"They had everything right. They were scrambling like crazy trying to find the cell tower. The only problem is that your boy Sengor was calling from out of the zone-that's why TARU couldn't pinpoint his whereabouts."

"What zone? What do you mean, 'the zone'?"

"Sengor's calling from his father's home, Alex, in the old country. Bet you didn't know the area code in Ankara, Turkey, is also 212."

Within the hour, Mercer Wallace and a backup team from Special Victims were at Selim Sengor's high-rise building, a hospital-owned residence on the Upper West Side. While I waited for him to get back to me with news of when the young doctor had abandoned his home, I called the hospital's general counsel, who'd been monitoring him since his weekend suspension.

"You're telling me you had no idea Sengor fled the country?" I asked.

"I'm shocked, truly. We were beeping him two or three times a day, and ten minutes later he'd return the calls.I talked to him myself just this morning."

"I've got detectives on the way to the apartment. I expect there are documents or papers left behind. Things that might help us track his flight route, maybe computer records. He'll be on the run."

"I feel so embarrassed about this, Alex. You don't need to waste time with a warrant. We'll consent to letting you in. It's hospital property-I'll send someone from my office over to meet the detectives right now."

"That would be a help. I think they're interviewing the super and doormen first."

It was after five o'clock when Mercer called back. "We got another collar."

"A new case?"

"Nope. One of our perp's buddies. Seems Sengor skipped out of town over the weekend. Drove to Boston, flew out of Logan to London and then home. You're probably right about the phony passport. This other guy is also a psychiatric resident-maybe there's something in the water in that department. Dr. Alkit's his name. Sengor gave Alkit his hospital beeper and the keys to the apartment."

"So every time Sengor was beeped to check in…" I said.

"You got it. Alkit called him in Turkey, and he phoned the general counsel to report back, so they kept up the ruse that he was still in town. Sengor apparently figures that if he isn't here in the country, you can't go forward with the prosecution and there won't be any press. He thinks the Turkish authorities won't find out about the charges and he can keep his license to practice medicine over there. Guess he's never heard of Interpol."

"Where'd you find this guy Alkit?"

"Your man in the counsel's office sent over an assistant to authorize us to go into Sengor's apartment. Dr. Alkit was already in the bedroom, boxing up some of his buddy's things. Next to the door, packed and ready to go, was a carton of videos."

"Videos? What do you mean?"

"Home movies, Alex. Videotapes that Dr. Sengor made."

"Porn?"

"Worse than that. Sengor had a camera concealed in the bookcase opposite one of the beds in his room. Just ordinary video equipment propped up between two medical reference books. That's what Dr. Alkit was dismantling when we arrived. I opened it up and whipped the tape into his VCR. Sengor recorded himself having intercourse with Jean Eaken."

"Oh, that poor woman. What does-"

"She looks lifeless. She's out cold, never moves a muscle. It's hard to watch, Alex. It's like, like-"

"I've seen it before, Mercer. Like he's raping a corpse."

"Exactly. I'm taking the box of tapes, too. Thirty-nine of them. Each one dated and labeled, some filmed here, some in Turkey. You can tell those from the background shot and even the music playing on the radio. If they're all the same kind of thing, you'll wind up with a lot more victims."

"And Dr. Alkit? What are you charging him with?"

"Criminal facilitation-aiding and abetting Selim Sengor in fleeing the country," Mercer said. The bail-jump violation applied even to defendants who had been released on their own recognizance, like Sengor. "Tampering with evidence. This tape puts your doctor behind bars and locks the door for a long time. Alkit's blubbering like a baby. Just trying to help his friend. For some strange reason he feels these encounters wouldn't be crimes back home in Turkey."

"They wouldn't be crimes because if anybody knew about them, Dr. Sengor would be short his private parts. I'd better tell the district attorney what to expect. Call me when you get to the precinct."

"Will do. I want to check a few of the other tapes, see if they're similar."

"Be sure and have them duplicated first. I don't want the originals compromised." The best evidence would require working from copies of these tapes, so that stopping the footage, rewinding, zooming in for close-ups, and all the other wear and tear wouldn't damage the first-hand evidence of criminal conduct.

I called Rose Malone, Battaglia's assistant, and told her I needed to see him before the end of the day.

"Be here in fifteen minutes. He'll be finishing up with the asset forfeiture unit by then."

"What kind of mood will that leave him in?"

Rose had been the executive assistant longer than anyone could remember and the best barometer of the district attorney's disposition from moment to moment. "Right where you want him. The unit broke up a drug gang and we get to keep about one point two million dollars that was seized in the bust for our budget. He'll be smiling, no matter what you have to tell him."

On the way into the executive wing, I stopped by the Appeals Bureau to ask for assistance on briefing the DNA database issue, as well as to check our extradition treaty with the Turkish government. It didn't pay to engage with Battaglia unless one was fully prepared with answers to the questions he was bound to ask. I was gossiping with Rose about the latest office romances, always fertile ground in a little legal village with a population of six hundred lawyers-most wider the age of thirty-five-a support staff of many more hundreds, and the regular presence of thousands of New York's finest under the same roof every day.

As the head of Asset Forfeiture walked out of Battaglia's suite, he was smoking one of the DA's cigars and blowing smoke rings in my face. "My first Cohiba, Alex. Amazing what a million bucks can do for my career. He told me to send you in."

Battaglia didn't move the cigar stub from the center of his mouth. "I hope you're not about to spoil my afternoon. It's been a banner day up until now."

"Then I'll start with the good news. There's a DNA hit on the Riverside Park rapist."

"What'd the Post call it? Canine Cop Caper?"

"That's the one. The suspect has been identified and DCPI is going to put out a release with a sketch tonight. He's homeless, so it may take a few days to come up with him, but they're Optimistic."

"Let me know the minute they get anything."

"Of course. Paul, I think you need to know that this case has raised an issue about using the DNA linkage database. McFarland's going to hold my feet to the fire while I try to set a decent precedent for us," I said, taking the risk that I was better off warning Battaglia that there was the potential for trouble, even if I didn't give him the whole blueprint yet. "I'm going to ask the guys in Appeals for some help."

"So what's the bad news?"

"The drug-facilitated-rape case with the physician and the two Canadian women? I filed the indictment today," I said, as I steadied myself for the district attorney's response to my report. "But Sen-gor's already fled the country. He flew home to Turkey."

Battaglia dropped his feet from the desk and actually took the cigar out of his mouth.

"How'd you let the guy get away? I can't believe you did that. It looks awful for us."