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."
"Does it bother you that the attacks occurred in such different parts of the city?"
"Not at all. He probably had to leave the 'hood in Washington Heights 'cause word on the street was that he offed the Tryon jogger. Moved south to what Mike likes to call the People's Republic of the Upper West Side. Homeless shelters, folks friendly to panhandlers and derelicts, and the same kind of victim population walking, running, and sunbathing in a convenient park. He's my man."
"So how fast can we find him?"
"Let me call the squad. He ponied up with counsel when I brought him in for questioning last fall and I know I've got the name of a Legal Aid lawyer in my file. You finish up on Sengor's indict-ment and I'll work on finding Ramon."
By two thirty in the afternoon Laura had completed the paperwork for the filing of the charges against Selim Sengor. We had ordered in lunch from the Thai restaurant on the corner and the white cardboard containers had grown cold and developed leaks while I waited for Mercer to come back from Maxine's office, where he was making the calls, with the information we needed.
"Ron Abramson," he said when he finally returned. "I just tried the nice way, but maybe you can talk some sense into him."
"How much do we need his help?"
"All the way. We don't have a permanent address of any kind for Carido, there's no file with Immigration and Naturalization 'cause he came in under the radar, and there's no mug shot 'cause he wasn't arrested. You gonna issue an APB for a six-foot-two Hispanic with no distinctive features or scars, maybe facial hair this season or maybe not, last seen wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt? I don't even know if Ramon Carido is his real name-that's what he gave us and that's what we're stuck with. Good luck, Alex."
Ron and I had started in our respective offices the same year. He supervised a pod of attorneys who handled violent felony cases, and there was little reasoning with him when he entrenched himself in a position for one of their clients.
I dialed the Legal Aid number and pressed his extension. We started with pleasantries and the conversation deteriorated from there.
"It doesn't matter whether or not I have a way to get in touch with Mr. Carido, and it matters less whether I know where he is," Ron said. "You get nothing from us."
"Ron, we've got a confirmed hit identifying Carido in the Riverside Park case. Whether you help us or not, we're going after him. It would be nice to think that another woman would be spared the trauma of a sexual assault by bringing him in sooner rather than later. If he's got a story that makes sense, I'll listen to you. I'm working with Eric Ingels on another matter and we've made a deal for a surrender in a perfectly civilized way, which is the same thing I'm offering your client."
"You even think about going after Carido on the cold hit you've got and I'll take you to court on it, Alex."
"What are you talking about? Of course we're going to find him."
&nbs
p; "Want to meet in front of Colleen McFarland?" Ron asked. "I can be there in fifteen minutes."
He knew McFarland was one of my favorite judges. Before her appointment to the bench, she had been one of the first women partners in the litigation department of one of the best law firms in the city, and a protegee of Justin Feldman and Martin London, two giants of the New York bar.
"I don't get where you're going with this, Ron. I've got a known perp and I want to get him off the street as fast as possible."
"Your match came from the wrong databank, Alex. My guy's never been convicted of a crime and his profile should have been removed from the suspect database months ago. Before you try using that information to lock him up on this, I'll get a court order to stop you. I'm not kidding around-I'll have you jailed for contempt."
22
I phoned Mike on my cell as I paced the corridor outside Judge McFarland's courtroom, walking among the drug dealers and predators who were waiting for their afternoon calendar calls in the six felony parts lining the long corridor.
"You keeping busy?" he said to me.
"Next time I tell you that the thing I like most about my job is that no two days are the same, or that it's never dull, or that it isn't like the movies because time and all other new cases don't stand still for the prosecutor even though the big murder investigation she asked for has dropped into her lap, promise me you'll smack me."
"My pleasure. Where are you?" Mike asked.
"About to start a hearing that I hadn't exactly factored into my day. And you?"
"At the Met. The guys on the task force are tearing through the employee interviews. They're breaking down into categories-workers with ironclad alibis who never left the stage or were in the company of two or more other witnesses throughout the entire show, and a second group that needs a harder once-over; they're loners and oddballs or guys who didn't sign in or out Friday night. Third are the ones who make themselves potential witnesses-saw somebody they didn't know in a hallway or stairwell, think they spotted Galinova getting on the elevator with another person."
"How big is your pool of possible suspects?"
"We can rule out almost three hundred workmen. Solid guys, all professionals at what they do. They're of no interest to us. Gives us another hundred to monkey with. The lieutenant wants me to do the callbacks. Go at the weirdos a little harder than the first crew."
"Anything new on the forensics?"
"That glove we were talking about-they've been retesting the pre-limary because of the two different profiles I told you about, from skin cells inside and out." The scientific technology had advanced to the point that with ordinary handling, cells would slough off and leave a genetic profile on almost any item of clothing that came in contact with skin. "The one on the outer palm doesn't match the one on the interior. Thaler gave this assignment to Dr. Bauman to work on, so he's got us swabbing all the first responders-cops and detectives."
"That'll add a few days," I said.
"Yeah, we've got to start by eliminating the first cop who picked up all the items. And every third-grader and boss who came along after that probably handled them. The DNA could come from the killer, of course, but it could also have been left there by anyone who held on to the gloves recently."
I was trying to resign myself to the long timeline dictated by the laboratory work that needed to be done.
"Ten years ago, the first time you used DNA, how long till you got a result?" Mike asked.
"Two months, maybe three."
