“Stop at the DNA lab. Give ’em this. See if your blarney works on those dames.”
“It’s no value, you said.”
“Fingerprints, sweetheart, are a mixture of sweat and oils and skin cells. You figured that out yet, Mike? There are tiny little repositories of DNA in all that minutiae,” Patty said. “That smudge is of no value to me, but I can give you a whole bunch of lifts that may just have the genetic fingerprint—the DNA—you’re looking for.”
“Touch DNA,” I said. “That’s what they’re working on for me on that old case I have against Lem Howell. We’ll have them rush it. Howard Browner will do it.”
“Let me get the four or five best partials for you.”
We waited another fifteen minutes for Patty Baker to finish her work. She straightened up, packaged together the lift cards, and handed them to Mike.
“I think Sir Francis has spoken,” she said.
“How’d you know?” I asked.
“Just used to his whirring sound. I heard something coming into the printer.”
“I’ll get it,” Mike said.
“Mitts off, sweetheart. Keep that leash on him for a few minutes, will you, Alex? The computer may kick out a handful of close possibilities. I do the final comparison, and I do it without a bloodhound breathing sour-cream-and-garlic-chip odors over my shoulder.”
Patty walked to the machine and scooped up a sheaf of papers. She returned to the desk, picked up the magnifier, and got back to work. “You heard me, didn’t you, Mike? Back off.”
Mike turned away from Patty and began to pace. Another twenty minutes went by before she raised her head to speak to us.
“I hope you weren’t too wedded to that match,” she said. “The computer didn’t kick out Salma Zunega for you.”
“Maybe Sir Francis is wrong again, Patty. Can’t you call the lieutenant and dig her card out of his office?”
“I think the old boy knows exactly what he’s doing, sweetheart. He and I are ready to declare the same match.”
“The thumbprint on the mascara wand actually comes up a hit against someone in your database?” I asked. “Someone other than Salma Zunega?”
“I’ll walk you through the ridges and minutiae if you like. You got more than enough points of comparison to stand up in court.”
My head was spinning. The expensive makeup was sold in upscale department stores and boutiques, but I had thought if the fingerprint on it matched anyone in the statewide identification system, it would have been Salma.
Patty Baker held out the computer result and the lift card she created an hour earlier. “Looks like the girl with the midnight black mascara washed up on the beach the other day. It’s the Golden Voyage case, all right. She’s still got no name in my database, but the woman who used this makeup is your other murder victim. She’s your Jane Doe Number One.”
FORTY
“You want to come up?” I asked Mike. “I can order in a Peking duck from Shun Lee.”
We were parked in the driveway in front of my apartment. It was almost nine P.M.
“No, thanks. I overdosed on junk food. And you need to get some rest.”
“You going home?”
“Making a stop first.”
He had blown up his date with Fanny Levit last night to hang out with me at Vickee and Mercer’s. I had it in my head that he would stop by her place tonight. It was none of my business and I tried to push my curiosity out of mind.
“You have any thoughts on how Jane Doe got her hands on such expensive makeup?” I asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Who knows what the snakeheads did to lure those girls to make this trip? Ask Olena when you see her on Monday.”
“I will, but she didn’t seem to have anything more than the shirt on her back.”
“I’ll talk to the guys who searched the ship. Find out what was left on board. Maybe the baggie was in Jane Doe’s pocket when she washed up.”
“I’ll give you that one. She had on a sweat jacket, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike said.
“Now, how did it get from the beach to the front doorstep of City Hall?”
We were both stumped by that one. Mike started ticking off the names of people who’d been at both the beach and the mayor’s office.
“The mayor choppered in after we left, and both his bodyguards—Rowdy Kitts and Dan Harkin—were there. Commissioner Scully. Donovan Baynes and most of the JTTF crew. You and Mercer and me. And Lord knows how many cops and rescue workers who’ve been in contact with Ethan Leighton and Kendall Reid. Lots of people coming and going from City Hall.”
“I feel bad making Patty and the DNA techs go through so many hoops for us,” I said. “Could be an innocent explanation.”
“Like somebody picked up some flotsam and jetsam at the scene of the wreck, and didn’t think it was connected to the case? Just tossed it out in a ditch at City Hall?”
I smiled at Mike. “You’ve been looking for the cross-dresser in this case from day one. Maybe that’s all it was—debris on the beach, so far as anyone knew. Somebody grabbed it and forgot to throw it away. Whoever had it in his pocket didn’t want to be embarrassed getting caught with makeup going through the metal detector.”
“Good for you, Coop. At least you’re not seeing the bogeyman everywhere. Maybe we just wasted the last few hours. Show me Donny Baynes in lingerie and makeup and I’ll be satisfied.”
“All worth the time just to meet Patty,” I said. “Maybe the puzzles will unravel in my dreams.”
“Do me a favor?” Mike asked as I opened the car door.
“Sure.”
“Double down on that Dewar’s tonight. I want you to sleep like a baby.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Thanks for pushing them on that touch DNA rush,” Mike said.
“Sure.”
We had dropped the plastic bag off at the lab on our way here, causing no small annoyance to the terrifically overworked staff.
