Angell shook her head. "So you took it."
The man said more in Russian. The woman put a hand on his shoulder and said a single word.
"It was stupid, I know, and I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well," Angell said with a wince, "that's really not gonna cover it. You've opened yourself to criminal charges."
"What do you mean?" the man asked, speaking English for the first time. His voice wasn't as deep in this language.
"I mean she interfered with a murder investigation. And Detective Monroe here is going to take that necklace back to her lab, and she's going to see if there's anything on there that proves that your daughter committed the murder. And even if she doesn't, I could arrest her right now on charges of desecration of remains and obstruction of justice."
The tears started pouring down Dina's cheeks now. "I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't-"
Dina's father stood up. "Are you threatening my daughter, Detective?"
"Alec, please, calm down," the mother said, still sitting, looking up at him with a pleading expression.
"No, Raya, I will not calm down. My daughter came to you with this!"
"She also took the necklace in the first place," Lindsay said in a gentle voice, hoping to play peacemaker. Angell looked like she was ready to go ten rounds with Mr. Rosengaus, and that wouldn't do anyone any good-least of all Angell.
"I not kill her," Dina said in a small, sob-choked voice.
Lindsay thought that tone sounded eerily familiar. "We'll find that out."
Angell got up. "I'm not going to arrest anybody right now, but I will come back, rest assured. C'mon, Lindsay."
Closing her case, Lindsay removed the glove and put it back in her pocket-she preferred to dispose of it back in the lab instead of in the Rosengauses' garbage-and followed Angell downstairs.
"You were a little hard on her, weren't you?" Lindsay waited until they were outside to ask the question.
"I barely got started," Angell said with a snort. "The father was giving me attitude before you got there. He wanted to know when the 'real' detective was showing up. And I'm not convinced that our girl didn't do it. She's tall enough, and she might have the strength."
"Maybe," Lindsay said. "It's kind of a long shot, though."
"Well, do your lab thing, then. If that little stain really is blood, then we may have our killer."
"Keep in mind that it may be Maria's blood."
Angell sighed as she walked down the outer staircase to her car, which turned out to be one of the ones in the driveway. "I hope not. I need something definite here. As long as Morgenstern has his shark on retainer, we can't do anything with him unless the evidence is a lot more solid than what we have."
Nodding, Lindsay said, "I'll get right on this and get back to you."
Angell nodded as she got into her sedan.
17
WHEN MAC ARRIVED AT RHCF, he went immediately to the arsenal and checked his weapon and his Treo. After being handed the key by the CO on duty, he went inside, signed in, and waited while the CO behind the bench looked over his large metal case. It wasn't the same CO who was at the bench yesterday-this time it was a short man with thick glasses resting on a small nose, which in turn was over a thick mustache. All he needed were bushy eyebrows to complete the Groucho Marx look.
"What's this?" the CO asked, holding up Mac's Nikon.
Thinking it might be a trick question, Mac slowly said, "It's a camera."
"I don't think you're allowed to have that in here."
Mac sighed. He understood that the officer was just doing his job, but he really wasn't in the mood for this today. "I'm a detective with the New York Crime Lab-I need my camera in order to do my job. When I was here yesterday, I had all this equipment with me."
"Well, that's fine for yesterday, sir, but that was then and this is now. I can't allow you to take that camera in with you."
Mac doubted he'd even need the camera, but he hated the notion of being without it-especially if he did need it for a reason he couldn't predict.
After a brief pause, Mac said, "Call Captain Russell up here, he'll vouch for me."
Peering at Mac through the thick glasses, the CO said, "Sir, this is policy-there's no need to bother the captain with this. I can't allow you to take the camera inside."
Before Mac could object further, he heard the metallic hum of the outer door opening. Turning, he saw Ursitti walking through it, then waiting for the inner door to open.
When it did, he stepped through and said, "Detective Taylor. What's the holdup?"
"This officer won't let me bring my camera inside."
Ursitti gave the CO behind the desk a pained look. Mac had the feeling he'd used that particular look on that particular CO many a time. "What the hell is your problem?"
"LT, it's policy that-"
"It's policy that people don't die in custody. Let him take the damn camera."
With the utmost reluctance, the CO said, "If you say so, LT."
"Yeah, I say so." As Mac collected his case, Ursitti added, "I'm sorry, Detective."
Not wanting to create ill will, Mac said, "It's all right. The officer was just doing his duty."
After Mac had his hand stamped, Ursitti took him through both sets of doors, had his hand checked under the black light between them, then led him to a part of the prison he hadn't been to the last time: the infirmary.
The nature of his job was such that Mac had visited many hospitals, from various state-of-the-art facilities in the city where assorted victims had been taken, to the patch-'em-up makeshift field hospitals in Beirut when he served in the Marines. Involuntarily, Mac's hand went to his heart, where he was wounded in 1983; he'd been patched up in one of those field hospitals. The scar had faded, though it was still very visible, and it didn't twinge anymore when it rained, but he was always aware of it.
The infirmary at RHCF was somewhere between those two extremes: not as fancy as Bellevue, Cabrini, St. Luke's-Roosevelt, or the other Manhattan places he frequented, but not quite as depressing as the field hospital. There were two rows of beds lined up, some with patients, others empty and neatly made.
Ursitti brought him to a far corner, where a doctor was waiting, along with Russell. Lying on the bed was Jorge Melendez. Mac immediately noticed bruising on Melendez's jaw. He appeared to be asleep-Mac assumed he was on morphine, which had turned his lights right out.
Russell introduced the doctor, whose name was Patel.
"What happened?" Mac asked.
"He was assaulted in the shower," Dr. Patel said as he pulled the sheet down to reveal multiple contusions on Melendez's chest, some of which were obscured by bandages. "Cracked three ribs. No internal bleeding, though."
Mac nodded. "I'm not surprised. Whoever did this knew exactly what he was doing."
"What do you mean?" Russell asked.
"He was hit hardest in the solar plexus, right where the breath would be knocked out of someone, preventing him from calling for help. Based on those bruises, the blows were landed solidly, despite both the first and the target being dripping wet. This is the mark of an experienced pugilist."
Russell shrugged. "Well, we already know who did it."
This was news to Mac. "Who was it?"
"El-Jabbar. He confessed to it an hour ago. Said he wanted to mete out justice to 'Brother Malik's' killer."
"There's just one problem," Mac said.
"What's that?"
"Melendez didn't kill Malik Washburne."
Russell's white mustache twitched. "What?"
"Washburne died of anaphylactic shock. We're not sure from what yet, but Jorge Melendez isn't a strong suspect right now. Nobody is until we figure out what killed him." He looked at Ursitti. "What I want to know is how el-Jabbar knew that Melendez even was a suspect."