“May I see the document, Judge?”
“You have a copy for her, Mr. Drusin?” the judge was frowning at me now.
“No, Your Honor. I didn’t think you’d take this nonsense seriously.”
“It’s the two-fifty, Ms. Cooper,” Aikens said, referring to the name of the report officers must file after a stop-and-frisk that didn’t result in an arrest. “July thirtieth of this year, signed by Police Officer Gerardo Dominquez, after he detained one Raymond Danner, who was carrying some kind of pipe-not a per se weapon, not against the law to possess-that he dropped to the ground on the officer’s approach. Looks like Mr. Dominguez got the spelling wrong.”
“How convenient for Mr. Danner.” I suspected that once the 250 form was entered electronically in the police data bank, the dots had been properly connected by other descriptive information-including the distinctive tattoo-and the point made that the dangerous escapee had been fortunate in his close encounter. “The pipe has long been Tanner’s weapon of choice. Unfortunately, this is the first I’m hearing about the stop.”
“That’s simply not credible, Judge.”
“What’s not credible is that Mr. Dominguez didn’t recognize Tanner,” I said. “His wanted poster has been on display in every precinct for two months. He’s been discussed at every muster and roll call since June twenty-first.”
My mind was spinning with conspiracies that I had better sense than to believe. Maybe Tanner and this perv of a police officer knew each other. They certainly shared violent propensities toward women. I was scrambling to remember where each of them had been raised and gone to school, whether there was any relationship I could cobble together before the judge’s attitude toward the defendant took a detour.
“Expect a motion from me tomorrow, Judge Aikens. Ms. Cooper needs to step down from this prosecution. She wouldn’t be so uncharacteristically rattled if there wasn’t such a clear conflict of interest between her involvement and this officer’s chance for a fair trial.”
“If it’s my credibility you’re attacking, Mr. Drusin, you’d better examine your own conscience. Or don’t you have one any longer?” I said. “How about September tenth for the next appearance, Judge? That should give Mr. Drusin time for all the frivolous motions he intends to make.”
Aikens nodded as the clerk recorded the control date for the case. I picked up my papers and turned to leave the courtroom.
David Drusin pivoted to whisper to me. “Don’t let your imagination run away with you, Alex. You might start seeing Raymond Tanner’s ugly face everywhere you go. That’ll give you something to prosecute.”
EIGHT
“Do we have a temp office?” I asked Mercer, when he met me in the lobby of the Waldorf at 11:15 A.M.
“In the basement. A cubicle next to the homicide guys. Where’s Blackmer?”
“He’ll be up in the afternoon. He’s interviewing a vic in that Columbia date rape.”
Mercer was leading me to the service elevator. “Did you drive?”
“No. Took the subway. I had a stop to make on my way in. Went to check on a sick friend.” I looked at Mercer to see if he got what I meant.
“All good?”
“Apparently not as sick as I thought,” I said, but he didn’t blink. “Mike here?”
“Don’t know what Rocco has him doing, or whether it’s his mother. I wasn’t expecting him yet. You’ve got to lose some of that edge, girl. You two will be okay.”
“My edge, such as it is, has nada to do with Detective Chapman. I’ve just come from the arraignment of Gerry Dominguez, and it was a bit contentious, to say the least.”
“You got rattled at an arraignment?” Mercer said, chuckling out loud as the elevator doors closed. “Miles to go, Alex.”
“I called the squad,” I said, referring to the SVU on upper Broadway. “Gerry Dominguez responded to a 911 call last month. Suspicious-looking thug carrying a lead pipe. Seventh Precinct.”
The DA’s office and courthouse were in the Fifth, so it was uncomfortably close territory.
“Lots of lead pipes around town.”
“This one was ours. Raymond Tanner. Fits the scrip to a tee, only Dominguez claims not to have known Tanner was wanted. Had his mitts on the mutt but misspelled the name by one letter in the two-fifty. Does that make any sense to you?”
“The sergeant hear anything about it?” Mercer said, referring to his boss at SVU.
“The only people in the know seem to be the giant computer brain at One Police Plaza and Dominguez’s lawyer, David Drusin. Something wrong with that picture, right?”
“There’s a whole task force looking for Tanner. They’ll jump on this.”
“So in the meantime, since Drusin’s shtick is that Dominguez is just playing mind games about chowing down on his wife and all the other ladies on his list, I can use my free fantasy time to worry about Tanner hunting me around town.”
“And I have no doubt you will do that, Alex, looking over your shoulder everywhere you go. So I’m going to put you to work instead.”
We had turned into a long corridor, dimly lit, with just enough air-conditioning to make breathing tolerable.
“You couldn’t find anything more cheerless than this?” I asked.
We passed several open doors. I recognized a few detectives in each of the rooms, interviewing men and women I assumed to be hotel employees.
Halfway down the hall, Mercer turned in. There were four desks in the barely furnished space, with an old lamp on each and a ceiling fan that looked like an original artifact.
“Best we were able to do. The presidential suite’s reserved.”
I dropped my tote on the floor, sat on a desktop, and began fanning myself with a manila folder. “Tell me the news.”
“Autopsy’s done,” Mercer said. “No surprises, and details to follow. The lab says that spot of blood that Dr. Azeem picked up on the curtain is sufficient to profile, so that jumps to the head of the line, along with our deceased.”
“Could it be hers?”
“Spatter? Sure thing. But it’s either hers or the perp’s, because Azeem’s camera says it was deposited the same time of day. It’s not some traveling salesman from a month ago who cut himself shaving.”
“So we’re likely to have two DNA patterns by tomorrow and a photo to put a name to the dead body anytime now. What’s up with the video surveillance?”
Mercer pointed to the far end of the hallway with his thumb. “They’re working two angles. Because Azeem put an exact hour on the murder, Rocco has one team working all the videos starting at two P.M., the earliest time he thinks she died. They’re looking for whoever left the room with the trunk, working off photos of the luggage we found last night, which is a huge help. That’s about fifty cameras’ worth.”
“Tedious job. Why wouldn’t they have just left the trunk in the hotel?”
“The killer clearly wanted to bleach out the insides and make sure it wasn’t traceable to him, and besides, it’s not bad cover walking out with luggage. We’re interviewing bellmen now to see if he was brazen enough to get help, even though someone had already attached wheels to the old thing long before it was stolen.”
“And what’s the other angle?”
“The second group is working in reverse, going backwards to try to catch the killer or killers coming into the hotel.”
“Any sign of the feds yet?” I asked.
“Nope. Just an advance team on site to see if they can secure the area they need for the executive group arriving this week.”
“Maybe Scully’s idea of lowballing this investigation to the media will work-making it look like an ordinary street crime, I mean.”
“I got the porter from the office building opposite the Yale Club in the next room. Let’s finish up with him.”
“How about the owner of the suitcase?”
“In London. Private equity guy who was here for a few weeks but lives in London. His wife was using the luggage to pack up a lot of her stuff and ship it over. Says he bought it at the antiques market on Portobello Road, with wheels already attached.”