“You got plans or you staying home tomorrow?”
“The Sunday morning newspaper, a pile of bills, Christmas correspondence that stacked up while I was away, and a long afternoon nap. I promise not to cause any trouble.”
One of the doormen came to help me out of the car and escort me inside.
I went upstairs and let myself into the apartment. The quiet of my own space was comforting after the day’s unexpected encounters.
I undressed and pulled back the comforter just far enough for me to slide into bed. I didn’t even feel like a drink. I pressed the button and listened to messages from friends. Joan and Jim had flown in from D.C. and tried to find me for dinner, and the office team was eager for updates. My parents were urging me to join them for a warm weekend in the Caribbean sun later in the month, and I hoped they were blissfully unaware, at that very long distance, of the turmoil that had enveloped my professional life.
Luc’s voice was warm and loving. I put my head on the pillow and replayed his message several times. His day had started at dawn, at the market in Cannes; then he took his kids to the museum in St. Paul de Vence for the afternoon; and described in detail the feast he enjoyed with two other couples I knew at his restaurant in Mougins. A little too much champagne, it sounded, infused his words with a slight slurring of affection, but it was a calming way to end the evening.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d turned my lights out this early.
Sleep washed over me and I gave in to it without resistance.
The phone rang shortly before four A.M. I sat up, pleased I hadn’t anesthetized myself with alcohol.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Alex.” There was no mistaking Mercer’s voice. “I’m just through the tunnel on my way uptown. I think you might want to tag-team me.”
“On what?”
“The Three-three just broke up what they thought was a domestic. Not quite the usual thing. A guy in a Jaguar arguing with a woman.”
“A Jag in th
e Three-three? The jerk might as well have lit himself up in neon.”
“It gets better. She’s standing out on the sidewalk screaming bloody murder but took off on a fast trot when the cops appeared. She left something behind in the car that might interest you.”
“I’m all ears, Mercer.”
“A perfectly healthy little girl, around nineteen months old. She’s got a gold locket around her neck, engraved with the name Ana.”
I was out of bed, reaching for my clothes. “They get the driver, or did he run too?”
“He’s sitting in the station house, waiting for you. It’s your friend Ethan Leighton.”
FORTY-ONE
The child was sound asleep in a portable carrier that had been brought in from the car. A young policewoman was watching over her in a quiet corner of the detective squad room on the second floor of the Thirty-third Precinct station house on Amsterdam Avenue.
I noticed them before I saw the congressman sitting at a desk in the corner. He looked even more drawn than he had yesterday in the park, now dressed in a black-and-gray argyle sweater. Over his shoulders, he had one of those all-weather jackets with corduroy collars that made him look ready to embark on an early morning hunt from Balmoral Castle.
“This is the last thing I expected to happen during the night, Ethan.”
“Hello, Alex.”
I could barely hear him, even though I was only several feet away.
“This is Mercer Wallace. He’s a detective from the Special Victims Unit.”
Leighton nodded. “Am I being held here in custody?”
“Not as I understand it.”
“Free to leave?”
“We have some questions we’d like to ask you. We’ll wait till Lem gets here.”
“I haven’t called Lem.”
Leighton was staring at the floor. I looked over at Mercer and shook my head. “I’d better do that.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Actually, I do.”
“I fired Lem Howell.”
“You what? You couldn’t have a better lawyer. When did you do that?”
“Late last night. I’ll be representing myself.” Ethan Leighton picked his head up and looked at me. His eyes narrowed to dark slits, hooded by heavy lids. “What do you want to know?”
The cops who brought the congressman into the station house had not charged him with any crime, even before they had identified him. The car was registered to his father, he didn’t appear to be intoxicated, and the screaming woman who had attracted police attention didn’t wait around long enough to make a complaint to them.
Mercer nodded at me to start asking questions. “Why don’t you tell me where Ana has been since the night you were arrested? Who the woman was making a scene up here in the middle of the night?”
Leighton put his jacket on and started walking toward the baby in the carrier.
“Not the baby, sir.”
“What?”
“You can’t take the baby with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Wallace. She’s my child.”
“Right now we don’t know who she is.”
“I’m telling you who she is. She’s my daughter.” Leighton turned to me. “Tell him this is my child, Alex. Doesn’t he read the newspapers?”
“No need to raise your voice, Ethan. You don’t want to talk to me, so just head off into the night and we’ll take good care of Ana, I promise you.”
“Has your daughter ever lived with you?” Mercer asked, even though he knew the answer.
“No. But she’s going to live with us now.”
“In your wallet, sir, do you have any kind of identification for her? Any medical card, for example? A photograph?”
“I don’t have any forms, any cards. I—I’ll have to get those. Her mother’s been killed, Detective. Have a heart.”
There was a slight tremor in Leighton’s hands when he reached for his wallet. “At my office, I’ve got results of a DNA test that established my paternity of Ana. Obviously, I wasn’t married to her mother. You can pick it up from my secretary on Monday.”
Someone had done a banner business in faking paternity tests. Leighton must have caved to Salma’s demands when he saw the report that even an amateur could have forged, with the indecipherable markings of a DNA match.
