schools."
"At least it gives the applicants an idea of what the problems are
at each college."
"That's the point. It's got to be in all the admissions literature,
so families making decisions about where they're sending their kids can
assess the risks. What kind of security measures the school has, how it
handles crime reporting, what kind of disciplinary measures the
administration enforces—all that sort of thing."
"Does it work? Do any good?"
"It's a great idea, but I haven't seen one school anywhere near this
jurisdiction that reports it accurately. Not Columbia, not NYU, not
Fordham, not FIT. Do you know there are more than twenty college
campuses in Manhattan alone, from those large universities down to
small commercial colleges that just have a single building? I can give
you ten criminal complaints a year taken from students who report to
the local precinct or to my office for every one you'll see in the
numbers supplied to the government—and to the parents—by the schools.
They all want to fudge it."
The door to Dakota's office was open and Sherman was beginning to
document everything in sight with his camera and flash.
"Get a shot of that bulletin board on the wall by the window, Hal.
And watch your mouth—I got Cooper with me."
"Hey, Alex, how goes it? Understand Kestenbaum's got a hush-hush
preliminary finding of a homicide on this broad. So much for the
accidental death theory they were floating last night, I guess. Tough
break on that verdict last week in the case from the bus station. Sorry
the stuff we came up with wasn't too helpful. Helen took the loss
pretty hard."
One of my assistants had just had a not guilty verdict the previous
Thursday. Her victim had been beaten in the face so badly that she was
unable to identify her attacker. The fact that thousands of people a
day passed through the Port Authority terminal made it impossible to
get a clean set of fingerprints from the corridor in which the attack
occurred, and the circumstantial case had been too weak for a jury to
believe in.
"Cooper trains her troops not to look at an acquittal as a loss,
Hal. Just figure Helen came in second place . . . right behind the
defense attorney. Most other jobs, that gets you the silver medal. No
harm in that."
"What do you want me to do after I dust these surfaces?"
"I want copies of as much of the paper as you can give me. Originals
if it's not worth trying to lift prints off this stuff."
Sherman removed the gum from the wastebasket with a pair of
tweezers, slipping it into a small manila envelope and labeling it with
the date and number of the Crime Scene run. "I'll drop the copies off
at your office. Gotta get to midtown. Just had a double homicide called
in. Guy in a Santa suit did a stickup at a doughnut shop, using a
ten-year-old customer as a shield. The owner had a licensed pistol.
Plugged Santa and one of his aging elves before they could make it back
into their getaway sleigh."
"Best of all possible dispositions, eh, blondie? Case abated by
death. Perps blasted into the great hereafter—God's own Alcatraz—by a
law-abiding citizen just trying to make a living. Give the doughnut man
a kiss for me. You gonna make it to the party later, Hal?"
"Depends on whether the good guys or the bad guys are winning. Have
one on me."
It was the night of the Homicide Squad's annual Christmas party, and
although our moods were not festive, Chapman and I wanted to be there
for a while to wish our colleagues some holiday cheer. Darkness had
enveloped the city early, and the temperature had dropped substantially
during our hours at Foote's office. I pulled on my long gloves and
raised the collar of my coat as Chapman held open the front door of the
building and we trudged uphill toward Broadway to get the car. Tiny
white lights decorated the trees on College Walk and candles rested on
windowsills in some of the dorm rooms.
As the motor idled, I watched the groups of college kids, seemingly
oblivious to the
"At least it gives the applicants an idea of what the problems are
at each college."
"That's the point. It's got to be in all the admissions literature,
so families making decisions about where they're sending their kids can
assess the risks. What kind of security measures the school has, how it
handles crime reporting, what kind of disciplinary measures the
administration enforces—all that sort of thing."
"Does it work? Do any good?"
"It's a great idea, but I haven't seen one school anywhere near this
jurisdiction that reports it accurately. Not Columbia, not NYU, not
Fordham, not FIT. Do you know there are more than twenty college
campuses in Manhattan alone, from those large universities down to
small commercial colleges that just have a single building? I can give
you ten criminal complaints a year taken from students who report to
the local precinct or to my office for every one you'll see in the
numbers supplied to the government—and to the parents—by the schools.
They all want to fudge it."
The door to Dakota's office was open and Sherman was beginning to
document everything in sight with his camera and flash.
"Get a shot of that bulletin board on the wall by the window, Hal.
And watch your mouth—I got Cooper with me."
"Hey, Alex, how goes it? Understand Kestenbaum's got a hush-hush
preliminary finding of a homicide on this broad. So much for the
accidental death theory they were floating last night, I guess. Tough
break on that verdict last week in the case from the bus station. Sorry
the stuff we came up with wasn't too helpful. Helen took the loss
pretty hard."
One of my assistants had just had a not guilty verdict the previous
Thursday. Her victim had been beaten in the face so badly that she was
unable to identify her attacker. The fact that thousands of people a
day passed through the Port Authority terminal made it impossible to
get a clean set of fingerprints from the corridor in which the attack
occurred, and the circumstantial case had been too weak for a jury to
believe in.
"Cooper trains her troops not to look at an acquittal as a loss,
Hal. Just figure Helen came in second place . . . right behind the
defense attorney. Most other jobs, that gets you the silver medal. No
harm in that."
"What do you want me to do after I dust these surfaces?"
"I want copies of as much of the paper as you can give me. Originals
if it's not worth trying to lift prints off this stuff."
Sherman removed the gum from the wastebasket with a pair of
tweezers, slipping it into a small manila envelope and labeling it with
the date and number of the Crime Scene run. "I'll drop the copies off
at your office. Gotta get to midtown. Just had a double homicide called
in. Guy in a Santa suit did a stickup at a doughnut shop, using a
ten-year-old customer as a shield. The owner had a licensed pistol.
Plugged Santa and one of his aging elves before they could make it back
into their getaway sleigh."
"Best of all possible dispositions, eh, blondie? Case abated by
death. Perps blasted into the great hereafter—God's own Alcatraz—by a
law-abiding citizen just trying to make a living. Give the doughnut man
a kiss for me. You gonna make it to the party later, Hal?"
"Depends on whether the good guys or the bad guys are winning. Have
one on me."
It was the night of the Homicide Squad's annual Christmas party, and
although our moods were not festive, Chapman and I wanted to be there
for a while to wish our colleagues some holiday cheer. Darkness had
enveloped the city early, and the temperature had dropped substantially
during our hours at Foote's office. I pulled on my long gloves and
raised the collar of my coat as Chapman held open the front door of the
building and we trudged uphill toward Broadway to get the car. Tiny
white lights decorated the trees on College Walk and candles rested on
windowsills in some of the dorm rooms.
As the motor idled, I watched the groups of college kids, seemingly
oblivious to the
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