Harris snorted.
Radcliffe looked at him as if wondering if he was being mocked, then judging by Payne's expression realized that wasn't the case. He returned his attention to his laptop, fingers tapping the keyboard as he stared thoughtfully at the screen.
Rapier did something at the control panel, and when he went to the Notes section of Reggie Jones's case file and clicked on FINGERPRINTS, the gunfire and smoke effects were gone.
He turned it off again, Payne thought. But he doesn't look like he's pissed or anything.
"Here's this new guy James, Matt," Rapier said as two boxes popped up with digitized images of fingerprints. One was headlined "Suspect Name Unknown #2010-56-9327." The second had the new live link: MARC JAMES Case No.: 2002-41-093631.
Harris said, "The prints on the still-unknown doer are being run again. Forensics got a hit with James's only because they reran his, too. They said they didn't find a match the first time because his prints on record from a previous arrest didn't have sufficient ridge detail for comparison. But the second go-round, they lit up just enough."
Payne looked at Rapier. "Punch up James, Kerry."
Reggie Jones's fat baby face was now replaced with that of a shiny-skinned black male with a round face and male-pattern baldness.
Toilet seat hair, Payne remembered hearing someone describe it. Its shape was similar to those seats found on public commodes.
And the upper part of his garment looks like a hospital gown-or Roman-like robe.
"Who does this Cicero guy think he is?" Payne said. "Looks like he's in a toga, too."
"All kinds of crackpots in this city try to stand out from the crowd," Andy Radcliffe said.
"There's that voice of reason again," Payne said.
This time Radcliffe didn't at all feel like he was bring mocked.
Payne read off the screen: "'Marc James aka Marcus Cicero, age twenty-eight. ' Looks like a nice guy, if you can just overlook all those unfortunate priors for running meth and roofies. And, for good measure, he racked up a conviction on involuntary deviant sexual intercourse. Guess he wanted to test his product."
Harris snorted. "Yeah. Really nice guy."
"Who's sitting on him now?"
"Charley Bell, in that old PECO van."
Payne nodded. The Philadelphia Electric Company van was always a good choice, its paint shot but the faded PECO logotype on it easily recognizable.
"Okay," Payne then said, "it's no doubt way too soon to have much on this new one that's got Hizzonor spitting mad. But punch up number twelve on the main bank, please."
Rapier worked the keyboard and the case sheet for Jossiah Miffin appeared. It showed both his mug shot, in which he had close-cropped hair, and his Medical Examiner's Office photo, where he had long black hair. Both showed the nasty J-shaped scar on his left cheek. Name: Jossiah A. MIFFIN Description: Black Male, age 30, 5'7", 180 lbs. L.K.A.: 1822 W. Ontario St, Phila. Prior Arrests: 8 totaclass="underline" possession of marijuana (6); possession of Methamphetamine (1); convicted of Indecent assault amp; corruption of a minor (1) and sentenced to probation of intense sex offender treatments amp; no unsupervised contact with minors. Call Received: 02 Nov, 0730 hours. Cause of Death: Gunshots (2) to head (99 percent probability). Case No.: 2010-81-039617-POP-N-DROP Notes: Fugitive. Warrants issued for multiple probation violations. Has prominent J-shape scar on left cheek. Takeeta Smith, 14-year-old female witness who claims to be niece of deceased, stated in interview that she saw him killed 01 Nov 2130 hrs by SNU in street at L.K.A. amp; described SNU as a skinny white male approximately 40 years of age wearing delivery uniform. Assailant left Wanted sheet at scene in FedEx envelope that was discarded. Body transported to Lex Talionis, Old City.
"Check out the Notes, Matt," Harris was saying, looking at the main monitor.
Payne looked up at the main monitor and read it.
"A FedEx delivery there at nine-thirty on a Sunday night?"
Then he turned to Rapier: "Punch up that interview with the girl, the animal's so-called niece."
The main bank of screens then showed Homicide Detective Jeff Kauffman-a tall, dark-haired thirty-four-year-old who had a quick laugh when he wasn't interviewing murder suspects-in Homicide Interview Room II with Takeeta Smith. She was sipping from a plastic bottle of grape-flavored soda. The empty wrapper of a Tastykake lay on the metal table.
They were almost exactly halfway through the interview when Takeeta's scratchy voice coming through the speakers in the ECC ceiling said:
"It be a FedEx envelope. And dude had a FedEx uniform."
"You're positive?"
She looked at Kauffman like he was from another planet, then said:
"Yeah, fool. I be positive. I mean, he be standing in the headlight, clear as damn day. Can't miss no FedEx sign. It be on every box my cousin's black tar shit come in from Texas."
Harris chuckled, then said, "Look at her Oh shit, what'd I just say? expression. Now who's the fool, Takeeta?"
"What a brain trust," Payne said. "They just don't know better. Reminds me of that arrogant Hank Whatshisname, the U.S. congressman from somewhere near Atlanta, who was grilling an admiral on Capitol Hill about the Navy's plans to station some eight thousand sailors and their families on Guam. He lectured the admiral that the island was only twenty-four miles long, seven 'at its least widest'-that's what he said, 'least widest, shore to shore'-and that he was afraid that with all those extra people, the island would tip over and capsize."
Harris laughed. "You're kidding."
Payne shook his head. "I shit you not, my friend. That's the kind of brilliant example of the 'geniuses' in our government that kids like her get to look up to as role models."
He looked over at Radcliffe. "Andy, who've been your role models in life?"
"Well, my momma, of course," he said immediately, clearly without thought. "She taught me hard work, discipline, never to give up. And there's Will Parkman, that really good cop who was a Marine and helps me go to school so I can eventually get a job here." He paused and thought, then added, "And you, Marshal."
Payne looked at Radcliffe, thinking that he now was being mocked. But when Matt saw Andy's face, he knew Andy was sincere.
Payne said, "I'd be damned careful about that last guy. He'll only lead you to trouble." He sighed. "And damn sure not to catch any bad guys."
"What's up with the bad-guy pop-and-drops having histories of sex crimes," Radcliffe said, "and STDs?"
"Where'd you get that?" Payne said, impressed.
He pointed at his laptop screen. "From the master file case notes."
"You've gone all the way back to the beginning?"
"Sure. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when trying to turn over a rock under a rock?"
Payne nodded. "Yes, indeed it is. And, to answer your question, there's not any single answer-with the exception of what Kerry recently suggested. None apparently knows what the hell a condom is."
Radcliffe said, "I've been feeding key data into my skunk-works search engine."
Radcliffe had managed to get his hands on an early version of a super-powerful software program developed at MIT, and Payne had seen him use it before.
"And?" Payne said.
"All the pop-and-drops who'd been shot had either been charged with or served time for a sex crime, all but the lawyer and his client."
"Right."
"Jay-Cee," Harris put in, "had charges against him of involuntary deviant sexual intercourse and rape of an unconscious or unaware person in one case that Gartner got tossed."