Laura awoke in a hospital bed looking out a rain soaked window, a large bouquet of flowers on the windowsill. Norris smiled from a folding chair at the foot of her bed. "Glad you're up. You took a hell of a beating. I've never seen anyone thrown that far."

Laura's face twisted into a question. "What happened?"

Norris looked down. "By the time we had cars out and a helicopter up, they'd dumped their truck under the Viaduct. Bullet holes and all."

She shook her head.

Cotton sat forward. "That's not all. We searched Albescu's house. He had a chest freezer... with five hundred and twenty three bags of blood in it."

Laura blinked. "Think we'll find them?"

Norris shook his head. "APB's out, but I doubt it."

"Why?"

Norris smiled. "The real Emile Albescu died as a toddler in 1972."

Laura stroked her chin, pulse oximeter cable trailing from her finger. "Fake identity."

"Yep. We found an ancient business card for Zaharia Albescu. All we can find for Zaharia is the New York City census... in 1840. Ellis Island in 1836."

"That's him."

"No way."

"Believe me, it's him."