CSI: New York: Four Walls by Keith R.A. DeCandido

Author:Keith R.A. DeCandido
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2008-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

12

SERVING THE WARRANT ON Jack Morgenstern’s house hadn’t been nearly as painful as Stella had feared it would be.

Bracey was present, as promised. Morgenstern wasn’t, which was something of a relief. Then again, Stella knew how invasive the execution of a search warrant could be, and so, probably, did Morgenstern, from his previous experience with the NYPD. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to be around for it.

Stella had made a list of what they needed from the house—the clothes from the night before and Maria’s necklace, if it was there—and the uniforms from the five-oh knew their stuff, so she figured they’d grab anything they thought would be suspicious. A lot of them patronized Belluso’s and knew Maria, so they were motivated to find her killer. As Angell had said on the drive up, you didn’t mess with a cop’s source of caffeine. They’d be thorough.

So once Bracey read over every word of the warrant and let them into the house on Cambridge Avenue, Stella and Angell left the uniforms to it and walked over to Riverdale Pinan Karate, which was located in a modest storefront on Fieldston Road, off Riverdale Avenue.

As they walked over, Angell asked, “You get anything from the love letters?”

Stella sighed. “No epithelials, and the only usable print hits were DelVecchio and our vic, but we know they both touched them. The paper itself was Georgia-Pacific eight-and-a-half-by-eleven printer paper that’s readily available at every Staples, Office Max, CVS, Duane Reade, and Hallmark store in town. The printer looks to be a Hewlett-Packard laser jet, which is only the most popular printer on the market.” She shook her head. “Hell, it’s what we use. For all we can prove, Danny wrote those letters.”

Angell smiled. “Somehow, Messer doesn’t strike me as the type to write a haiku. Dirty limerick, maybe.”

Stella chuckled. “The point is, though, we’re nowhere. We might— might —be able to match it with a specific printer, but it’s a long shot. Best we could do is use it as an interrogation tool—throw it in the perp’s face and hope he doesn’t realize how weak the evidence is.”

“I don’t see that happening with Morgenstern as long as he has Shark Lady by his side.”

They walked down Fieldston Road, the late-afternoon sun blazing at Stella’s back. The dojo had just opened when they arrived. Based on the schedule, which was on a brochure that Stella grabbed on the way in, they only taught classes in the late afternoon and evening. Most of the dojos Stella knew of in Manhattan had early morning classes, but the later schedule tracked with the more residential nature of Riverdale. Stella bet that the majority of their students were kids who came after school.

Coming inside, Stella saw a small reception desk, several chairs in front of a waist-high divider, and a bench. Beyond the divider was the polished wood floor of the dojo, which extended back several dozen feet. A floor-to-ceiling mirror along the north wall made the place look bigger than it was; the south wall had both an American and Japanese flag hanging from it.

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