by Leslie Glass
"This one is different," Mike explained.
"No one is different, m 'hijo," she said, flashing him a sly little smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Even good women have amor pasionante these days, m'hijo. Even old ones," she added, and she smiled again.
The smile was both shy and daring at the same time and stunned him with its directness. Mike had never seen his mother as modem or daring in the least. Just a few months ago she'd worn only black, claimed she was an old woman of past fifty, finished with life and ready to fly up to heaven to meet the dead husband who was the only man she'd ever known. Now she was wearing rouge and hinting that celibacy was a thing of the past even for women of her ripe age.
"Mamita, what's happened to you?" he asked, shocked.
Maria Sanchez didn't even blush. Her son was a famous policeman who'd seen the most terrible things and been written up in the newspapers. But he still had a few things to learn, a few things she could teach him. "Embrazala," she suggested.
He frowned. No, it didn't work that way with April. She was too tough. He tried to explain that it was no easy matter to kiss someone carrying a gun, who could shoot you instead of kissing back. But Maria wouldn't hear it. Kissing was the only way, she insisted. It made him sick with worry how he might carry it off.
"And don't wait too long, m'hijo," she warned.
April was already in Dean Kiang's office when Mike got there at two minutes to 8 A.M. He could see her foot as he came down the hall. The foot, in its new boot, was jiggling up and down. Another thing he'd never seen before. As he got closer, he saw that her right leg was crossed to the left and she was leaning forward to the right, talking animatedly to the DA. The DA's hair had fallen over his forehead and he had a smug look on his face that Mike wanted to punch into his skull.
April was wearing her jade earrings and a new deep green jacket. Her cheeks were pink. With a deep pang, Mike realized that she was excited and happy. Mike had only seen that spark in her a few times, and both times she'd had a few beers and her guard was down. He knew it meant that she was opening up to this guy, was vulnerable, and he tensed to defend her. He could feel the heat of her excitement and his own rage ignite at the same time. Determined to get her back to business where she belonged, he burst into the room smiling a big fake smile.
"Sorry I'm late."
Kiang looked up. "No, Sanchez. In fact you're early. Way too early."
"What's going on?" Still smiling, he glanced at April, but she didn't look at him. Kiang made a noise as he breathed out.
Oh, it was going to be one of those days. Fine. He took Kiang's briefcase from the third chair and let it drop. He looked surprised at the smack it made when it hit the floor, then sat in the chair with his coat on but open, his knees spread apart. He was aware of his gun holstered under his arm, knowing full well that the sense of power it gave him in situations like this was a false one.
"What have you covered so far?" He gave April another searching glance, but she'd shut her face on him.
Kiang ignored the question. "Why don't we start with a status report."
"Fine. After you." Mike bowed to April.
She shook her head at him, warning him with her expression not to be an asshole. He decided he would if he felt like it. So much for maturity.
"We don't have a full death report on either victim, but preliminary findings indicate Merrill Liberty was stabbed at the base of her neck once. One time only," she emphasized.
"We knew that on the scene," Kiang said.
"Now we know it for sure."
"So?"
"Indicates she wasn't expecting it, wasn't afraid. She let the perp get close to her. Could have been a stranger if it was someone who wasn't threatening to her, but it seems more likely that she knew her attacker. The second victim died of a heart attack."
"So that rules out Petersen's wife and anyone else who had it in for him. His death is a natural."
"Not necessarily," April said.
"Oh?" Kiang tapped the pen on his knee, staring at her.
"The ME hypothesizes the heart attack was triggered by shock, or stress. However, the tox results might show something different. . . ." April glanced at Mike and he nodded.
"Any reason for that?" Still staring at her, Kiang dropped the pen and started tapping his foot.
April shifted uneasily under his gaze. Mike knew what she was thinking. The ME's office had discovered poison in the body of the last heart attack victim they had investigated, which turned a routine unnatural death inquiry into a homicide investigation. She put it another way.
"Who would attack a woman standing right next to a companion over six feet tall and built like a linebacker? It doesn't make sense."
Kiang smiled. "That clinches our killer."
"How do you figure that?"
"Liberty was well known to both of them. He came from his home, waited in the dark for them to come out."
"Why go for his wife and not Petersen?" April asked. "Why stab her once and walk away? What kind of guy does that?"
"A cold-blooded killer." Kiang retrieved his pencil and punched the air with it. "Maybe he intended to kill the wife and keep the friend."
"So he jabs his wife with an ice pick in front of his friend and then strolls when the friend has a seizure?"
Mike shook his head. "Odd profile of a violent killer, wouldn't you say?"
"Who said violent? This is a sophisticated guy. He doesn't have to be excessively violent to get his way."
"Give me a break, Kiang."
"So maybe the friend's seizure was planned, and that was why Liberty could kill in front of him and walk away as he died."
"That would make it a conspiracy," April said.
Kiang nodded. "Yes, indeed. Maybe Liberty had something going with Petersen's wife, and they were in it together."
Mike stroked his mustache. "Sounds a little farfetched to me."
"Stranger things have happened, Sanchez. All right, let's get down to business. What do we have on motive? April, how's your shrink doing on Liberty's profile?" Kiang demanded.
"Dr. Frank told me he'd have something for us to look at end of today or tomorrow the latest. He has to type up his notes."
