“Sarah,” she called, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, “when are you planning to come out of there?”

“I’m not coming out until you leave!”

Melanie knew a thing or two about hidden cameras. Generally they broadcast to receivers equipped with video recorders. Judging from the vintage of this one, it probably had limited range, meaning that the receiver must be hidden in this room somewhere. The closet next to the dresser, perhaps? Caught up in the rush of discovery, anxious about getting caught snooping, Melanie didn’t have a moment to waste. She hurried to the closet, turned the knob slowly to avoid telltale creaking, and eased the door open. Unbelievable, there it was. A video recorder, in plain view on the floor of Sarah’s closet. Melanie knelt down and pushed “eject.” A videocassette popped out. She held it in her hand, staring at it, heart pounding. You never could tell about people. The camera in the clock radio pointed directly at Sarah’s bed. Maybe it was just her own private porno, but maybe she was blackmailing Jed Benson with tapes of their trysts. Difficult to imagine how that would result in him winding up dead as opposed to her, but still, this had to be important.

Sarah turned off the water in the bathroom. Swiftly, Melanie closed the closet and shoved the videotape into her briefcase. She headed for the front door.

“Look, Sarah,” she called loudly, “I’ll leave now. But I’m warning you, this isn’t over.” No response.

“Once you know you’re needed for questioning, you can be charged with contempt if you leave town.”

Nothing. This girl was beginning to annoy her.

“I’ll pull the door closed behind me, Sarah. You’ll be hearing from me.”

21

BY THE TIME SHE GOT TO HER OFFICE, DAN AND Randall were parked out front waiting for her. Randall unfolded himself from the front passenger seat and flipped it forward.

“Not only can’t I fit back there, but it scares me,” he said with a wry smile. “And that’s after nearly twenty years on the job.”

Melanie contemplated the cramped, cluttered backseat, littered with clothing, newspapers, and empty coffee cups. “Wow.”

“Yeah. We’ve had reports of animal sightings,” Randall said.

“You’re killing me, botha youse,” Dan groaned from the driver’s seat. He came around to where they stood and gathered up an armload of clothing and garbage, dumping it wholesale into the trunk. He was freshly shaved, wearing neatly pressed khakis and a clean polo shirt. She wondered if he’d ironed the pants himself this morning to please her. He came back around, smiling.

“Okay now? Him I’m not surprised, he’s a pussy-ass wimp. But you,” Dan said to Melanie, looking right into her eyes, sending a jolt through her body, “I thought you had nerves of steel. Chased by a stone-cold killer in the file room last night, and you performed better than this.”

“I’m very squeamish about dirt.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Didn’t I say you were high maintenance?”

Randall looked back and forth between the two of them. “Something going on here I should know about?”

Melanie climbed into the backseat, thinking she’d better put a stop to this thing. People were beginning to notice. It wasn’t good for either of them.

“Hey, Randall, you weren’t kidding. There’s definitely animal hair back here.” She brushed yellowish hairs off her black pants.

“My dog, Guinness,” Dan said as he got back into the car.

“Sometimes I think O’Reilly likes that mutt better’n he likes people,” Randall said. “The Irish are strange that way. Us black folks don’t go in for consorting with no animals.”

“Randall, you perv, you better not be implying anything about my dog.”

“Not your dog, son, it’s you I wonder about.”

“I know character when I see it. Guinness is a purebred golden retriever. They may not be the smartest dogs, but they’re honorable and true. Which is more than you can say for most people. You like dogs?” he asked, catching Melanie’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Maybe you’ll meet him sometime.”

“Maybe.” Her tone was unfriendly. He looked away sharply. It killed her to hurt him, but it was for his own good. Ring or no ring, she was still married, hardly a candidate for a new relationship. She wondered how this could have gone so far in one day.

“Uh, can you watch the road, please?” Randall said as Dan pulled out, nearly sideswiping another car. An awkward silence settled over them, lengthening as they headed for the West Side Highway.

“So,” Melanie said, intent upon breaking it, “Dan, did you tell Randall what I found last night when I went through your old files? The phone call between Jasmine Cruz and the UM?”

Dan was silent, as if the road required his full attention.

“Yeah, O’Reilly here told me about the whole incident. We were talking about it just now on the way to pick you up, back when he knew how to speak.” Randall’s glance was half concerned, half teasing.

“Make up your mind. A minute ago I was talking too much and not driving right,” Dan said.

“Okay, there he goes. Glad to have you back, son. My personal view, Melanie: I can’t believe that was Slice who took the stuff out of your bag. I’m familiar with the security in your building, and I don’t think it would’ve been possible for him to get in. At least not without some inside connection.”

“That’s what I said. He must’ve had an inside connection! We should follow up on that, maybe get the sign-in sheet from the security desk.”

“No, no. I’m not saying Slice had an inside connection, but that it wasn’t Slice in the basement last night. I don’t go in for conspiracy theories. Usually the commonsense explanation is the right one.”

“Who put the tape on the security camera, then?” she demanded. “Who stole the evidence from my bag?”

“Some low-life building employee doing a bit of thieving on the side.”

“He takes a cassette tape, a transcript, animal-torture Polaroids, and thirty bucks? But leaves credit cards and checks? To me the money is a cover. It’s the evidence he was after,” she said.

“Why would a building employee want your evidence?” Randall asked.

“He wouldn’t. That’s why I’m saying it was Slice, or somebody close to him.”

“Nah, I don’t see it. I’m sticking with Ramirez’s theory that this was a retaliatory hit, plain and simple. If we want answers, we should do exactly what we’re doing right now-go interview Delvis Diaz. Diaz is the only known link between Jed Benson and the Blades, so that’s the most promising angle, far as I’m concerned.”

Melanie looked at Dan in the rearview mirror. “Is that your position, too?” she demanded, eyes flashing.

“I agree with you the tape is worth following up on. I’m trying to get a lead on Jasmine Cruz’s whereabouts. If nothing else, she might know where Slice is. And Benson’s phone records should be in today. If there was some kind of relationship between Benson and Jasmine Cruz, it should show up on his phone.”

“I guess that’s fair,” she said grudgingly.

“Okay, so that’s that. Anything else?” Dan asked.

“Yes, actually. I took an interesting detour on the way to work this morning.”

She told them about the videocassette she’d taken from Sarah van der Vere’s apartment.

“Gotta love a prosecutor who doesn’t trouble herself about a search warrant,” Dan said to Randall.

“Oh, Jesus, you’re right!” Melanie exclaimed. “What was I thinking? I was so involved in playing cops and robbers I got completely carried away.”

“Been there, done that,” Dan said, laughing.

“Never did care for the Fourth Amendment much myself,” Randall said.

“What should I do? Should I take it back?” she asked, truly upset at herself. To do something so careless-it wasn’t like her.

“And what?” Dan asked. “Knock on her door and say, ‘Here’s the tape I pinched from your house-we’re all done with it’? You’d burn our entire investigation.”