The Last Precinct

Chapter 11

I TURN ON THE TELEVISION AND HAND BERGER THE remote control.

"Dr. Scarpetta"_she completely ignores Marino_"before we get into this, let me give you a little background on how the district attorney's office works in Manhattan. As I've already mentioned, we do a number of things very differently from what you're accustomed to here in Virginia. I was hoping to explain all that to you before you were subjected to what you are about to see. Are you familiar with our system of homicide call?"

"No," I reply as my nerves tighten and begin to hum.

"Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, an assistant D.A. is on call should a homicide go down or the cops locate a defendant. In Manhattan, the cops can't arrest a defendant without the D.A.'s office giving them the go-ahead, as I've already explained. This is to ensure that everything_search warrants, for example_are executed properly. It's common for the prosecutor, the assistant, to go to the crime scene, and in a situation where a defendant is arrested, if he's willing to be interviewed by the assistant, we jump all over it. Captain Marino," she says, giving him her cool attention, "you started out in NYPD, but that may have been before all this was implemented."

"Never heard of it before today," he mumbles, face still dangerously red.

"What about vertical prosecution?"

"Sounds like a sex act," Marino replies.

Berger pretends she didn't hear that. "Morgenthau's idea," she says to me.

Robert Morgenthau has been the district attorney in Manhattan for nearly twenty-five years. He is a legend. It is obvious Berger loves working for him. Something stirs deep inside me. Envy? No, maybe wistfulness. I am tired. I experience a growing feeling of powerlessness. I have no one but Marino, who is anything but i

"The prosecutor has the case from intake on," Berger begins to explain vertical prosecution. "Then we don't have to fool with three or four people who have already interviewed our witnesses or the victim. If a case is mine, for example, I might literally start out at the crime scene and end up in court. A purity you absolutely can't argue with. If I'm lucky, I interrogate the defendant before he retains counsel_obviously, no defense attorney's going to agree to his client talking to me." She hits the play button on the remote control. "Fortunately, I caught Chando

To say I am shocked would be a gross trivialization of my reaction to what she has just revealed. It can't be possible that Jean-Baptiste Chando

"Clearly, you're a bit taken aback." Berger's comment to me seems rhetorical, as if she has some point to make.

"You might say that," I answer her.

"Maybe it hasn't really occurred to you that your assailant can walk, talk, chew gum, drink Pepsi? Maybe he doesn't

seem fully human to you?" she suggests. "Maybe you think

he really is a werewolf."

I never actually saw him when he spoke cogently on the other side of my front door. Police. Is everything all right inthere? After that, he was a monster. Yes, a monster. Yes, a monster coming after me with a black iron tool that looked like something from the Tower of London. Then he was grunting and screaming and sounded very much the way he looks, which is hideous, unearthly. A beast.

Berger smiles a bit wearily. "Now you're about to see our challenge, Dr. Scarpetta. Chando

"Why? Is he saying he was invited in?" My mouth has gone dry.

"He's saying quite a lot of things," Berger replies.

"Biggest bunch of fucking bullshit you ever heard," Marino says in disgust. "But then I knew that right off the bat. I go to his room late last night, right? Tell him Ms. Berger wants to interview him and so he asks me what she looks like. I don't say a word, play the asshole along. I tell him, 'Well, let's just put it this way, John. A lotta guys have a real hard time_no pun intended_concentrating when she's around, know what I mean?' "

John, I numbly think. Marino calls him John.

"Testing, one, two, three, four, five, one, two, three, four, five," a voice sounds on the tape, and a cinder-block wall fills the screen. The camera begins to focus on a bare table and a chair. In the background a telephone rings.

"He wants to know if she has a good body, and Ms. Berger, I hope you'll excuse me for making reference to it." Marino oozes sarcasm, still furious with her for reasons I don't yet fully understand. "But I'm just repeating what the piece of

shit said. And so I tell him, 'Geez, it wouldn't be right for me

to comment, but like I said, the guys can't think straight when she's around. At least straight guys can't think straight.' " I know damn well this is not what Marino said. In fact, I doubt Chando

"What the hell is this?" I feel like hosing him off with cold water. "Do female body parts have to enter every goddamn conversation? Do you think it's possible, Marino, that you might focus on this case without obsessing over how big a woman's breasts are?"

'Testing, one, two, three, four, five," the cameraman's voice sounds again on tape. The telephone stops ringing. Feet shuffle. Voices murmur. "We're go

"The point is, Chando

"For whatever that's worth." Marino angrily stares at the TV screen. So that's it. Marino might have helped induce Chando

The camera is fixed and I see only what is directly in its view. Marino's big gut comes into the picture as he pulls out a wooden chair, and someone in a dark blue suit and deep red tie helps Marino steer Jean-Baptiste Chando

"Can I have my Pepsi, please?" Chando

"You want it topped off?" Marino says to him.

No answer. Berger moves past the camera and I note that she is wearing a chocolate brown suit with padded shoulders. She sits across from Chando