He stepped inside the only bathroom, turning on the light. A white sink, a white tub and shower combined, a blue shower curtain with fish on it and a white liner. Several framed photographs on the white tile walls, more pictures of her running, not the same race as in the other photograph he’d looked at in the entranceway. She had on different bib numbers, must run a lot of races, must really be into it, and also into perfume, had six bottles of different fragrances on the counter, designer brands. Fendi, Giorgio Armani, Escada, and he wondered if she had gotten them in a discount store, or maybe ordered them online for seventy percent off like he had done about a month ago, shopping early for Christmas.

Only now he was thinking it was a bad idea to give Georgia Bacardi a perfume called Trouble that he’d gotten for $21.10, a huge discount because it didn’t have a box. When he’d found it on eBay, it had seemed funny and flirty. Not so funny now, the two of them were having trouble, all right. So much trouble all they did was fight, their visits and phone calls less frequent, all the same warnings. History repeating itself. He’d never been in a relationship that lasted or he wouldn’t be seeing Bacardi to begin with, would be happily married, maybe still be with Doris.

He opened the medicine cabinet above the sink, knowing one of the first things Scarpetta would ask was what he’d found inside it. Motrin, Midol, athletic tape, Band-Aids, sterile cushions, a friction block stick for blisters, and a lot of vitamins. There were three prescriptions, all for the same thing but filled at different times, most recently right before Thanksgiving. Diflucan. Marino was no pharmacist, but he knew about Diflucan, knew what the hell it meant if the woman he liked was on it.

Maybe Toni had a chronic problem with yeast infections, maybe she was having sex a lot, or maybe it had to do with all the jogging she did. Wearing tights or fabrics that didn’t breathe, like patent leather or vinyl. Trapping moisture is the number-one enemy was what Marino had always been told, that and not washing laundry in hot enough water. He’d heard of women putting their panties in the microwave, and somebody he used to date back in his Richmond PD days had quit wearing them altogether, claiming that circulating air was the best prevention, which was fine by him. Marino took an inventory of everything in the medicine cabinet and under the sink, mostly cosmetics.

He was still in the bathroom, taking photographs, when Mellnik appeared, talking on his phone, indicating with a thumbs-up that he’d tracked down Detective Bonnell.

Marino took the phone from him and answered, “Yeah.”

“What can I help you with?” A woman’s voice, pleasant-sounding, low-pitched, the way Marino liked.

He didn’t know Bonnell, had never heard of her before today. That wasn’t necessarily surprising in a police department the size of the NYPD, some forty thousand cops, about six thousand of them detectives. Marino jerked his head at Mellnik, indicating for him to wait in the hall.

“I need some information,” Marino said over the phone. “I work with Berger and don’t think you and me have met.”

“I deal with ADAs directly,” she said. “Which is probably why you and I have never met.”

“Never heard of you. How long you been in Homicide?”

“Long enough to know better than to triangulate.”

“You a mathematician?”

“If Berger wants information, she can call me.”

Marino was used to people trying to bypass him to get to Berger. He was used to hearing all types of bullshit about why someone had to talk to her and couldn’t possibly talk to him. Bonnell hadn’t been in Homicide very long, or she wouldn’t be so pushy and defensive, or maybe she’d heard rumors, had decided without benefit of directly dealing with Marino that she didn’t like him.

“You know, she’s a little busy right now,” he said. “That’s why she’s got me answering questions for her, doesn’t want to start her day tomorrow with a phone call from the mayor wondering what the hell she’s doing to prevent further damage to the tourist industry, what’s left of it. A week before Christmas a jogger in Central Park gets raped and murdered, and maybe you change your mind about bringing the wife and kids here to see the Rockettes.”

“I guess she hasn’t talked to you.”

“Yeah, she’s talked to me. Why do you think I’m in Toni Darien’s apartment?”

“If Berger wants information from me, she’s got my number,” Bonnell said. “I’m happy to take care of whatever she needs.”

“Why are you giving me the runaround?” Marino was already pissed and he hadn’t been on the phone a minute yet.

“When did you talk to her last?”

“Why are you asking?” Something was going on. Something Marino didn’t know about.

“Maybe it would be helpful if you’d answer my question,” Bonnell said. “It works both ways. You ask me. I ask you.”

“You guys hadn’t even cleared the scene at the park this morning when I was talking to her. The second she was notified, she got on the phone with me, since she’s in charge of this friggin’ investigation.” Now Marino was the one sounding defensive. “I’ve been on the fucking phone with her on and off all day.”

Not exactly true. He’d talked to Berger three times, most recently about three hours ago.

“What I’m trying to say,” Bonnell continued, “is maybe you should be talking to her again instead of talking to me.”

“If I wanted to talk to her, I’d call her. I’m calling you because I’ve got questions. You got a problem with that?” Marino said, walking around the apartment, agitated.

“I might.”

“What’d you say your first name is? And don’t give me your initials.”

“L.A. Bonnell.”

Marino wondered what she looked like and how old she was. “Nice to meet you. I’m P.R. Marino. As in Public Relations, a special talent of mine. I’m just confirming you guys didn’t take in Toni Darien’s laptop and cell phone. That they weren’t here when you showed up.”

“They weren’t. Just the chargers.”

“Toni had a pocketbook or billfold? Other than a couple empty purses in her closet, I’m not seeing anything that she might have routinely carried. And I doubt she would have taken a purse or billfold with her when she was out jogging.”

A pause, then, “No. Didn’t see anything like that.”

“Well, that’s important. It would seem if she had a pocketbook, a billfold, they’re missing. You collect anything in here for the labs?”

“At present we’re not considering the apartment a crime scene.”

“Curious why you would absolutely rule it out, categorically decide it’s not connected in any shape or form. How do you know the person who killed her isn’t someone she knew? Someone who’s been inside her place?”

“She wasn’t killed inside it, and there’s no evidence it was broken into or anything’s been stolen or tampered with.” Bonnell said it like a press release.

“Hey. You’re talking to another cop, not the fucking media,” Marino said.

“The only thing unusual is her missing laptop and cell phone.

And maybe her pocketbook and billfold. Okay, I agree we need to figure that out,” Bonnell said in a less wooden tone. “We should get into details later, when Jaime Berger’s back and we can sit down.”

“Seems to me like maybe you should be more worried about Toni’s apartment, maybe worried someone might have gone into it and taken these things that are missing.” Marino wasn’t going to let it go.

“There’s nothing to say she didn’t take these items somewhere herself.” Bonnell definitely knew something she wasn’t going to tell him over the phone. “For example, she could have had her cell phone with her when she was running in the park last night and the perpetrator took it. Maybe when she went out running, she left from some other location, a friend’s house, a boyfriend’s house. Hard to know when she was home last. Hard to know a lot of things.”