“Oh, right. Bernadette said Diaz founded some major gang?”

“Yeah, a unit of it anyway. Heard of the Gangsta Blades?”

“Sure. They’re everywhere. Puerto Rican, mostly retail heroin, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m Puerto Rican, you know. Half,” she said, studying him.

“Really? I thought so from the name, but then you talk just like one of those anchors from the TV news.”

“This is work. I speak the King’s English. Besides, I’m second generation. I barely even speak Spanish at home.”

“Yeah? Where’s home?”

“ Manhattan now, but I’m from Queens originally.”

“Whereabouts? I’m from Queens, too.”

“It’s really the Brooklyn-Queens border. Technically, it’s Bushwick.” She blushed.

“Bushwick? You’re kidding,” he said, clearly surprised. “That’s a tough neighborhood.”

“Well, right near the border with Ridgewood.” She was acting like her mother, she thought, annoyed with herself. Her mother hated Bushwick and used to say they were from Ridgewood when they really weren’t. Bushwick was rough, though, which was the main reason Melanie had worked her butt off to get out.

“You know,” Dan said, “Diaz founded a crew called the C-Trout Gangsta Blades. Named for the corner of Central and Troutman in Bushwick. So if Ramirez is right, the perps in this case are probably Bushwick boys.”

“Yeah, well, my mother never used to let us walk down that way.”

“I don’t blame her. Central and Troutman’s been a major drug supermarket for the past twenty years.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“You really from Bushwick? ’Cause you sure don’t seem like it.” He glanced up at the diplomas on her wall, then looked back at her, scrutinizing her closely, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Trust me, it’s there. You can take the girl out of the block, but you can’t take the block out of the girl. What about you? Where in Queens?”

“ Belle Harbor, out in the Rockaways,” he replied, naming a solidly middle-class neighborhood of mostly cops and firemen.

“Oh.” She nodded.

“Could’ve guessed, right? I haven’t come that far in life. Put me in a groove and I stay in it.”

He looked down at the papers in his hands, seeming suddenly shy. There was something endearing about him.

“Okay, well. Diaz was a big local kingpin. Benson locked him up for a triple homicide and heroin distribution about eight years back,” Dan said.

“He still locked up?” she asked.

“Yup. Three consecutive life terms at Otisville. He’ll die there.”

“So we track down Diaz’s known associates on the outside and, bingo, find the killer? That sounds too easy. Besides, if Diaz was in for eight years already, why go after Benson now?”

“Good point, Counselor. Revenge doesn’t usually wait that long. Look, I’m not saying this is the answer. The hit could’ve been for some other reason entirely. But I have to admit, there is some support for the Diaz angle.”

“Such as?”

“We got two eyewitnesses. Benson’s teenage daughter, who’s not well enough to talk yet, and a Filipino housekeeper, Rosario Sangrador. Me and my partner, Randall Walker, already interviewed Rosario. She’s scared to death.”

“From what I saw last night, I can’t say I blame her.”

“You were at the murder scene?”

“Yes.”

“Now it’s my turn to be impressed. I saw the autopsy photos this morning. That was some nasty shit. You got a strong stomach for a girl.”

He grinned at her admiringly for a long second. His eyes were very blue. Melanie looked down at the desk, trying not to notice. What was it about this guy? Handsome, yes. But normally stuff like that didn’t even register with her.

“So where’s the housekeeper now?” she asked.

“What?” Dan was looking at her, still smiling.

“The housekeeper. Where is she now?”

“Stashed out of town so nobody gets to her. She tells quite a story. Typical gangland home-invasion MO. Four or five guys wearing ski masks. We recovered one of the masks from a Dumpster near the scene. It’s at the lab getting examined for hairs and fibers. Anyway, one guy rings the doorbell. When she answers it, they all push in. They got a big dog with ’em, kind of unusual, right? She never sees their faces. But she hears ’em talking to each other and she gets some aliases. I gotta admit, the akas come up in the NADDIS database as known C-Trout Blades. That’s what makes me think Ramirez could be right with this retaliation idea. Why else would these gangbangers target Benson? Anyway, it’s a place to start. Here, I’ll take you through it.”

He opened a folder and plucked out two mug shots.

“By the way, the reason me and Randall got tapped for this case is, we did a wiretap on the C-Trout Blades a few years back. Took down about forty guys, learned a lot about the organization. They’re a nasty crew.”

He laid the two mug shots on the desk in front of her. She picked one up and examined it, feeling a tingle of déjà vu. The boy in the picture looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, but he had a pointy, feral face, small eyes, and a cold, sullen expression that chilled her.

“Who’s this? He looks very familiar,” she said.

“His street name is Slice, but we don’t have a true name for him.”

“You have a mug shot, so he has a criminal record. How could you not have his true name?”

“The mug shot’s from a juvie arrest about ten years ago. Apparently he was arrested under the name Junior Diaz, but it turned out to be false.”

“Diaz? Like the gang leader.”

“Yup, interesting coincidence.”

“Maybe it’s not a coincidence. A family relationship to Delvis Diaz would fit with the retaliation theory, right? Like, say, Delvis’s little brother whacking Benson to avenge the conviction or something,” Melanie said. “But why do you say it’s a false name?”

“It didn’t check out. At the time of arrest, he gave a false Social, false address. Apparently they didn’t figure it out until later.”

“Hmmm,” she murmured. She was performing the same calculation she always did, whenever she came across the right type of suspect. A Bushwick kid, Puerto Rican, rough, a gangbanger. Certain things matched. But no. This one was too young, and according to the physical description on the pedigree sheet, much too small. She didn’t see how it could be the same guy, that one she’d been looking for for so long.

“You say Slice looks familiar to you, though? Did you run across him in a case of yours?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t place him-it’s just a feeling. What else do you have on him?”

“Nothing solid. He’s very careful. Won’t talk business over the telephone, won’t deal with strangers except through trusted subordinates-that type of thing. But my informant from that old wire tells me about Slice from way back. Says he’s the real deal. Maybe twenty bodies on him. Real psycho. Likes to torture his victims first by cutting pieces off ’em. That’s where he gets the aka. Oh, and generally kills all witnesses. That’s how he stays out of jail.”

“Then maybe it’s not the same guy. Our perp left witnesses. He didn’t kill the housekeeper or Benson’s daughter,” she pointed out.

Dan was quiet for a moment, pondering that. Their thoughts must have been following the same path, because when he opened his mouth to speak, she knew what he was going to say.

“He didn’t kill ’em. Yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated.

“Don’t worry. We got security on both of ’em. In fact, I’m gonna call right now to tell those guys don’t even leave their posts to use the john.”

“Yes. Do that. I’m pretty good, but even I can’t make a case if the witnesses are dead.”

AS THEY TALKED, MELANIE FILLED PAGES OF a yellow legal pad with notes on what they needed to do. And do fast. Identifying and apprehending Slice was the top priority. If he was the perpetrator, they could assume he would try to eliminate the housekeeper and Jed Benson’s daughter. They needed to stop him before he did any more damage.