Hugh Tatum must have asked for a minute to write things down.
“We got no clue when the girl came to the hotel. It’s possible she was packed unconscious into a trunk or a crate,” Rocco continued. “Might even be fancy luggage. One, two, three guys-don’t know the size of the entourage. She died between two and three yesterday, and it’s possible someone was still in the room with her an hour later. So from three P.M. on, look for luggage going out, assuming no one found anything yet in a stairwell or closet. Am I right? So you can start them watching tape from three P.M. on. Like hawks, got that?”
A uniformed cop ducked in from the hallway. He was a fresh face, reinforcements no doubt sent in from the Seventeenth Precinct after 8:00 P.M. “Excuse me, Lieutenant Correlli? My boss said to tell you that Commissioner Scully is on his way to the hotel. Stand-up press conference in the lobby at twenty-two hundred.”
“Press conference my ass. Fifteen minutes? We got nothing to give them.”
“It’s a zoo downstairs, Loo,” Mike said. “Gotta feed them something.”
“You better tell me how your magic box works, Dr. Azeem,” Rocco said. “Make sure I understand it, capisce?”
Fareed Azeem cleared his throat and moved into position by the fireplace mantel, as though it was the front of a small classroom. “As you all know, the identification of blood at a crime scene can be difficult to detect and certainly hard to rely on to pinpoint the time the bleed occurred, without months of laboratory analysis.”
“And this is what you’ve tried to do right there in the room?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. The techniques currently in use are actually a century old. Instead, our project involves hyperspectral imaging-”
“Explain that to me. I have to sell it to the media in a few minutes.”
“Certainly. So this imaging is done by a liquid-crystal filter-a tunable filter-that can provide immediate results.”
“How?” Mike said.
“The filter isolates different wavelength bands within every color. And because blood changes color over time-from a bright crimson to a very dull brown-our device is able to put an exact age to a sample.”
“This works in the UK? This wavelength band isolation?” Rocco asked. “Your murder teams use it?”
Fareed looked at the floor. “I remind you that this is a prototype machine. We’re still field-testing it. We’ve had remarkable levels of accuracy at home.”
“That’s what Johnny meant when he asked me if I was in for a forensic adventure,” I said.
Rocco removed a cigarette and matches from his jacket pocket and lit it. “So I’m a test case? Let’s leave your best guess out of the equation.”
“No smoking in here, Loo,” Pug said. “The manager reminded me.”
“I’m fresh out of heartburn medication, McBride. This is all I’ve got to calm my nerves.”
“Scully knows this is a crapshoot,” Mike said. “He’s gonna want to go with it.”
“What got your inner circle access back, Chapman? Last I knew you were headed for the rubber gun squad.”
Mike answered the lieutenant but looked at me. “It’s the latest thing, Loo, or hadn’t you heard? They try to rehabilitate miscreants these days. Give us a second chance. Were you hoping they’d administer a lethal injection?”
Pug chuckled. “Yeah, a quart of vodka.”
“It’s Scully himself who brought Mike into this,” Mercer said. “Once the medical examiner got word to him tonight that Professor Azeem was lecturing at Columbia this week and had this very promising device, he sent Mike to pick Azeem up and get him to you.”
The Manhattan North Homicide offices were uptown, much closer to the Columbia University campus than the South detectives or even the hotel scene. Keith Scully and Mike Chapman went way back together. It made sense that Scully would find a way to ease one of his smartest detectives into action again. This couldn’t be Mike’s case to run with, because his official assignment was the North, but he would be a valuable asset to have on a high-profile murder investigation.
“So Scully’s got your back, huh? On loan to me for this nightmare?”
“I’m not working a full tour, Loo. My mother’s in the hospital.”
I took a deep breath, anxious to ask why Mike hadn’t told me.
“If I may break in,” Fareed said, “I think the blood spot is an important factor. Perhaps every bit as important as the time of death. Not for the public, perhaps, but to inform the commissioner.”
“Yeah,” Pug said, scoffing at the reserved chemist. “Was it like a spot or a speck? Scully’s gonna wanna put his job on the line for that tidbit.”
“Tell me about it,” Rocco said.
“When your men worry about missing something with the naked eye, they paint the suspected area with luminol. It reacts with the iron in hemoglobin to produce a visible result.”
Television forensics had imparted that information to every viewer of SVU or CSI.
“But they missed a small area on the curtains today, which happens often when the fabric is in the very range of blood colors. These were what you might call rose. I imagine they just overlooked that area of the room as unimportant or uninvolved, since there was already so much blood on the bed and body.”
“So your camera scans the entire scene for the presence of blood?” I asked.
“Precisely. That avoids the assumptions that humans make, just applying the luminol where they expect to find evidence connected to the crime.”
“We may have enough of the killer’s blood to work up a DNA sample?”
“That would be my hope, Ms. Cooper. If the murder weapon is as sharp as Dr. Mayes described, he may have just nicked his finger on it while packing up to leave.”
“Let Scully sit on that factoid. He shouldn’t give it out to the public,” Rocco said, jabbing his cigarette at Fareed. “I’d like you, Pug, and Mercer to come downstairs with me to stand with the commissioner. Don’t open your mouth unless I tell you to.”
Pug nodded. Mercer didn’t need any instructions in dealing with the media. His dignity and wisdom had guided me through every hot-spot situation we’d encountered together.
“And you, Chapman,” Rocco said, pointing his cigarette tip, “keep out of the limelight.”
“I’m a new man.”
“I kind of liked the old one,” I said.
“What do you say, Loo? Welcome to our world, right? Probably the first time there’s ever been a murder at the Waldorf, wouldn’t you think?” Pug asked, straightening his shirt collar and reknotting his tie.
“Fifth,” Mike said. “Best I can tell.”
Mike had an encyclopedic knowledge of the city’s crime history, almost as thorough as the amount of military history he had absorbed throughout his youth and in his studies at Fordham University. His father, Brian, had been a tremendously respected homicide detective who died of a massive coronary within twenty-four hours of turning in his badge and gun. Brian had taken Mike, his only son, to crime scenes and on ride-alongs in unmarked cars as early as Mike could remember.
“Back in ’82 there was a bank executive killed in a stairwell. Robbery gone bad, and boy did she bleed like a stuck pig. My dad caught the squeal. I’m not sure anyone was ever charged with that. And in ’99 a tourist-from Brazil, I think-had his throat slashed by someone he brought back to the room with him after a week of gambling in Atlantic City. Known perp.”
“A slasher?” Rocco asked. “Better have someone pull those files tomorrow. Never can tell.”
“Not even close, Loo,” Mike said. “This was an execution.”
“Call Huey for me, will you, Mercer? Let’s get a plan for the midnight tour and tomorrow morning.”
Mercer called Sergeant Tatum and told him to get up to the command center, while Rocco began handing out assignments. “What have you got in the morning, Alex?”