"That's interesting. Does it have anything to do with our case here?"

"Oh yeah, it pertains."

"Give me a minute to call this in." Mike lifted his police radio and called in Peachy's fourth "find." It sounded just as weird to him as the others. In fact, this whole thing was looking more and more like a nut job. Zumech looked pretty strange himself, crouching on all fours with his face close to the ground.

"You were telling me about deer uterus," Mike reminded him. "Did they cut up women out there in 'Nam?"

Zumech finished his examination and jumped to his feet. "People, yeah, not just women. I'd heard of lacing scent to attract animals for hunting, even done it myself. But the Montaignards, where this guy Rat learned his stuff, they used the scent of people. Trained their dogs with human body parts. The way it worked was the U.S. Army would compensate them for all the K.I.A.V.C. they killed. To prove the kill and confirm the body count, they removed the ears of the dead."

"Oh yeah, how did our guys know whose ears they were?"

"Just a story I heard from a guy I used to know." Zumech hunkered down again.

"How does it compute here?"

He shrugged and changed the subject. "When I got back in '69, the Department was hiring without background checks, giving special consideration to veterans, you know-especially those with combat experience. You weren't around in the late sixties, but it was riot time here."

"Yeah, I know all about that." Mike didn't want to hang around for the lecture.

"They had a special unit manned by former marines and paratroopers. Those were the guys they wanted on patrol in the street. Tactical Patrol Force, it was called. Sounds good, huh?

"This guy, Tunnel Rat, was in that. He was there for the riots in Harlem, the riots at Columbia, too. After that, he was assigned to training the Department's bomb-detecting dogs. Until '86 he trained dogs and responded to suspected explosive devices. He worked over at Rodman's Neck."

"Uh-huh." Mike nodded. Most everybody trained at the firearms ranges and tactical house there. So what? The sun was on its ascent, getting hotter by the minute. They were waiting around for the forensic unit.

John glanced at his watch. "In '86, the Department decided to obtain additional dogs and it was the Rat's job to train the cops and their trackers. They're especially effective in missing or abducted children's cases."

Mike glanced at his watch, too. The history lesson was informative, but where was it leading? Zumech didn't seem to mind his impatience.

"As you know, Rodman's Neck is one bridge away from City Island. During his years in the Bomb Squad unit, the Rat used to go over there for lunch. And he made friends with a deputy warden of corrections. Know what this guy's job was?"

"Ah, this is where the body parts come in, right?"

"Smart."

"I'm a detective," Mike murmured.

"So, Warden Kelly supervised the fifty-man prison inmate crew that buried the City's unknown dead. The site was Hart Island, a ten-minute ferry ride. Every day, fifty to a hundred bodies lay there in the sun, in the cold, in the rain, whatever. The unclaimed bodies were put in flimsy wooden boxes. If the bulldozer that buried them broke down, sometimes they sat there for several days oozing fluids. Pretty putrid. The sweet smell of death was perfect for training the dogs. The Rat went over there once a week. And you know, sometimes those inmates were clumsy and accidentally knocked over a few of those boxes and the stuff just oozed right out."

"Uh-huh." Mike was getting the picture. Was this glob on the grass in front of them a cop story, or what?

"You know, after the Rat started training the dogs out on Hart Island, many a promotion was lost. A funny thing happened when he hunted with the dogs, often a body would turn up in an area that was supposed to have previously been searched."

"Oh yeah?" Now Mike was interested. It just happened that yesterday this area had been previously searched.

"Uh-huh. The brass at One PP always applauded Rat's work big time, but never knew why he did such a good job." John put his Yankee hat back on. "He used to collect the stuff in jars."

"Jesus, you still do that?" Mike said with a smile because Zumech was clearly the Rat of his story.

"Nah, we don't need to do that anymore. These days you can get any scent you want mail order. Verisimilitude doesn't matter one whit to the dogs."

From a distance came the sound of a chopper. The whole west side of the park was being treated like a huge crime scene. Someone must have thought it was a good idea to bring in a bird. For sure all the activity wasn't because of the homicide of a homeless man. EMS and Crime Scene units were appearing on the scene in minutes. Brass from downtown and numerous precincts uptown were beginning their ritual drop-ins. Interest in the operation was growing like marijuana under grow lights.

When Mike left with Zumech, the separate areas of Peachy's "finds" were being roped off with yellow tape and a criminalist was drawing a map of their locations. No expense was being spared. Because of a number of high-profile police brutality cases in the last year, the department was having major trouble with its image. Morale on the street was low and the PC was on the line. Not only that, it was an election year. The mayor wanted to be governor. It looked like any possibility of killings in Central Park was a first-rate opportunity for a publicity blitz.

Zumech snorted, "Jesus, a bird." Then he dropped his zinger. "My guess is someone from 'Nam is involved in this."

"Yeah, you're right, the victim."

"No kidding!" Zumech looked surprised. "How do you know that?"

"I knew him." Mike's hair blew all over the place as the bird hovered over them, then moved off to a safe distance and slowly descended to the grass.

Forty-three

Okay. Go ahead, do it." Brandy lay back on the sofa in her father's apartment. It was midmorning. She was pissed at her mother and certainly hadn't gone to school as she'd promised. Nor had David. Neither of them had even considered it. They'd planned to smoke her dad's pot and enjoy the show.

"Just like that? Don't you want to see them bring him out?" David was shocked by her changing the subject so quickly. He was excited about the killing. He wanted to talk about it and think about it for a while. He hadn't expected such a high feeling and didn't want to lose it.

The heehawing of the ambulance was getting louder. Soon the news of a dead man in Central Park would be everywhere, and the TV vans with the dishes on top would be back on Central Park West. The TV crews would be out again, and there would be plenty to watch. In a few hours they'd be able to see it all over again on the news. He'd thought the whole purpose was to see it on the news, tape it all, and watch it again and again for the power it gave them over the whole city.

"They found him," Brandy said with a little shrug, as if it didn't matter to her now. "We can take a break for a while."

She wiggled her bottom and smiled her cute little smile, neither of which had David ever been able to resist. "Too bad you don't have your laptop. We could look at those cute pictures again," she said.

"You really liked that, didn't you?" he said without enthusiasm. He wanted more appreciation for ridding the earth of a piece of scum. The drunken bum had attacked her last night. He'd saved her life. He was a hero. She should be more interested in that than porno.

"What's the matter? I thought you wanted to fuck," she said.

"Sure I do." David frowned. The truth was he wasn't sure he actually did want to right now. This lack of interest made him wonder if he was gay. He felt a little funny to say the least. Maybe something was wrong with his meds. Maybe the Ritalin was making him gay. Or it could be he just wasn't in the mood. He was still rattled by his mother and father yelling at each other about him again. So early in the morning and so loud they woke him up. He hated that.