Ochoa said, “I agree. It can’t be just one dude. And Carter Damon sure didn’t take those shots at you up on the High Line.”
Detective Rhymer came in from interviewing the eyewitness from the Brooklyn Bridge. “What did you get?” Heat asked before he even sat.
“Mixed. Dr. Arar was driving in from Park Slope this morning at four-thirty. He was mid-span when he thought he saw someone ahead tossing a garbage bag over the side. Then he got closer and saw the garbage bag had arms and legs. So he hit the brakes just as the guy went over. He says he stopped and honked his horn at the person tossing him over, and when he did, she started running the opposite way.”
“Hold on,” said Heat. “She? Your eyewit says the other person was a woman?”
“He has no doubt.”
“What’s the description?”
“Five-nine or -ten, athletic build, dark clothing, hat.”
“Did he see her face? Can we work up a sketch?”
“That’s the mixed part. He says it was too dark, and she didn’t turn to look at him. Just put her head down and booked.”
Malcolm asked, “How does he know for sure it was a woman?”
“I asked him the same thing. He said he’s a doctor, and he knows a woman when he sees one.”
“I always check for Adam’s apples,” said Feller. “Avoids a lot of awkward surprises when you get them home.”
When their ribbing died down, Raley asked Heat, “What about your sniper last night? Is it possible you were chasing a female instead of a male?”
Nikki said, “I don’t know. I never saw the Adam’s apple,” and started her next round of assignments. She sent Malcolm and Reynolds out to Staten Island to assist the 122nd Precinct in its search of Carter Damon’s house. Among the rest of the unit, she divvied up checks of his phone records and financials. To be thorough, she had Feller check the four people on Joe Flynn’s piano tutoring list for alibis during her High Line attack. Rhymer got the task of re-canvassing ERs and pharmacies now that they knew Damon had received some sort of medical aid.
“Happy to,” said Opie, “but didn’t we cover that base last week?”
“We did, and now we can do it again—but with a photo of Carter Damon to e-mail them.” She capped her marker and said to the group, “This is a good time to remind all of you: Do not get complacent. I know it feels like we’re starting to get traction with some hot leads, but this can just as easily go the wrong way if we don’t stay sharp and do the donkey work. That’s the way we’ll bring these cases home.”
When the squad had deployed, Heat dispatched a uniform to First Avenue to pick up the OCME security cam data Lauren Parry had secured. Nikki would hold it for Raley to scrub after he’d run Damon’s financial checks. Or she might even drop it in Sharon Hinesburg’s lap, if the diva detective ever made an appearance.
Nikki phoned Lauren to let her know to expect the video pickup. “Oh, this isn’t a call to say, ‘Come on, girl, hurry up, what’s taking so long with my autopsy?’”
“No way.” Heat paused then said, “Well, since you brought up the autopsy …”
Her friend chuckled and told Nikki this was good timing, she had just completed it. “First off, yes to water in the lungs. Carter Damon was breathing when he went in. Also, around the torn sutures, I did find mast cells, white blood cells, and lymphocytes. That’s what I look for under the scope when I want to know if a live body was trying to heal itself.” Nikki heard a page of notes turn on Lauren’s end and the medical examiner continued, “Here’s an interesting wrinkle. Not only had that chest wound been sutured, whoever did it removed the bullet. Not the most elegant job, but good enough. So we’re dealing with a reasonable degree of competence.”
“What about the neck?”
“Minor graze of the jugular. Toldja! Who’s better than me?”
Nikki said, “You need to spend more time with people. Preferably living.”