Shehad gotten the memo the week before, and had forgotten all about it. Somebodyfrom Penn State was making a documentary about the homicide unit - aday-in-the-life sort of thing - and the directive from high on high was tocooperate. The memo said the filmmaker would be there for a week.

    AsJessica approached, the young man noticed her. He smoothed his hair with hisfree hand, stood a little taller.

    'Hi,'he said. 'I'm David Albrecht.'

    'JessicaBalzano.'

    Theyshook hands. David Albrecht wore a gold crucifix around his neck, along with aNittany Lions long-sleeved T-shirt. He was cleanshaven, save for a sparsebleached-white soul patch beneath his lower lip. It was the only thing keepinghis face from being feminine.

    'I'dknow you anywhere,' he said. He pumped her arm with a little too muchenthusiasm.

    'Really?And why is that?' Jessica asked, retrieving her limb before it was shaken off.

    Albrechtsmiled. 'I do my research. You were in that Philadelphia

    Magazinefeature a few years ago, the one about the "new breed" of femaledetective. Remember that?'

    Jessicaremembered the article well. She had fought against it but had lost the battle.She was not crazy about having details of her personal life made public. Policeofficers, especially detectives, were big enough targets for crazies as it was.

    'Iremember,' Jessica said.

    'AndI followed the Rosary Killer case pretty closely.'

    'Isee.'

    'Ofcourse, I was in high school then,' Albrecht said. 'I went to a Catholicschool. We were all pretty mesmerized by the story.'

    Highschool, Jessica thought. This kid was in high school then. Itseemed like yesterday to her.

    'Bythe way, that was a great photo of you on the cover of the mag,' he added.'Real Lara Croft. You were kind of a pinup for a lot of the guys at my schoolfor a while.'

    'So,you're making a movie?' Jessica asked, hoping to get off the subject of thearticle.

    'Gonnatry. Making a feature is a lot different from making a short. I've done mainlywebisodes so far.'

    Jessicawasn't really sure what a webisode was.

    'Youshould stop by my site and check some of them out,' Albrecht said. 'I thinkyou'll like them.'

    Hehanded her a card bearing his name and a website address.

    Jessicadid the polite thing, scanning the card before putting it into her pocket.'Well,' she said. 'It was great meeting you, David. Anything you need.' Shedidn't mean it, of course. She pointed at the just-arrived police transportvan. 'I've got to get this started.'

    Albrechtheld up a hand. 'No sweat. Just wanted to introduce myself.' He smoothed hishair again. 'I'll be around, but you won't even notice me. I promise not to getin your way. I'm a mouse.'

    Amouse, Jessica thought. We'll see about that.

    Twohours later, with paperwork completed, reports filed, and suspect delivered tothe police administration building at Eighth and Race Streets - commonly knownas the Roundhouse - the team met at a restaurant called the Hot Potato Cafe onGirard Avenue.

    Inaddition to Jessica and Nicci Malone there was veteran detective NickPalladino, as well as a relatively new detective in the unit, DennisStansfield. Stansfield was in his early forties and was God's gift to women, atleast in his own mind. His clearance-rack suits never quite fit, he wore toomuch cologne and, among his many annoying habits, he seemed to be in constantmotion, as if he always had somewhere else to be, something else to do that wasfar more important than talking to you.

    Hehad only been with the unit for a few months and had yet to make a friend. Noone wanted to work with him. His abrasive personality was only one of thereasons. His sloppy work habits, and his uncanny ability to get a witness toclam up immediately, were two others.

    Jessicaand Nicci held down one side of the table, while Stansfield and Nick Palladinosat on the other.

    NickPalladino - whom everyone called Dino - was a lifer, a South Philly boy with aknack for sniffing out con men and thieves, two categories of criminal of whichthe city of Philadelphia had no shortage.

    Theywere all on duty for a few more hours, so it was coffee and Cokes for now. Theylifted a glass to their day.

    LucasAnthony Thompson, 26, late of Port Richmond, currently a guest of HotelHomicide, stood accused in the aggravated murder and sexual assault of a youngwoman named Marcia Jane Kimmelman. According to witnesses, the two had met atan AA meeting in West Philly but, because last names were never used, no oneknew who Thompson was. They had a general description, but that was about it.

    Marcia'sbody had been found in a vacant lot on Baltimore Avenue near 47th Street. Shehad been sexually assaulted, shot once in the head with a .38 at close range.Three months later Thompson met and attacked a young woman after a meeting inKingessing, but the woman, a secretary for Comcast named Bonnie Silvera,survived. DNA found in semen left behind by her attacker matched that of MarciaKimmelman's killer. Bonnie Silvera gave police a highly detailed description ofThompson, and there began an undercover operation that ultimately involved adozen detectives and brought them to more than six districts.

    'Sohow'd you ID him?' Dino asked.

    Niccideferred to Jessica. 'Talk to the mastermind.'

    'Well,we had a little help from the Audio Visual Unit on this one,' Jessica said.'But when Thompson and I were sitting in that coffee shop I took his picturewith my cellphone. Then I sent the photo via SMS to Nicci's phone. Nicci andtwo uniforms were out in the van, about half a block away, with Bonnie Silvera.A few seconds later Nicci got the photo, opened it, showed it to Bonnie. Thewitness made the positive ID, Nicci sent me a text, letting me know we were on,and we knew we had him.'

    'Thatwas your play?' Dino asked.

    Jessicablew on her nails, buffed them dramatically on her blouse.

    'MyGod, you are a dangerous woman,' Dino said.

    'Tellthe world.'

    'I shouldtell your husband.'

    'Likehe doesn't know,' Jessica said. 'Right now he's painting the fence behind ourhouse. I'm going to let him draw me a bubble bath later.'

    DetectiveDennis Stansfield, perhaps feeling left out, piped in. 'You know, I read in arecent survey that, in her lifetime, the average American woman receives 26.5miles of cock.'

    Ifthere was one thing Jessica hated, it was a cop who found a way to make a sexjoke after hearing about a rape. Even worse, a rape/murder. Rape had nothing todo with sex. Rape was about violence and power.

    Stansfieldglanced over at Jessica. It seemed that she had gotten the assignment to be theflustered, blushing female officer in his presence, the one ill at ease in thewake of his shabby jokes. Was he kidding? Jessica had been born and raised inSouth Philly, and had grown up around cops. She was swearing like alongshoreman by the time she was five. She had even gotten to like the taste ofsoap.

    'Twenty-sixmiles, huh?' Jessica asked.

    'Twenty-sixpoint ftve,' Stansfield replied.

    Jessicalooked at Nicci, at Dino, back at Stansfield. Dino looked at the table. Hedidn't know exactly what was coming, but he knew something.

    'So,let me get this straight,' Jessica said, squaring off.

    'Sure.'

    'Isthat 26.5 miles counting each insertion, or all the cocks added upindividually?'

    Stansfield,all of a sudden, started to redden a bit himself. 'Well, I'm not sure. I don'tthink the survey said.'

    Nothingkilled a dirty joke like discussion and analysis. 'Not very scientific, then,is it?'