“Jesus!” Payne said.

“Yeah,” Rapier said. “Disgusting, huh? Toss away a human being like so much trash.”

“Is there anything else, any other details, on this case besides what’s on the text block?” Byrth said.

“Very little,” Rapier replied. “There are some shots of the medical examiner coming on the scene, but nothing of note. Javier told me…” He paused and looked at Payne.

Payne said, “Javier Iglesia. I know him.” He looked at Byrth. “He’s a technician in the Medical Examiner’s Office. Good guy, even though his humor runs on the really dark side.”

Rapier then went on: “Javier told me the body is that of a Hispanic female. He said he’s guessing that she can’t be even twenty years old. They haven’t done the autopsy yet. But they did take her fingerprints, and ran them.” He looked at his wristwatch. “That was almost two hours ago, so we should know at any time if we got a match on IAFIS.”

The Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System was run by the FBI. With more than 55 million subjects-voluntarily submitted by local, state, and federal law-enforcement agencies-it was the largest biometric database in the world. Accessible twenty-four/seven year-round, it could on a good day provide a response to the submission of a criminal ten-print fingerprint within a couple hours.

“With any luck, we’ll get a hit,” Corporal Rapier said. “Then it’s ‘In God We Trust-everyone else we run through NCIC.’ ”

Byrth chuckled.

“Amen to that,” he said.

Like IAFIS, the National Crime Information Center also was maintained by the FBI and available to law enforcement at any time. Its database contained critical records on criminals, including fugitives, as well as stolen property and missing persons. The data was provided by the same sources as those feeding IAFIS, plus whatever courts were authorized to contribute and some foreign law-enforcement agencies.

Then Byrth said, “If the doer is who I think it is, I wouldn’t hold your breath on getting that hit, Corporal.”

“Can I ask why?” Rapier said.

“The guy I’m hunting likes to lop off the heads of undocumented aliens. My money is on the real possibility that this poor girl has no paper trail.”

Rapier looked at him but didn’t know what to say. He looked to Payne.

“There was one other thing Javier did say,” Rapier added.

“What?” Byrth immediately said.

Rapier looked to Payne, who made a face that said, Well? “He noticed something unusual as he casually inspected the body before putting it in the body bag,” Rapier said.

“What?” Byrth repeated.

“Grass clippings. Javier told me that it was weird but there were some grass clippings, you know, where her head had been.”

“That is weird,” Payne said. “Maybe she was dragged through grass at some point? Or they were in the garbage bag?”

“No, not loose clippings,” Rapier said. “More like deep in the bone. Like what cut her was a tool that had had grass on the blade. And that grass got embedded.”

Payne looked at Byrth, who raised his eyebrows and made a face that said, Hell if I know…

They were all silent a moment. They looked absently at the other two banks of TVs. These showed the local and cable news show broadcasts, and the DOT highway and city traffic shots. Payne scanned the feeds. He found the ones of the Philly Inn, the Reading Terminal Market, and the Temple University Hospital. Their imagery was frozen.

“Anything else in particular you wanted to see?” Corporal Rapier said.

“Panel eighteen,” Payne said. “Is that what I think it is?”

Rapier punched a button on his console and the image on panel eighteen was replicated on the main bank of TVs, taking the place of the body recovery by the Marine Unit on the Schuylkill River. And Rapier punched another button, unfreezing the somewhat grainy black-and-white exterior shot of the Temple University Hospital.

Payne turned to Byrth as the cars and people began moving.

“This is the hospital I told you about,” Payne said.

Then the Hispanic assassin in royal blue scrubs kicked open the exit door and ran down the street.

“And that’s the sonofabitch I shot this morning!”

They watched the scene unfold.

When it was over, and started to loop, Byrth whistled.

“Pretty impressive, Marshal Earp. And that was a nice dodge of that taxi.”

“Not really,” Payne said. “I mean, I didn’t get the sonofabitch off the street.”

“Internal Affairs came and got a copy of that,” Corporal Rapier said. “I don’t know squat about how they do their job-I’ve heard some good stories, some horror ones-but that loop should get you cleared quickly.”

“Thanks, Kerry. I certainly hope so.” He looked back at the other banks of screens. “Can you put up the Philly Inn?”

Rapier did. And then for Byrth’s benefit, Payne went over the main facts of that scene. Rapier filled in any gaps. Then they did the same with the Reading Terminal Market scene.

When they had finished, Byrth grunted. “Almost as busy as one of our days just on the south side of Houston.”

“Still no surveillance imagery from the Reading Terminal Market,” Rapier then said. “But there are new images of evidence from the scene.”

“Such as?” Payne said.

“Still digital photos of the spent shell casings. And the drugs. Let me punch it up.”

Rapier manipulated the console and the main image replicated the smaller one from panel number sixteen. The image of the Reading Terminal Market on-screen now was updated with a still shot taken at the crime scene. It even included rubber-gloved investigators working it.

The text box popped up in the right-hand corner, and Payne’s eyes went to the text, which read:

Cause: Shooting. one hundred percent probability drug-related. heroin-based product recovered at the scene. also 42 5.7- x 28-mm shell casings and 10 9-mm shell casings, and a Rwuger P89 9-mm semi-auto pistol.

Payne noticed that the underlines looked like they were hyperlinks. Rapier was manipulating an on-screen cursor over them.

“Those are hyperlinks?” Payne said.

“Yeah. As the information is added to the master case file, the links are added. These links weren’t there earlier. This is sweet. Watch.”

He clicked on RUGER P89 and an image of the pistol popped up as an inset. Along the bottom of the image frame was a series of digitized buttons.

The pistol was on a concrete floor, an inverted V plastic marker beside it bearing a black numeral 44. The pistol’s slide was in the full-back locked position, indicating the semiautomatic had fired all of its bullets.

“They shoot these with digital cameras, taking four overlapping angles so we can construct on the computer a three-dimensional rendering. Watch.”

He worked the joystick on the console. The pistol practically spun on the screen, allowing almost all angles of view.

Payne said, “Now, that’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” Rapier said proudly. “And if there’s detail on the evidence, you can drill down. Like this…”

He moved the cursor to the series of digitized buttons. He clicked on the one with a question mark on it. A text box popped up over the image of the pistol. It was translucent; they could still see the pistol. The text read:

Ruger P89 9-mm semiautomatic pistol.

Serial Number R34561234

Sold 02 JUN Seller: Philadelphia Archery and Gun Shop, 831-833 Ellsworth Street, Phila., Penna.

Buyer: Harold Thompson, 1201 Allendale St, Phila., Penna.

Notes: Owner Thompson Reported Weapon Stolen 15 AUG from Owner’s Personal Vehicle Parked in Front of Allendale St. Residence.

“Jesus,” Payne said somewhat disgustedly. “Another careless owner lets his gun get stolen, and not two weeks later it kills innocent people. Another reason why citizens probably shouldn’t be allowed to have guns.”

Byrth raised an eyebrow. “I take it you don’t believe in the Second Amendment, Matt?”