Death Dance (27 page)

"It's just a long shot, for investigative purposes only, I'm
telling you, we can call it abandoned property. Thenurse had a whole
stack of 'em there. He wasn't going to use this cup again, I just
helped clean up after him."

"Toss it, Mike. If we're going that route, we'll do it the
right way."

"And tonight's Final Jeopardy category," Alex Trebek said,
interrupting our legal squabble, "is Geography."

We each had areas of strength, and this was Mercer's. His
father's longtime job as a mechanic at Delta Airlines had exposed young
Mercer to a world far beyond his middle-class neighborhood in Queens.
He had studied the maps and charts his father used to bring home to him
and knew about place-names in foreign lands of which I'd never heard.

Mike put his twenty on the coffee table and walked to the
kitchen during the commercial break. "I'm going south on this one.
Anything in the fridge?"

I had never mastered the basics of cooking and rarely had more
than survival food, usually in the form of takeout from Grace's
Marketplace, a block away. "Your favorite pate and some heavenly
Stilton."

The answer to the question was posted for the three
contestants: "In 1754, Horace Walpole coined this word, which refers to
the original name of the country we now call Sri Lanka, and means
'accidental discovery.'"

"You can't trust this guy Trebek. He tells you it's geography
and then he throws one right in the lap of the English Literature
major," Mike said, slathering the rich cheese on a cracker and biting
into it. "Coop's already spent the money on her next pedicure. You know
this one, bro?"

"I couldn't do any better than that guy," Mercer said,
laughing at the computer software designer from Michigan who guessed,
"What is
Ceylonese
?"

"Well, for a time Sri Lanka was known as Ceylon, but that's
not what we're looking for," said Trebek. "Sounds like an artificial
fabric, doesn't it? You're thinking of
Celanese
,
probably. Different spelling, of course."

"What is
serendipity
?" I asked. "If I'm
right, Mike, I get you to come to the Vineyard with me this weekend."

"If you're right, you get your forty bucks and another chance
for me to tell you that you spent way too touchtime with your nose in
the books and not nearly enough in the local frat house getting some
practical experience."

"You're exactly right about that, sir," Trebek said.

"The ancient name of Ceylon was Serendip," I said
,
picking
up
the two bills, "and there was this
wonderfullywhimsical folktale about the three princes of Serendip and a
lost camel, which Walpole came across in his reading. So he created
this very expressive word, and now it's used for everything from the
discovery of X-rays to penicillin, both accidental side effects of the
things for which Wilhelm Roentgen and Sir Alexander Fleming were
actually searching. You should spend more time reading and a little
less on the bar stool at Sheehan's."

"And you need to get out a little more," Mike said, smiling at
me as I got up to put more ice in my drink. "Youknow, Mercer, come to
think of it, there might be a better way—perfectly
legal—to get DNA from Joe Berk."

"You sound like a man with a plan."

"I think, Detective Wallace, that what Coop needs is to take
one for the team."

"I
what
?"

"You should have seen the way that sleazebag was looking at
her this afternoon. I'm telling you, Mercer, with very little effort
and a little time on her back, she could wind up as the queen of
Broadway. We'd kill two birds with one stone—get some
valuable evidence from Joe Berk and improve Coop's disposition all at
once."

Mercer was Mike's best audience. He was glad to see his
grieving friend find humor in anything once again, happy that I was the
target. "Now don't go rejecting it out of hand, Alex. Taking one for
the team has a nice ring to it."

The doorman buzzed on the intercom to announce the food
delivery.

"I'm about to wine and dine you with the best corned beef
sandwich in town, and you're talking about farming me out to Joe Berk?"

"You mind if we eat in here so we can watch the game?" Mike
asked, switching channels to the Yankees game. "If Jeter or A-Rod asked
her to take one for the team, Mercer, she'd have her clothes off before
the question was out of their mouths."

"Guess what? You'd do exactly the same thing for both of them,
Mikey."

I took the bag of food to the kitchen to plate the sandwiches.
We ate in front of the television and then I went into my study to
organize my presentation for the morning grand jury while the guys
watched till we pulled out a victory in the bottom of the ninth.

