“It’s about something that’s going to happen.”
“Something that’s going to happen is a prediction or wishful thinking or a phobia,” Bonnell said. “It’s not factual.”
His desk phone rang.
He snapped it up and said, “Marino.”
“It’s Jaime. I think we have everybody.” Jaime Berger’s voice.
Marino said, “We were just talking about you.” He was watching Bonnell, found it hard not to look at her. Maybe because she was unusually big for a woman, super deluxe in every department.
“Kay? Benton? Everybody still on?” Berger said.
“We’re here.” Benton sounded far away.
“I’m putting you on speakerphone,” Marino said. “I’ve got Detective Bonnell from Homicide with me.” He pushed a button on his phone and hung up. “Where’s Lucy?”
“At the hangar, getting the helicopter prepped. Hopefully we’ll be flying out in a few hours,” Berger said. “The snow’s finally stopped. If all of you go into your e-mail, you should find two files she sent before she headed out to the airport. Following Marino’s advice, we’ve gotten analysts at the Real Time Crime Center to log in to the server that operates the surveillance camera outside Toni Darien’s apartment building. I’m sure all of you know that NYPD has an agreement with several of the major CCTV security camera providers so it can access surveillance recordings without tracking down system administrators for passwords. Toni’s building happens to be covered by one of these providers, so RTCC was able to access the network video server and has gone through some of the recordings in question, focusing as a matter of priority on this past week and comparing images with recent photos of Toni, including her driver’s license photo, and photos of her on Facebook, MySpace. Amazing what’s out there. The file called Recording One, we’ll start with that. I’ve already looked at it, and also the second file, and what I’ve seen corroborates information received several hours ago that we’ll discuss in more detail in a few minutes. You should be able to download the video and open it. So let’s do that now.”
“We’ve got it.” Benton ’s voice, and he didn’t sound friendly. Never did these days.
Marino found the e-mail Berger was talking about and opened the video clip as Bonnell got up from her chair and came around to watch it, squatting next to him. There was no audio, just images of traffic in front of Toni Darien’s brick building on Second Avenue, cars, taxis, and buses in the background, people walking past, dressed for the rainy winter weather, some of them holding umbrellas, oblivious to the camera that was recording them.
“Right about now she’s coming into view.” Berger always sounded like she was in charge, even if she was just talking normally, didn’t matter about what. “In a dark-green parka with fur trim around the hood. She’s wearing the hood up and has black gloves on and a red scarf. A black shoulder bag, black pants, and running shoes.”
“Be good to get a close-up of the running shoes.” Scarpetta’s voice. “To see if they’re the same ones she had on when she was found this morning. Asics Gel-Kayano, white with a red lightning flash and red accents on the heel collar. Size nine and a half.”
“The shoes in this, whitish with some red,” Marino said, aware of how close Bonnell was to him. He could feel her warmth next to his leg, next to his elbow.
The figure in the green parka was captured from the back, her face not visible because of where she was in relation to the camera and because of the fur-trimmed hood. She turned right and skipped up the wet front steps of the apartment building and already had her keys out, suggesting to Marino that she was organized and gave thought to what she was doing, was aware of her surroundings and security-conscious. She unlocked the door and disappeared inside. The time stamp on the video was five-forty-seven p.m., December 17, yesterday. Then a pause, and another recording of the same figure in the green parka with the hood up, the same large black bag over her shoulder, coming out of the building and going down the steps, turning right and walking off in the rainy night. The time stamp was seven-oh-one p.m., December 17.
“I’m curious.” It was Benton talking. “Since we can’t see her face, how do the analysts at RTCC know who it is?”
“I wondered the same thing,” Berger said. “But I believe it’s because of earlier images that obviously are her-ones you’ll see shortly. According to RTCC, what we’re looking at now is the last image of her, the last time she’s recorded entering or leaving her building. It appears she returned to her apartment and was there for a little more than an hour, then left. The question is, where was she after that?”
“I should add,” and it was Scarpetta talking, “that the time on the text message Grace Darien received from Toni’s cell phone was approximately an hour after this second video clip. At around eight p.m.”
“I left Mrs. Darien a voicemail,” Marino said. “We’ll get the phone from her so we can see what else is on it.”
“I don’t know if you want to get into this now. But the time on the text message and these video clips are in conflict with what I noted when I examined the body,” Scarpetta said.
“Let’s focus on what RTCC found first,” Berger replied. “Then we’ll get to the autopsy results.”
Berger had just said she considered what RTCC had found more important to the case than what Scarpetta had to report. One statement by one witness, and Berger had it all figured out? But then, Marino didn’t know the details, only what Bonnell had told him, and she’d been vague, finally admitting she and Berger had talked on the phone, and that Berger had instructed her to say nothing to anyone about what they’d discussed. All Marino had managed to coax out of Bonnell was that a witness had come forward with information that would make it “crystal clear” why Toni’s apartment wasn’t relevant to her murder.
“As I’m looking at the clips here,” Marino said, “I’m wondering once again what happened to her coat. The green parka isn’t in her apartment and hasn’t showed up.”
“If someone had her cell phone”-Scarpetta was still on that subject-“he or she could send a text message to anyone in Toni’s contacts directory, including her mother. You don’t need a password to send a text message. All you need is the cell phone of the person you want the text message to appear to be from-in this case, Toni Darien. If someone had her phone and reviewed messages sent and received, that person could get an idea of what to write and how to word it if the goal was to fool someone into thinking the message was from Toni, if the goal was to make people think she was still alive last night when she wasn’t.”
“It’s been my experience that typically, homicides aren’t as elaborately planned or as clever as what you’re suggesting,” Berger said.
Marino couldn’t believe it. She was basically telling Scarpetta this wasn’t Agatha Christie, wasn’t a friggin’ murder mystery.
“Ordinarily, it would be me making that point,” Scarpetta answered, without registering the slightest insult or irritation. “But Toni Darien’s homicide is anything but ordinary.”
“We’ll try to trace where the text message was sent from, the physical location,” Marino said. “That’s all we can do. It’s a legitimate thing to raise, since her cell phone’s missing. I agree. What if someone else has it and that person sent the message to Toni’s mother? May sound far-fetched, but how do we know?” He wished he hadn’t said “far-fetched.” It sounded like he was criticizing Scarpetta or doubting her.
“As I’m looking at this video clip, I’m also asking, How do we know the person in the green coat is Toni Darien?” It was Benton who spoke. “I can’t see her face. Not in either clip.”
“Just that she looks white.” Marino backed up the video to check again. “I’m seeing her jaw, a glimpse of her chin, because her hood’s up and it’s dark out and she’s not facing the camera. It’s catching her from behind, and she’s looking down as she walks. Both when she’s entering the building and leaving.”