videotape of someone raping and murdering a woman he’s kidnapped. Behind door number two is DNA from a cigarette butt found at the driveway. Which do they choose?”
“Don’t get me started.”
“Yeah, you and me together. I tell them, you know what CSI stands for? It stands for Can’t Stand It. Because when I hear that term or acronym or whatever the hell it is, I think to myself, I can’t stand it. I really can’t stand it. You tell me, Pete. When you was getting started, was there such a thing as a CSI?”
“TV invented it. They was crime scene techs in the real world. Or most times, people like you and me got out our fingerprint kit, camera, measuring tape, and all the rest, and did it our damn self. I didn’t need a friggin’ laser to map a crime scene and get all the dimensions right. Luminol works just as good as all these new chemicals and fancy crime scene lights. Been mixing up luminol in a spray bottle and using it all my life. I don’t need the Jetsons to work a homicide.”
“I won’t go that far. A lot of the new stuff? So much better, there’s no comparison. I can work a scene without totally trashing the place, if nothing else. You know, some old lady gets burglarized, and no more ruining everything she owns with black dusting powder. Technology at least lets me be considerate. But I don’t have a magic box. You got one?”
“I keep forgetting to recharge it,” he said.
“You ever come to Baltimore, Pete?”
“Hadn’t heard that expression in a while,” Marino said. “The case-in-a-lab-coat-pocket thing you said. So guess what? I’m over forty. You have some files landing. You checking your e-mail as we complain? You ever come to New York?”
He was scanning pages of the police report, and Dr. Lester’s preliminary autopsy findings.
“It’s not the way I started,” Bacardi said. “I still believe in talking to people and looking at motive, the old-fashioned way. Sure, I come to New York. Or I can. No big deal. We should exchange yearbook pictures first. But I promise I look better since I had my face transplant.”
Marino grabbed a Sharp’s out of the refrigerator. He had to meet this one. She was something.
“I’m looking at the photograph of the bracelet right now. Jesus—money,” Bacardi said. “It’s the same as the others. All three of them ten-karat. A herringbone design, really thin. Based on the scale in this photo, it looks like your bracelet—just like the other two—is ten inches long. Sort of thing you’d buy in a mall kiosk or on the Internet for forty, fifty bucks. One interesting difference that strikes me right off the bat is in my case and Greenwich, the bodies weren’t indoors. It appears the victims were out looking to score drugs for sex, and got picked up by someone cruising for an opportunity. Your victim—Terri Bridges—have a history of drug abuse or a secret life that might have left her open for that kind of thing happening to her?”
“No information to make me think she was into oxys or anything else. All I can tell you is what you’re looking at. Her STAT alcohol was negative. Too early for drug screens, but no evidence of drugs at her apartment. We also don’t know that in her case, the killer wasn’t cruising for victims. Assuming the boyfriend didn’t do it. Or even if he did, it was New Year’s Eve. She was the only person home in her apartment building. Nobody directly across the street, either, except one lady who wasn’t looking out her window about the time we suspect Terri was murdered. Supposedly. And this same lady had a couple stories that got my antenna going. Like this weird one about a puppy. Who would give a sick puppy to someone as a present? Knowing it’s going to die.”
“Ted Bundy.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“So maybe the guy’s driving around, sees an opportunity last night,” Bacardi said.
“I don’t know,” Marino said. “I need to get a better feel for the neighborhood, plan to go back out in a minute, prowling. But I can tell you already it was pretty deserted last night. That’s New York. Weekends and holidays, and people who live here get the hell out of Dodge. And after all my years of doing this, one thing I’ve learned. There’s never a formula. Maybe our guy was on good behavior and had a relapse. Maybe that guy is Oscar Bane. Maybe it’s somebody else. There’s the small problem of timing. Your two cases was five friggin’ years ago.”
“No figuring out why people do what they do. Or when. But relapse is a good word for it. I think serial killers have a compulsion just like drinking and drugging.”
The refrigerator sucked open as Marino got another Sharp’s.
“Maybe there’s a reason it’s under control for a while,” her friendly voice said in his ear. “Then stress, a breakup, you get fired, get in financial trouble, and off the wagon you go.”
“In other words, everything.”
“Yeah. Everything can do it. I’m looking at what you just sent and right off I’m wondering why the ME’s pended the case. This Dr. Lester isn’t sure it’s a homicide?”
“She and the DA don’t get along.”
“Sounds like you got a problem with the boyfriend, if there’s no homicide.”
“No shit,” Marino said. “Kind of hard to charge someone with pending. But Berger’s brought in another ME for a second opinion. Dr. Scarpetta.”
“You’re lying.” Bacardi sounded like a fan.
Marino wished he hadn’t brought up Scarpetta. Then he reasoned it wasn’t right to withhold information, and having Scarpetta involved was important. Whenever she showed up, everything changed. Besides, if Bacardi was going to turn on him, now was a good time to do it and get it over with.
He said, “She’s all over the Internet at the moment. Not in a good way. I’m only telling you because you’re going to hear about it.”
A long pause and Bacardi replied, “You’re the guy who worked with her in Charleston. It was on the news here this morning. Heard it on the radio.”
It had never occurred to Marino that Internet gossip might end up on the news, and he felt sucker-punched.