She stood in the doorway, hands at her side, knowing enough not to go in or touch anything. It wasn't necessary to see if the man might still be alive. He obviously was not.
It struck her that whoever had done this might still be here. She stood silently, listening. Just the rain pounding against the blood-streaked window over the head of the dead man.
"This is what I get for being a loyal employee," she said aloud, moving back into the reception area, placing her bag on a desk and reaching for a phone.
Then, and only then, did she remember the man in the downstairs lobby who, head down, had walked out as she had come in. Their eyes had met. He had nodded. So had she.
Annabeth took out her cell phone and made the call. The woman at 911 took it, forwarded it. A pair of uniforms who were on their fourteenth hour on the job threw away their cups of coffee and drove the six blocks to the scene of the crime.
The report of the killing reached the computer screen at CSI headquarters about an hour after Annabeth Edwards had called it in.
"Look at this," Mac said.
Flack looked over his shoulder at the screen.
"'Genital mutilation,'" Flack read.
"Like Patricia Mycrant," said Mac.
"A stretch. Someone murders a woman on a rooftop on Eighty-second and then runs to an office building in midtown to carve up a guy in an office?"
"I've got a feeling," said Mac, sitting back.
"Me too. I've got a feeling we're on our way to look at a dead man."
James Tuvekian, whose father was a neurosurgeon, was tall and almost anorexically thin. He sat in the dining hall of the Wallen School, wearing khakis and a tan-and-yellow striped button-down polo shirt and a smile. Not a smirk, not a smile of amusement, but the smile of someone who had learned to wear a mask.
"What did you see, James?" Danny asked.
James pursed his lips and shrugged. "You mean in Mr. Havel's classroom?"
"No, at the movies last night," said Danny.
"Not funny," said James.
"Not funny," Danny agreed.
"What did I see? Nothing. Mr. Havel was behind the table setting something up on the microscope. We filed out. End of episode."
"Someone killed him."
"I heard. He let us out early."
"Why?"
"Who knows? Maybe he wanted to play with himself. Karen Reynolds is in that class. He had a thing for her. Don't think he did anything about it, but he looked and panted."
"What about you?"
"You mean Karen?" James said. "I look. Who doesn't?"
"Red pencils," said Danny, placing the red pencils on the wooden table.
"I see," said James.
"Who uses them?"
"Mr. Havel. Anyone who wanted them, or the markers, or the highlighters, could take them."
"Ever arm wrestle?" asked Danny.
"What for?"
"Fun." Danny grinned and put his arm on the table.
"You are one strange cop. No, thanks."
"You work out?"
"No."
"Okay. Give me your hands."
Danny checked his palms. When he was finished, James rose from his seat.
"We'll talk again," Danny said.
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Send Karen in when you leave," said Danny. "And don't talk to her."
"I don't talk to her. She doesn't talk to me. That way our love will always be a mystery."
"'Bells Are Ringing,'" said Danny.
"You like show tunes?" said the boy.
"My musical taste is eclectic," said Danny.
"Anything else?" asked James.
"We've got trouble right here in River City."
"Yeah," said the boy. "Remember the Maine, Plymouth Rock and The Golden Rule."
Danny adjusted his glasses and nodded as the boy left the dining hall.
As he waited for the next student, he wondered how Hawkes was doing. Stella had called and briefed him on the situation, had said the fire department had assured her they would get him out. Danny thought she had sounded less than completely confident. He'd told her to call him if she needed anything, wished he could do more.
Moments later Karen Reynolds came in and sat down without being asked.
Danny had expected a petite blond high school bombshell, like Shirley Moretti from when he was in high school. Karen Reynolds was blond, but not like Shirley Moretti. Her hair, cut short, was, like Karen Reynolds, fresh. She was lean and solid and tall, with long legs, and wore no makeup. There was an aura of health and wholesomeness about her. Karen Reynolds belonged in California on the beach or in Montana climbing a mountain.
"You swim?" Danny asked as she sat, back straight, showing blue eyes and perfect white teeth.
"Yes," she said.
"Records?" he said.
"A few. You swim?"
"Didn't have a pool at my school. I swam in the river."
"The river? The Hudson?"
"I kept my mouth closed," he said.
She smiled.
"What did you see in Mr. Havel's class before he dismissed you?"
"Nothing unusual."
"You liked Mr. Havel?"
"Yes," she said.
"And he liked you."
It was a statement, not a question. She said nothing.
"You were the last one out?"
"Yes. I think so."
"No one was left in the classroom besides Mr. Havel."
"No one," she said.
"I'm curious. What does your father do?"
"My father is dead," she said.
"I'm sorry."
"It's all right. He died when I was seven. He was a diamond dealer, very heavily insured. My mother took over the business."
"Mr. Havel ever make any moves on you?"
"No," she said. "He looked. That's all. I liked him. He was a great teacher."
"You have a boyfriend?"
"You asking for a date?"
She was smiling, maybe trying to make Danny a little uncomfortable.
"I'll wait a few years," he said. "You have a boyfriend?"
"Terry Rucker. A senior. Terry is not the jealous type and he did not come to school today. He's stuck in Ithaca. Rain. Basketball game last night."
Danny nodded.
"I'd like to call my mother before I say anything else."
"You're eighteen. We don't need your mother's permission to talk to you."
"You didn't tell me I could leave any time I wish unless you're arresting me."
"Why should we arrest you?" asked Danny. "You kill Mr. Havel?"
"No."
The answer was forceful. Danny was starting to think she was taller than he was.
"We can hold you on suspicion of withholding information," he said.
"There is no such charge."
"You planning on becoming a lawyer?"
"Yes," she said.
Danny was certain now. The girl was taller than he was.
He examined her palms, which she allowed him to do without protest. "You can leave," he said when he was done.
"No," she said. "I want to cooperate. So if you have more questions…"
"No, you can leave."
She stood. So did Danny. He didn't normally stand when women came or went, but there was something about her that made him sure that she expected the gesture. She took a dozen steps toward the dining hall door, then stopped and turned around.
"Everybody liked Mr. Havel," she said.
"Not everybody," Danny said.
Lindsay had laid a white cloth on the floor of the room in the CSI lab. On the table in front of her was a large, dead pig. Next to the dead pig were two hollow-cast, human-shaped heads lined on the inside with blood packs. One of the heads was vertical, head up. The other was horizontal, on its side.
Lindsay wore a white lab coat and goggles and her hair was covered in a plastic surgery-room cover.
She was ready. Different-size sharpened red pencils were lined up on the lab table. Lindsay picked up one of the thicker pencils in her gloved hand and plunged it into the neck of the pig. There was no blood. The blood had been drained from the pig the previous day. She left the pencil in the pig's neck and consulted the crime scene photographs of Alvin Havel and her own notes on the depth of his neck wound.