“Who was the woman in the street, Ethan? The woman who was screaming at you?”
He pretended not to hear me as he stalled for time, for a way to resolve this potentially explosive incident. The tabloid feeding frenzy would crush any hopes he had of disposing of his drunk driving case.
“Who was the woman in the street?”
Leighton glanced at the sleeping baby but didn’t answer. The tic in his eye was getting more pronounced.
Mercer stood up from a nearby desk and took his worn leather badge case out of his pocket. From behind the flap, he removed an old photograph of Logan.
“This is my son, Mr. Leighton. He’s a little older than Ana. He’s home safe in his bed, where he should be at this hour, surrounded by all his favorite things. And I’d be right there with him if you hadn’t interrupted my night.”
Leighton almost whispered. “I’d like to take her home with me.”
“Not a single photograph in your wallet of that beautiful little girl? I can’t imagine it,” Mercer said. He was getting to Leighton in a way that I could not. “You want to tell me how you expect to get legal custody of Ana? What your wife says about all this? Hell, Claire hasn’t even been cleared as a suspect yet.”
Ethan Leighton turned and walked back to his seat.
I wasn’t ready for this enormous curve ball that had been thrown at me in the middle of the night. I was shocked to think that Leighton had known about Ana’s whereabouts all week, puzzled that he’d had the bad sense to toss Lem off his case, no less walk into this bizarre situation on the street. I was unprepared to be the one to tell him—in the dingy confines of the squad room—that he was not in fact the biological father of this little girl.
“Suppose I leave here without taking Ana?”
“You can do that.”
“What happens to her now? I mean, where does she go?”
The ugly truth was that Ana was likely to be placed in the care of the city’s children’s services agency until her identity could be sorted out.
“I wasn’t expecting any of this, Ethan. It won’t be my decision.”
“The woman who’s been caring for her is a good person. If you’d assure me that Ana can stay with her, I’m willing to step back until things are settled.”
“Then you’ve got to tell me who she is. Nobody’s going to let this child go off in the night with a stranger on your say-so. Give us a chance to fight for the baby.”
“Drag her into a police station? You’re punishing me, not the child. I don’t think I can do that.”
“What’s her name?” Mercer asked again.
Ethan Leighton got to his feet and began pacing across the room.
“She’s called Anita. Salma named the baby for her, in her honor.”
“That’s a good start,” I said. I was thinking that the baby was most likely Anita’s child, given the name for that reason. “Her last name?”
“Let me think about whether I want to do this.”
“Maybe I can move you along,” Mercer said. “Salma must have been very close to Anita, right? Trusted her a great deal?”
Leighton was still reluctant to talk. He took his time answering. “Yes, she did.”
“Is Anita also Mexican?”
He nodded.
“Did she come here illegally? I can help her with that if you’ll let me. We’re not going to do anything to hurt her.”
“They were very dear friends, Detective. Anita took care of the baby when Salma needed help. They’ve been through a lot of things together. Things you couldn’t begin to understand.”
Try me, I wanted to say. “How much time have you spent with your baby?”
/>
“Very little, Alex. I told you that. It’s been a very complicated relationship. I—I wasn’t even sure the child was mine until recently. I’ve been trying to do the right thing by both of them, okay? I’m financially capable of giving the child a good life. Claire—my wife—is an incredibly strong woman. She’s willing to take this on with me.”
“There are many more issues to be considered than just your wishes. I don’t think anyone’s going to leave that decision up to you and Claire.”
“What the hell is this? A social work office or a police station? Somebody pass a law I don’t know about that I can’t raise my own kid?” Leighton was suddenly raging like a gored bull.
“Calm yourself, down, sir. Alex is right. The family court will have a look at the paternity tests. They’ll establish the maternal link, too, what with Ms. Zunega dead and unable to be party to this.”
Leighton swiveled around and swept a few volumes of a detective’s penal law books off the top of the old wooden desk. “They’ll take my word for it, goddamn it. I’m a congressman, for Chrissakes.”
I didn’t want to get any more specific with him, give him any more bad news, until I checked with Lem Howell to see if his representation had really been withdrawn and we were all in a more private place.
“It’s five o’clock on a Sunday morning, Ethan. You know nothing is going to be settled today. If you want Ana to be well cared for, tell me how to find Anita.”
“And you’ll give her the baby?”
“I’ll recommend that she be vetted to take custody in the short term. You know there’s been a manhunt for this child, all over the country, for days now.”
Leighton dropped his head again and nodded. “The baby’s been perfectly safe. They’ve hardly left their apartment for a minute since the news about the murder. Anita’s only fear is that Salma’s baby will be taken from her, in the event that I’m not granted custody.”
“You mind telling me why your friend Anita was standing on a street corner at three o’clock in the morning, causing such a commotion? Running off without this child she loves so much?” Mercer asked.
Leighton shuffled uncomfortably. He wasn’t making eye contact with any of us. “Anita’s been difficult since last week, when she heard the news about how sick Ana was, and then about my accident.”
Hell Gate Page 29