"Yeah? Well, my first homicide had a six-month turnaround before we had even a preliminary profile, and you still had to fight the court to introduce it into evidence as a valid scientific result. Remember those days? Now we're impatient if we can't get a hit in forty-eight hours. We'll get it done, Coop. Mercer around?"
"Sitting in the courtroom, waiting for the fireworks to start. We're up here on that case of his from the weekend, in Riverside Park. I'll explain later."
"Maybe we can meet up for dinner. Tell Mercer to bring the pooch that bit that asshole-I'd like to buy him a cocktail."
Ron Abramson turned the corner from the elevator bank and held open the door for me. "You want to settle this the easy way, before we go in?"
"Sure. You give us Mr. Carido and we'll talk deals."
"Not happening. I was hoping you'd see the error of your ways. I guess you've got no weekend plans, Alex. The Women's House of Detention can be a rough place to visit," he said, smiling at me as we continued on to talk to the court clerk.
"Three hots and a cot, Ron. I've got very simple needs."
He wagged a finger at me. "No minibar. You'll be sorry."
Colleen McFarland frowned when she saw us walk into the courtroom together. She looked at the remaining case names on her calendar and all seemed to be accounted for. "New business, Ms. Cooper, Mr. Abramson?"
Ron pushed through into the well and let the swinging wooden gate slam back against my lower body. "Yes, your honor. I've got an application to make. It's a matter of first impression and I'd like a ruling before Ms. Cooper rushes ahead and winds up with some bad law."
"Okay, let's add it to the calendar, shall we?" McFarland said, rising from the large armchair on the bench and directing the court reporter to take down the proceedings. "Have you got a docket number?"
"No. There's no case yet, your honor, and that's the way I'd like to keep it. It's in regard to a Legal Aid Society client named Ramon Carido."
"Who's going to start here? One of you want to give me some facts?"
Ron pointed to me and allowed me to describe the details of the attack, the subsequent investigation, and the serologist's cold hit.
"What's your problem with Ms. Cooper's plan?" McFarland was smart and thoughtful, an attractive woman with wavy red hair and ice blue eyes that looked like they could cut through steel as easily as legal bullshit. Ron wouldn't have chosen to bring this issue before her without confidence in his position because she wouldn't hesitate to use her acumen to put him in line. And despite my friendship with her, she would be just as likely to rule against me and make no apologies for the decision the next time we went to Forlini's for lunch.
"There are two different databases involved, judge. May I distinguish for you?"
"I think I'm familiar with them, Mr. Abramson, but I'll let you make your record."
"The New York City Generalized DNA Index System is a forensic DNA database authorized under Article 49B of the New York State Executive Law. The legislature strictly limited the circumstances under which the State is entitled to collect, to preserve, and to disclose an individual's DNA records. It limits the genetic profiles to be maintained in the database only to people who have been convicted of specifically designated felony crimes."
"That's the convicted offender database, then?"
"Yes, judge. But that's not where Ms. Cooper alleges the match to my client was made. He's not a convicted offender. His profile isn't in that pool."
"Tell me about that."
"The medical examiner's office maintains another DNA system."
McFarland was taking notes. "What's that one called?"
"It's the linkage database, your honor. It's what you might refer to as a 'usual suspect' or 'suspect elimination' base. It's got everything from arrestees who've never been convicted of anything to bystanders at a crime scene who get caught up in a sweep."
"By that you mean that biological samples are submitted to this second bank during investigations-by some lawful authorization, either by court order or voluntarily or-"
"Nobody gives DNA voluntarily," Ron said dismissively. "There's always an element of coercion when the police ask a person to give them a sample of their blood or saliva. Nobody wants to give their DNA to the government."
"That's absurd, your honor," I said, standing to address McFarland. "It happens every day without police coercion. Thousands of people all over the country volunteer to submit samples to exclude themselves during investigations of
violent crime, to help the police in homicides or assaults involving family and friends, strangers who-"
She motioned me to sit down. "You'll have an opportunity to respond, Ms. Cooper."
"Thank you, judge. I envy you, on behalf of all my colleagues at Legal Aid. At least one of us has the power to quiet my adversary with the wave of a hand. May I go on?"
"Certainly, Mr. Abramson."
"There is absolutely no legal authority for the existence of these records in the linkage database. Ms. Cooper's efforts to use Mr. Carido's profile-which should have been expunged from that computer system months ago-violates his Fourth Amendment freedom from unreasonable search and seizure and his Fourteenth Amendment right of bodily autonomy and informational privacy."
And clearly violates what Mike liked to call Ron Abramson's Twenty-sixth Amendment right to be a pompous ass.
"I take it that Mr. Carido was a suspect in some investigation or other several months back, is that right?"
"Yes, judge. But never charged."
"With murder," I said from my seat. "He's still a suspect in an unsolved murder. We're not talking about a minor crime with a statute of limitations. We're talking about a rape-homicide that's still an open case."
McFarland gave me her sternest look. "You'll get your chance, Alex. Mr. Abramson, were you Mr. Carido's lawyer in that matter?"
"No, ma'am. One of the young women I supervised was the attorney of record."
"And did she make a motion to expunge Carido's profile from the database?"
I shook my head in the negative while Abramson searched his file.
"Did she?"
"I'm looking, your honor. I can't find any record of that. But beyond that point, the legislature only authorizes disclosure of the DNA match in the particular criminal proceeding for which the biological sample was obtained. The prosecution wants to turn that legal provision on its head and open the floodgates, keep all the exclusionary samples and just test them whenever it strikes their fancy."
Death Dance Page 18
