"You're going to find that, too. I work with blood every day. It comes from inside people."
Glitsky raised his eyes in a baleful expression.
"I want to call Hardy."
"Absolutely. I'd never try to stop you. But he's not coming inside here."
Another thumping noise emanated from the bedroom.
Glitsky raised his voice. "Marcel! Easy! By the book, please. Nice and neat."
The doctor hung his head for a minute, then looked back up. "This is bullshit," he said.
Bracco struck out trying to reach either Malachi Ross or Brendan Driscoll. He was in the middle of leaving a message with the latter's answering machine when another call came in on their line and his partner picked it up. "Fisk. Homicide."
"Sergeant Fisk, this is Jamie Rath again, from Carla Markham's coffee group? I'm calling because I've been worrying all day. My daughter said something last night and it got me to thinking that maybe it was something you'd want to ask her about."
"What was it?"
"Well, you know she plays soccer. She's at practice right now, in fact. But she also runs cross-country, so she gets up early every morning and runs down to the greenbelt on Park Presidio and then up to the park and back the same way."
"Okay."
"Well, we were talking about Tim's accident, me just being a bitchy mom trying to remind her how dangerous the streets could be, even when you were paying attention. And she said she didn't need me to remind her. On the same day that Tim had gotten hit, almost the same thing had happened to her, only a couple of blocks away."
Fisk was snapping his fingers at his partner, indicating he ought to pick up the other line.
Mrs. Rath was continuing. "It had scared her silly. She'd just turned off Lake onto Twenty-fifth, coming back home, and was crossing the street. She saw this car coming, but there was a stop sign and she was in the walkway. Then suddenly she heard the tires screech and she looked over and jumped backward and the skid stopped just in time. Lexi was standing there with her hands on the hood, just completely flipped out. She said she yelled something at the driver, to watch where she was going, then slapped at the hood and went back to running. But I didn't have to tell her how dangerous it was. She knew."
"Did she say anything else about the car? What color it was, for example?"
"Oh yeah. It was green, which I guess is what made me think about Tim. Didn't I read that the car that hit him was green?"
Bracco butted in. "What time does your daughter get home from soccer practice, Mrs. Rath?"
Lexi sat between her mom and dad, Doug, on the couch in their living room. She'd been home long enough to have showered and changed into jeans, tennis shoes, and a light sweater. She was a tall and thin fourteen-year-old with braces and reasonably controlled acne. Her long brown hair was still wet. She was holding both of her parents' hands, nervous at being the center of attention, at talking to these policemen who were sitting on upholstered chairs facing her. "It wasn't really that big a deal. I mean"-her eyes begged for her mother's understanding-"I had this kind of thing happen before while I've been running. Maybe not this close, but almost. People just space out when they drive, but I know that. So I pay attention when I'm out there."
"I'm sure you do," Fisk responded. "And paying attention the way you do, did you notice anything unusual about the car that almost hit you?"
Lexi threw her eyes up to the ceiling in concentration, looked from Jamie to Doug, back to the inspectors. "I really only saw it out of the corner of my eye. You know, there was a stop sign. I saw it coming up the street and thought it would stop, so I didn't break my stride. I guess she didn't see me until I was right in front of her."
"So it was a woman? The driver?"
"Oh, yeah. I mean, yes, sir. Definitely."
"Was there anybody else in the car?"
"No, just her."
"Did you get a good look at her?"
She nodded yes. "But only for a second."
Bracco had been letting Fisk take the interview. He'd crowed all the way out here about the car, the car, the car. Jamie Rath had called him at the detail, or at least he'd answered the phone. He knew all along that the car would be part of it. Bracco didn't mind-Fisk tended to be good when gentleness was called for. But Bracco thought that sometimes he didn't hit all the notes. "But you did get a good look at her for that second, is that true? Do you think you could recognize her again?"
"I don't know about that. Maybe. I don't know."
Doug patted her reassuringly on the leg. "It's okay, hon. You're doing good."
"You are doing good, Lexi," Fisk seconded. "What we're asking is maybe we could send an artist out here to try to draw her face as you remember it. Would that be all right with you?"
She shrugged. "I could try, I guess."
Bracco asked her about the time, wanting to narrow it down.
"I know just what time it was because when I stopped, when she almost hit me, and then I started running again, I checked my watch to see how much time I'd lost. It was twenty-five after six."
This perfectly fit the timetable for Markham's accident. "So let me ask you this, Lexi. Would you close your eyes for a minute and just try to visualize everything you can think of about the car or its driver-I know it was only a second-just tell us what you see."
Obediently, she leaned back into the couch, scrunched between her mom and her dad. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "Okay. I was on Lake, just running like, and then I usually turn up Twenty-fifth and cross over, so I got to the corner and there was this car maybe, I don't know, a ways down the street, but coming to the stop sign, so I thought it would stop."
"Was the car speeding, do you think?" Bracco asked.
"I don't know. Probably not, maybe, or I might have noticed it more."
"Okay."
"But then I was off the curb like one step, and I heard the brakes go on, or the skid, you know that sound, whatever it's called. So I turned and she was going to hit me, so I jumped backwards and was facing her. Luckily she stopped just as I was reaching out. You know, in case she hit me."
"All right," Fisk said gently. "So you're leaning on the hood of the car. Is it damaged at all? Crashed in a little?"
"The light, yeah. I guess it would be the front, my left. I remember because I didn't want to cut myself on the broken headlight."
"Front right then, on the car."
"Okay, I guess so." She opened her eyes and seemed to be silently asking her parents if she was doing all right. A couple of nods assured her, and she closed her eyes again, but shook her head uncertainly. "I was kind of shaking then. It was pretty scary. But then I just got really mad and slammed my hands down on the hood again, really hard. I screamed at her."
"Do you remember what you said?"
"You almost killed me. You almost killed me, you idiot. I said it twice, I think. I was really mad and screamed at her."
"Then what?"
"Then she held up her hands, like it wasn't her fault, like she was sorry."
"Lexi," Bracco said with urgency, "what did she look like?"
It was almost comical the way Lexi screwed up her face, but there was no humor at all in the room. "Maybe a little younger than Mom, I think. I can't tell too good about adults' ages. But dark hair, kind of frizzy."
"Any particular hairstyle?"
"No. Just around her face. Frizzy."
"What race was she?"
"Not black. Not Asian. But other than that, I couldn't say."