“Downstairs,” she choked out, “my neighbor, Carmen.”

“What’s her number?” Dan asked, pulling out his cell phone.

“No, she don’t got no telephone. Just go downstairs.”

Dan nodded to Melanie, then walked out the door. Melanie sat beside Mrs. Cruz on the sofa and put her arm around her shaking shoulders. The woman looked up, her face streaked black with tears and mascara.

“Where is she? I want to see her! I want to go to her!”

Melanie explained the procedure for identifying and claiming Jasmine’s body. Mrs. Cruz resumed crying loudly.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” she asked, between sobs. “Junior? I tell Jasmine, that one is gonna kill you someday. But she don’t listen. ¡Ay, de mí!”

“You mean Slice? Yes.” Melanie took a business card from her wallet and held it out. “Look, if he comes by, or if you see him, act like you don’t know, okay? But then call me. Here’s my number. Will you do that?”

“Yeah, sure. I call you,” she said, taking the card and examining it through her tears. “Prosecutor?”

“I’m investigating Slice for a murder. I think your daughter knew something about it, and that’s why he went after her today. So you’ll call me if you see him?”

“Yes, believe me, I wanna get that bastard.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Dan returned with a thin middle-aged woman, who wore a denim skirt, white athletic socks, and plastic sandals.

“¡Ay, Yolanda, qué terrible!” she shouted, and ran into Mrs. Cruz’s arms. The two sat sobbing together on the sofa. Dan and Melanie left quietly, pulling the door shut behind them.

In the car neither of them wanted to talk about what they’d just witnessed.

“What’s our next move?” Melanie asked, pushing the images from the apartment out of her mind.

“I have Slice’s description out to the PD and all the federal agencies. Plus, I’m shaking down every snitch in Brooklyn.”

“All good, solid police tactics, but just not fast enough. What’s to stop him from striking again while you’re doing all that? The city is so big. There are so many places for him to hide. And we don’t have enough resources to follow up every lead.”

“Those are the constraints we have to work with. None of that’s gonna get better anytime soon.”

“We’ve been saying all along he’ll probably hit Amanda Benson next. So I vote we set up on her room and don’t move till we get him. I’m not leaving that animal out on the street to kill again.”

27

WHEN IT CAME TO ANTICIPATING WHERE SLICE would strike next, Amanda Benson was the obvious choice. The only choice, in fact. Anybody else they could think of who he might go after was already dead. Except Melanie, of course, but she tried not to think about that.

Dan dropped Melanie at the hospital entrance and went to park the car. Riding up in the elevator, she realized she’d been here just about this time yesterday. Seemed like light-years ago.

Amanda’s hospital room was situated approximately halfway down a long hallway. As Melanie turned the corner, it popped into view, its door unattended, gaping open. No crew-cut cop, no private guard, no Randall. Wasn’t he supposed to be here checking on Amanda? Astonished, Melanie broke into a run, terrified she’d find yet another dead body. But when she reached the door, she saw Amanda lying in bed, alone and unharmed, sleeping peacefully as a soap opera played with no volume on the television set affixed to the wall.

The open door, the missing guard, the vulnerable, sleeping girl. Melanie’s scalp prickled with fear, and she turned uneasily to look over her shoulder. Was somebody else using Amanda as bait to lure Slice? Or was she-Melanie-the target? Because this sure felt like a trap, and here she was, standing inside it, right in the bull’s-eye. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Dan’s pager with trembling fingers, putting in all sevens. Let him come as fast as he possibly could. She had a bad feeling about this. She found a buzzer attached by a cord to Amanda’s hospital bed and pressed it repeatedly, hoping she’d attract somebody’s attention. She needed reinforcements. A nurse, an orderly-anybody who would improve the odds and make an attack less likely.

The buzzing noise roused Amanda. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes bleary and bloodshot, but a startling green against her pale waif’s face. When she saw Melanie, she floundered against her pillow, struggling to sit up.

“Are you the nurse?” she asked, sounding disoriented, even frightened.

“No, I’m a prosecutor. Melanie Vargas. I’m working with the police to catch the people who hurt you. How are you, Amanda? I’ve been worried about you.” She kept her voice calm so she wouldn’t alarm the girl further.

Amanda’s eyes darted around the room anxiously. “Where’s my mom?” she asked.

“Nobody was here when I came in a minute ago. Let me help you with the bed,” Melanie said. She played with the electronic controls on the side panel and raised Amanda to a sitting position.

“Thanks,” Amanda said thickly. “Painkillers. You know, I’m so…uncoordinated.” She gestured vaguely with her unbandaged left hand.

“What happened to your bodyguard?” Melanie asked.

“That guy? I don’t know. He was skeevy, though. I’m glad he’s gone.”

“It worries me that you’re left unattended like this, Amanda.”

Amanda looked confused. “Do you have a cigarette?” she asked.

“A cigarette? No, sorry.”

“It might help me, like, wake up. Clear my head.”

“I honestly don’t have one. I don’t smoke.”

“Oh.”

“So your mother was supposed to be here, but she left?” Melanie asked.

“I guess so.” Amanda shrugged feebly, but she was obviously upset.

“I’m sure she never would have left unless something really important came up. She was so protective of you when I was here yesterday.”

Melanie looked toward the door again. She was beginning to wonder why Dan was taking so long, and why the hospital staff hadn’t responded to her buzzing.

“My mom tried to protect me?” Amanda asked, eyes wide and vulnerable. She was still just a kid, a kid going through a terrible ordeal.

“Oh, yes. She wouldn’t even let me near you to talk about…about what happened.” Melanie glanced involuntarily at Amanda’s right hand, swathed in bandages.

“Oh, you mean when she wouldn’t let you interview me and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I heard that. I was kind of, like, half asleep.”

“I apologize for being so aggressive with your mother.”

Amanda flushed, shaking her head bitterly. “Don’t apologize to me about her,” she said with sudden vehemence. “My mom’s a total witch. I hate her guts.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Amanda. I know you’re upset, but I’m sure she had a very good reason for leaving.”

“It’s not about that. You have no idea. She doesn’t care about me at all. First she ships me off to the loony bin to get rid of me, then she abandons me here when I’m, like, in majorly bad shape.” Amanda’s voice cracked. Tears welled up in her eyes and brimmed over. Melanie handed her a tissue from the box on the nightstand. Amanda mopped at her tears, but they kept coming and coming, rolling swiftly down her cheeks. This poor girl was a mess. Who could blame her?

“I’m sure your mother loves you very much, sweetie,” Melanie said gently.

“No, she doesn’t!” Amanda insisted, breaking into sobs. “You’re not listening. Only my dad loved me, and now he’s dead. I’ll never see him again. Do you have a fucking clue what that’s like?”

“Yes,” Melanie said, hearing echoes of another time. “Yes, I do.” “The bullet is lodged in the right frontal lobe,” she heard the doctor tell her mother. “If we try to operate, we risk destroying sensitive speech centers.” “Will he ever walk again?” “The paralysis on the left side may resolve with time. But I have to be frank, Mrs. Vargas. It could take years.”