Dohner nodded. He held up a clear plastic bag, and dropped the cord in it.
'I got this from one of the nurses,' he said.
A Property Receipt-Philadelphia Police Department Form 75-3-is used to maintain the 'chain of evidence.' As with the biologic samples to be taken from Mary Elizabeth Flannery's body, it would be necessary, presuming the case got to court, for the assistant district attorney to prove that the cord allegedly used to tie the victim's hands had never left police custody from the time Dohner had cut it from her wrists; that the chain of evidence had not been broken.
Property Receipts are numbered sequentially. They are usually kept in the desk of the Operations Room Supervisor in each district. They must be signed for by the officer asking for one, and strict department policy insists that the information on the form must either be typewritten orprinted in ink. Consequently, evidence is almost always held until the officer using a Property Receipt can find a typewriter.
'Anything happen at the scene?' Dohner asked.
'The Mobile Crime Lab got there when I was there,' Hemmings said. ' Nobody that looks like the doer has shown up. How long did he have her there?'
'I didn't get hardly anything out of her,' Dohner said. 'Just her name, and what this guy did to her. She's pretty shook up.'
Hemmings finished filling out the form, acknowledging receipt of one length of knotted cord used to tie up Mary Elizabeth Flannery, signed it, and handed the original to Dohner, who handed him the cord.
'You might as well go, Bill,' Hemmings said. 'I'll take it from here.'
'I hope you catch him,' Dohner said, standing up and giving his hand to Hemmings.
Then he went outside and got in his car and started the engine and called Police Radio and reported that Fourteen Twenty-Three was back in service.
Mary Elizabeth Flannery looked with frightened eyes at the stranger who had entered the curtained cubicle.
'Miss Flannery, my name is Dick Hemmings, and I'm a detective. How are you doing?'
She did not reply.
'Is there anyone you would like me to call? Your parents, maybe? A friend?'
'No!' Mary Elizabeth Flannery said, as if the idea horrified her.
'I know what you've been going through,' Hemmings said.
'No, you don't!'
'But the sooner we can learn something about the man who did this to you, the better,' Hemmings went on, gently. 'Would it be all right if I asked you a couple of questions?'
She eyed him suspiciously, but didn't reply.
'I need your address, first of all,' he said.
'210 Henry Avenue,' she said. 'Apartment C. They call it the Fernwood.'
'That's one of those garden apartments, isn't it?' Hemmings asked, as a mental image of that area of Roxborough came to his mind.
'Yes,' she said.
'How do you think this man got into your apartment?' Hemmings asked.
'How do I know?' she snapped.
'Is there a fire escape? Were there open windows?'
'There's a back,' she said. 'Little patios.'
'You live on the ground floor?'
'Yes.'
'Did you hear any noises, a window breaking, a door being forced, by any chance?'
'The windows were open,' she said. 'It's been hot.'
She thinks I'm stupid, but at least she's talking.
'When were you first aware that this man was in your apartment?'
'When I saw him,' Mary Elizabeth Flannery snapped.
'Where were you, what were you doing, when you first saw him?'
'I was in my living room, watching television.'
'And where was he, when you first saw him?'
'Just standing there, in the door to my bedroom.' She grimaced.
'Can you describe him?'
'No.'
'Not at all?'
'He was wearing black overalls, coveralls, whatever they call them, and a mask. That's all I could see.'
'What kind of a mask?'
'A mask, over his eyes.'
'I mean, what color was the mask? Did you notice?'
'It was a Lone Ranger mask,' she said. 'The kind with a flap over the mouth.'
'Black?'
'Yes, black,' she said.
The Lone Ranger, Hemmings thought, wore a mask that covered his eyes only, not with a flap over his mouth.
'Did he have anything with him?'
'He had a knife,' she said, impatiently, as if she expected Hemmings to know all these details.
'What kind of knife?'
'A butcher knife.'
'Was it your knife?'
'No, it wasn't my knife.'
'Do you remember if the windows in your bedroom were open?' Hemmings asked.
'I told you they were; it was hot.'
'How big was the knife?' Hemmings asked, extending his index fingers as he spoke, and then moving his hands apart.
'That big,' Mary Elizabeth Flannery said, when she thought his hands were as far apart as the knife had been large.
'And it was a butcher knife, right?'
'I told you that.'
'I mean, it couldn't have been a hunting knife, or a bayonet, or some other kind of a knife?'
'I know a butcher knife when I see one.'
'Miss Flannery, I'm on your side.'
'Why do you let people like that run the streets, then?' she challenged.
'We try not to,' Hemmings said, sincerely. 'We try to catch them, and then to see that they're put behind bars. But we need help to catch them.'
There was no response to this.
'What happened then, Miss Flannery?' Hemmings asked, gently.
'I told the cop what that filthy bastard did to me.'
'But I have to know, and in some detail, I'm afraid,' Hemmings said.
'He threatened me with his knife, and made me… oh, Jesus!'
'Can you tell me exactly what he said?'
She snorted. 'You want to know exactly what he said? I'll tell you exactly what he said, he said'Very nice,' that's what he said.'
'What kind of a voice did he have?'
'What do you mean, what kind of a voice?'
'Was it deep, or high pitched? Did he have any kind of an accent?'