The next morning, Wednesday, Mercer had Cara and Jean in my
office at eight fifteen to prepare them for the testimony each would
give separately to one of New York County's six daily grand juries, the
groups of twenty-three citizens who were impaneled for a month to hear
evidence and vote a true bill of indictment, if indicated, that would
propel a felony charge on its way to trial. When the prep was done and
the quorum was assembled in the ninth-floor jury room one flight above
me, Mercer and I led our witnesses up to the waiting room.

I filled out the slip for the drug-facilitated-rape charge,
and was reminded by the warden that the jurors had not heard any other
similar cases this month, which meant I would also have to instruct
them on the law. Colleagues with grand larceny auto and commercial
burglary cases let me jump the line, knowing my victims might be
fragile and more nervous about testifying for the first time than those
in less emotionally charged matters.

Jean was my first witness. She presented more
straightforwardly than Cara, and I stood behind the third tier of
jurors in the amphithe-atrically shaped room, next to the foreman,
taking her through the events of the preceding week and pacing her so
the stenographer could capture all the words of her narrative.

From my position in back, I could identify four or five
skeptical citizens—those who turned their heads to look at me
in puzzlement, those who leaned in to whisper to a neighbor in spite of
directions not to, and one who just shook his head from side to side
and stared off at the empty wall beside him rather than make eye
contact with the victim.

It was not until the forensic toxicologist took the stand,
reeled off her impressive qualifications, and then gave the results of
her testing that most of the panel appeared to sit more upright in
their seats.

"Are you familiar with the prescription drug called Xanax?"

"Yes, I am."

"Would you tell the jury, please, what kind of drug it is?"

"Xanax is a benzodiazepine. That's within the class of
pharma-ceuticals known as sedative hypnotics."

"What effect does a benzodiazepine have on the body?"

"These drugs work on the neurotransmitters in the brain to
inhibit the body's ability to function. It's used to relieve anxiety,
to help people sleep. It sedates them," Dr. Babij said, going on to
describe the specific scientific function of the drugs.

"What is the effect of taking Xanax with alcohol?"

"It's contraindicated, Ms. Cooper. They are both sedative
hypnotics, and because they interact with each other, they will
potentiate—shall I say, increase—each other's
effects. The desired reaction—sedation of the
patient—occurs faster, longer, and with more severe results."

When Dr. Babij reached the discussion of the dosage that had
been added to Cara and Jean's drinks, she extrapolated from the trace
residue found in their glasses. She went on to describe symptoms she'd
expect to find in the patient—everything from the nausea,
vomiting, gastrointestinal upset that the jurors had just heard about,
to falling asleep, loss of memory, and the possibility that these
depressants would cause cessation of breathing.

"Are there tests that can be performed, doctor, after these
drugs have been ingested, to help determine the amount of
benzodiazepine administered?"

"Yes, if the witness has presented herself to a hospital in a
timely fashion. We can check the blood or the urine. The drug is broken
down in the body by metabolites. Some of the drugs are so toxic that
they're evacuated from the body very rapidly. In this instance, we can
get a reading from the metabolites because the women were treated so
promptly after they awakened."

Dr. Babij studied her reports before looking up at the jurors
to explain the results to them. She recited milligrams and numbers that
were meaningless without interpretation. Her punch line would assure me
of an indictment within minutes of concluding my case.

"Jean Eaken ingested enough of the benzodiazepine, mixed with
an ounce of alcohol," she said, "to sedate a two-ton racehorse for the
better part of a week. In my opinion, that young woman is lucky to be
alive."

The toxicologist repeated her analysis on the testing of the
second victim. As I excused her from the room and stepped down in front
of the jurors, I could see a change in demeanor on most of their faces,
some "tsking" at the close call and others shaking their heads in
disapproval of Sengor's conduct. Their whispers would turn to serious
discussion after I read them the appropriate sections of the Penal Law.

