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"I'm here," Sachs said coolly.
"What happened?"
"Interference, I guess. I'm with the vic."
The girl blinked at the exchange and Sachs smiled. "I'm not talking to myself." Gestured toward the mike. "Police headquarters. What's your name?"
"Monelle. Monelle Gerger." She looked at her bitten arm, pulled up a dressing and examined a wound.
"Interview her fast," Rhyme instructed, "then work the scene."
Hand covering the microphone stalk, Sachs whispered fiercely to Sellitto, "This man is a pain in the ass to work for. Sir."
"Humor him, officer."
"Amelia!" Rhyme barked. "Answer me!"
"We're interviewing her, all right?" she snapped.
Sellitto asked, "Can you tell us what happened?"
Monelle began to talk, a disjointed story about being in the laundry room of a residence hall in the East Village. He'd been hiding, waiting for her.
"What residence hall?" Sellitto asked.
"The Deutsche Haus. It's, you know, mostly German expatriates and students."
"What happened then?" Sellitto continued. Sachs noted that although the big detective appeared gruffer, more ornery than Rhyme, he was really the more compassionate of the two.
"He threwed me in the trunk of car and drove here."
"Did you get a look at him?"
The woman closed her eyes. Sachs repeated the question and Monelle said she hadn't; he was, as Rhyme had guessed, wearing a navy-blue ski mask.
"Und gloves."
"Describe them."
They were dark. She didn't remember what color.
"Any unusual characteristics? The kidnapper?"
"No. He was white. I could tell that."
"Did you see the license plate of the taxi?" Sellitto asked.
"Was?" the girl asked, drifting into her native tongue.
"Did you see--"
Sachs jumped as Rhyme interrupted: "Das Nummernschild."
Thinking: How the hell does he know all this? She repeated the word and the girl shook her head no then squinted. "What you mean, taxi?"
"Wasn't he driving a Yellow Cab?"
"Taxicab? Nein. No. It was regular car."
