“I remember it.”
“Was the complainant’s ten print card turned in for exclusionary purposes?”
“No, I didn’t have that. Just the latents recovered from the scene.”
“Thank you, Neils.”
“Next I called the dispatch.
“Can you tell me if Lieutenant Marino is marked on?”
I asked.
She came back to me, “He is marked on.”
“Listen, please see if you can, raise him and find out where he is. Tell him this is Dr. Scarpetta and it’s urgent.”
Maybe a minute later the dispatcher’s voice came over the line. “He’s at the city pumps.”
“Tell him I’m two minutes from there and on my way.” The gas pumps used by the city police were located on a bleak patch of asphalt surrounded by a chain-link fence. Filling up was strictly self-service. There was no attendant, no rest room or vending machines, and the only way you were going to clean your windshield was if you brought your own paper towels and Windex. Marino was tucking his gas card in the side pouch where he always kept it when I pulled up next to him. He got out and came around to my window.
“I just heard the news on the radio.” He couldn’t contain his smile. “Where’s Grueman? I want to shaker his hand.”
“I left him at the courthouse with Wesley. What happened?” I suddenly felt light-headed.
“You don’t know?” he asked, incredulous. “Shit, Doc. They cut you loose, that’s what happened. I can think of maybe two times in my career that a special grand jury hasn’t returned with a true bill.”
I took a deep breath and shook my head. “I guess I should be dancing a jig. But I don’t feel like it.”
“I probably wouldn’t, either.”
“Marino, what was the name of that man who claimed his eiderdown vest was stolen?”
“Sullivan. Hilton Sullivan. Why?”
“During my testimony, Patterson made the outrageous accusation that I might have used a revolver from the firearms lab to shoot Susan. In other words, there is always a risk involved if you use your own weapon because if it’s checked and it’s proven that it fired the then you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
“What’s this got to do with Sullivan?”
“When did he move into his condo?”
“I don’t know.”
“If I were going to kill someone with my Ruger, it would be pretty clever of me to report it stolen to the police before I commit any crimes. Then if for some reason the gun is ever recovered – for example if the heat is on and I decide to toss it – the cops might trace the serial number back to me, but I can prove through the burglary report I filed that the gun was not in my possession at the time of the crime.”
“Are you suggesting Sullivan falsified a report? That he staged the burglary?”
“I’m suggesting you consider that,” I said. “It’s convenient that he has no burglar alarm and left a window unlocked. It’s convenient that he was obnoxious with the cops. I’m sure they were delighted to see him leave and weren’t about to go the extra mile and get his fingerprints for exclusionary purposes. Especially since he was dressed in white and bitching about the dusting powder everywhere: My point is, how do you know that the prints in Sullivan’s condo weren’t left by Sullivan? He lives there. His prints would be all over the place.”
“In AFIS they matched up with Waddell.”
“If that’s the case, then why would Sullivan call the police in response to that story about eiderdown we planted in the paper?”
“As Benton said, this guy loves to play games. He loves to jerk people around. He skates on the edge for kicks.”
“Shit. Let me use your phone.”
He came around to the passenger’s side and got in. Dialing Directory Assistance, he got the number of the building where Sullivan lived. When the superintendent was on the line, Marino asked him how long ago Hilton Sullivan had purchased his condominium. .
“Well, then, who does?” Marino asked. He scribbled something on a notepad. “What’s the number and what street does it face? Okay.. What about, his car? Yeah, if you’ve got it.”