Drug-facilitated-rape statutes—new legislation to
catch tip to new-and-improved designer drugs—addressed
serious crimes with severe penalties. I went over each element of the
crime—evidence I had proved beyond the standard
required—and left them to take their vote. Seconds later, the
foreman buzzed the warden, indicating the conclusion of their very
brief deliberation. The warden went in to retrieve the jury slip, then
showed me the bold check mark confirming a true bill of indictment
against Selim Sengor.

Back at my desk I dialed Eric Ingel's number while Mercer and
Maxine made arrangements to fly jean and Cara home to Canada.

"Eric? It's Alexandra Cooper."

"Change of heart?"

"Hardly. You told Moffett on Saturday that I had no reason to
hold your client without tox results. Well, I got them last night,
presented the case to the grand jury this morning, have my vote, and
I'll be ready to file the indictment tomorrow. I'd like you to
surrender your client to be arraigned then."

"What's the rush? I handed in his passport to Moffett's clerk
on Monday, and we're on for Friday anyway."

I didn't need to tell him that I had been burned by defendants
who were foreign nationals before. The odds were too good that Sengor
might try to flee in the face of felony charges with mandatory state
prison time, and Lucy DeVore was an example of how easy it was to
obtain false identification of every type in Manhattan. "Seems to me
your man has nothing but time on his hands. He's suspended from his
job, so there's really no reason we can't move this along."

"You just want to get the case out of Moffett's part."

"You're not wrong, but he won't be keeping it anyway, Eric.
It's getting wheeled out as soon as it's arraigned." The calendar judge
would literally put the names of six other judges in an old round
wooden box with a handle to spin it, and we'd be sent before the jurist
who was randomly pulled out of the wheel for motions and trial. "I
can't do any worse."

"And if I can't reach Sengor?" Eric asked.

"The hospital's got him phoning in twice a day. They beep him,
he returns the call. If they can find him, I'm certain that you will,
too, Eric. That way he can surrender like a gentleman. I'll give you
that. Ten o'clock tomorrow. Part Thirty."

"Worst-case scenario?"

"We do it the old-fashioned way. Handcuffs and headlines."

"I'll try to find him. I'll confirm it with your secretary
later today."

"Thanks, Eric."

Laura had held a call on my second line. It was Bob Thaler,
chief serologist at the medical examiner's office. "I'm looking for
Wallace. Is he with you?"

"Yeah. He'll be back in a few minutes. What's up?"

"Tell him we got a hit on that attempt on the dog-walker in
Riverside Park."

"Fantastic. What do you have on the perp?" Cold
hits—matches made from crime-scene evidence to DNA profiles
by a computer, even when the police have no leads on a
suspect—had revolutionized the investigation of violent
crimes. "Convicted sex offender?"

"Convicted of nothing. He was a suspect in the rape-homicide
of a woman whose body was found in Fort Tryon Park eight months ago,
but she was so badly decomposed there was nothing to submit for
comparison."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"Ramon Carido. Dominican, originally. Hasn't been in the
country too long—and he's here illegally. He's also homeless,
so far as I know. Got plenty of blood off the teeth of the dog that bit
him. Seeped right into his gums."

"Way to go. So even though the poor dog may have licked his
chops?"

"He could have tried to clean his teeth all night, Alex. We
just rolled back his gums and I found a great little sample of the
perp's blood."

"My dental hygienist would be proud of you. How'd you get
Ramon's DNA?"

"Special Victims and Homicide did their usual canvass. The
last person who saw the victim alive, going into the park for a run,
recognized Carido from the local soup kitchen. Said he was one of the
guys lurking around the fringe of the park that morning. Mercer's name
is on the evidence tag submitted. Must have convinced him to offer up a
saliva sample."

"So he's in the suspect database. And he's homeless."

"Have Mercer call me. We've got to figure some way to move on
this before Mr. Carido feels the urge to take a walk in the park again."

Mercer was as pleased by the news of the identification as I
was. "I liked him for it the first time. He's slick, Alex. Had no
problem spitting on my Q-tip cause he knew there was nothing left of
the victim's body. She was dumped in a remote area of the park in the
middle of hurricane season for more than ten days before she was found.
Picked clean by local vermin, and everything else washed away by the
rain and wind. Carido might even have checked the spot regularly to
admire his handiwork."