Entombed by Linda Fairstein Page A

Stockings. Old-fashioned, expensive, hard to
come by, and totally useless without garter belts. Not the cheap Lycra
waist-high pull-ups from a local drugstore that all our other girls
were tied with."
    "So, what's your
point?"
    "That this killer's a
copycat who's read the news accounts of the case pattern, took the
headlines literally, and is trying to imitate our rapist to cover up a
murder," I said, passing the bloody hosiery to Mike. "These really are
silk stockings."

    12
    "I'll take your twenty
dollars and bet it on this. They're not going to find semen when they
autopsy her," I said to Mike as we climbed the staircase to the squad
room in the Nineteenth Precinct station house at 5 A.M. "This wasn't a rape."
    We walked in, greeted
by the frightened or sullen faces of more than a dozen men-black
men-seated on every available chair. The metal gate of the holding pen
was thrown open so that others could sit on the benches usually
reserved for prisoners.
    "What the hell's
happening here? Somebody holding auditions for The Jeffersons ?"
Mike asked Mercer,
who was coming up behind us. "One look around and I know it ain't
hockey tryouts."
    "Same damn thing as
last time. This is where the RoboCop business gets ugly."
    After the serial
rapist task force had been formed several years back, the moment there
was a report of an attack that fit the pattern, police swept the
neighborhood for every dark-skinned man who was on the street. A single
glance around and it was obvious that no one in this crowd even
remotely resembled the roundcheeked suspect depicted in the victims'
composite sketch.
    A lone detective sat
in a corner in front of a computer monitor, entering pedigree
information into the system. "What are you doing, DeGraw?" Mercer asked.
    "I'm trying to get
these guys out of here as fast as I can. Two doctors-they're the quiet
ones behind bars over there. One partner at some fancy-dancy law
firm-he's the one screaming about the racial-profiling suit he's gonna
file on behalf of everyone who's keeping me company this dark and
lonely night. A banker, two cooks, a fireman, a hot dog vendor, a
paroled burglar with six misdemeanor convictions, a couple of lounge
lizards hanging out at the local bars looking for a lonely piece of
ass."
    "Why are they here at
all?" I asked. "This is appalling." The usual procedure was to do a
stop-and-frisk on the street, fill out the necessary paperwork that
accompanied the search, and let the men go.
    "The guys stopped so
many people they ran out of forms. We had to bring the rest of them in
to process."
    Mercer was making the
rounds, shaking everyone's hand and apologizing for this outrageous
fallout from the murder investigation.
    "You swabbing 'em?"
Mike asked.
    "I've been asking for
volunteers. So far, the legal eagle told them they don't gotta do it.
One of the docs went along with the program," DeGraw said, showing me a
single Q-tips in a glassine envelope. "Nobody else is in the mood."
    "You want to take a
shot at it, Mercer?" I asked. "Just for elimination purposes?"
    "That is one mean
assignment, Ms. Cooper. Me, leaning on the brothers to help elevate the
African-American statistics in the population genetics pool of the data
bank," Mercer said, doubling back to ask again whether any of the men
were willing to give us a saliva sample.
    "Where's m' man Teddy?"
    DeGraw pointed Mike in
the direction of the lieutenant's office at the far end of the room.
"He's in there, unless he flung himself out the window already. Go easy
on him-he's a wreck."
    Theodore Kroon lifted
his head from his folded arms on the desktop when he heard the door
open. His lean, pale face was streaked with tears and his reddish-brown
hair was tousled and unkempt. There were bloodstains on the front of
his shirt and pants.
    He began to wail as
soon as he saw Mike Chapman. "I touched everything, Detective. I
couldn't help it. I didn't know what I was supposed to do."
    "It's okay, buddy. I
wouldn't expect anything