"Did he give you any specifics?"
"No, he didn't tell me anything but what I've just told you."
"Is he going to be helpful?" Kiang asked.
April shrugged. "Jason? Depends what you ask for. "
"What else on Liberty?"
Mike spoke up. "We have extremely conflicting reports, what we might call an unclear picture."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, Daphne Petersen is adamant that Liberty's a violent and dangerous guy. She says Liberty flew off the handle all the time for no reason. He was verbally abusive. Did you see her on TV last night? It was in the paper this morning she saw Liberty punch and kick his wife on at least three occasions in the last year. I wouldn't give that too much credence," Mike said.
"Emma Chapman, Merrill's best friend, said he's a pussycat, wouldn't hurt a fly," April added. "Patrice, the restaurant manager, says he's the kindest man in the world. Direct quote, 'He adored her.' "
"Maybe those two are lying."
"I don't know about that. I spoke to her parents on the phone. They said Liberty was a doting husband. They're certain their daughter would not have tolerated an abusive relationship—"
"We've heard that line before."
"Oh, come on, Kiang. The parents wouldn't protect him now if he was a violent type," Mike argued.
Kiang cut him off. "Next item. What else have you got, April? Have you run the route and confirmed Liberty could have done it in the time frame?"
"Not yet."
"Anybody see anybody fleeing from the scene?"
"Not yet."
"Anybody see Liberty leave his apartment or come back?"
"If anyone did, he isn't saying," she murmured.
Kiang's foot stopped tapping. "Someone will,"
he predicted. "Any way a person can get in and out of the building without being seen?"
"No confirmation on that yet, either."
"Jesus. What have you people been doing with your time? Okay, go try it. Run the route, see how long it takes. See if Liberty could have done it."
Mike saluted. "Yessir."
Kiang ignored the gesture. "If you can fit Liberty in the time frame, we'll have motive and opportunity— probable cause to do a search of his place. Meanwhile, keep him talking all day, casually tell him what a trial will do to him, see if you can get him to confess. It would make things a lot easier." Kiang was finished with them. He checked the gold watch again. "See you later."
"We don't have a motive for this guy. What an asshole," Mike muttered as they left.
"And Liberty won't be there," April murmured. "Today's his wife's funeral."
A few minutes later a wrathful April stalked up Mott Street with Mike striding beside her.
"Come on, April, talk to me."
The temperature had dropped to nearly zero. Zero in New York was really cold. The unappetizing, weary-looking leaves and stems that Chinatown grocers clipped from their produce and threw in the gutters were now frozen still lifes in black ice. Mike crunched over them in his cowboy boots. The boots were new, black and white snakeskin. With thick socks, they kept his feet warm and dry. He wondered what April was up to. Chinatown was pretty shut down in weather like this. Al the little stores that hung their merchandise in the doorways and stacked it on flimsy tables on the sidewalks in good weather had moved operations inside. Only the Chinese newspapers were stacked outside on the tables today. April's face was muffled in a long scarf. As animated as she had been with Kiang before Mike arrived, she was shut down now. He figured it was time for a showdown.
"Where are you going?"
April stopped her uphill trudge on Mott for a moment and lowered her scarf. "Do you have any idea what you looked like in there, Mike?"
"What?" Mike was wearing his new black leather, three-quarter-length coat, heavy enough for any weather, new snakeskin boots, a slick gray jacket with a silvery shine in the weave, charcoal trousers, and a black shirt with a green knit tie. He'd taken great care with the combination, had deodorized, perfumed himself, combed his hair many times to get it just right. He'd even trimmed his mustache so it didn't look too wild for the occasion. He thought he looked his best ever.
"How could anybody tell the bad guys from you? You're crude. You talk and look like a dealer."
Mike was called worse nearly every day. But not by anybody he cared about. He was taken aback for a moment, then he made a huge effort and smiled. "Nah, I don't look that good. No gold, no rings, no bracelets. I'm a poor honest cop." Mike took it a little further and laughed. "Yo, you think I should let my hair grow and wear a ponytail?"
He knew where April was coming from, figured her feet in the prissy little East Side boots were completely numb by now. The cloth, Upper-East-Side-lady coat and tailored skirt were a dead giveaway. She was not dressing for the job. She was dressing to attract the DA. Yep, he could see that her feet hurt and she was freezing. She blew a cloud of steam out of her mouth, started walking again. She was so stupid that he feared she actually liked the guy.
"You're steaming, baby, you getting primed by the DA?"
"Trust you to have a filthy mind," she spat out. "We're working a case, remember?"
"Hey, you can't fool me. You've got the hots for that dumb DA. You slept with him yet, querida?"
The muffler was up again, but April's eyes could not disguise the erupting volcano behind it. "You acted like an asshole in his office, and now you're acting like an asshole with me. What's your problem?"
"Hey, I may be a dumb cop. I may not wear a monkey suit and loafers with little tassels like your little pendejo lawyer. But lady, you better watch who you're calling an asshole."
"You were out of line in there. You call that smart?' '
"You think suits make a man, huh? Tassels, cojones?"
"Pubic hairs and balls, very cultured, Mike. I'm impressed with your style." April plunged her hands deep in her coat pockets.
"You brought it up."
"Well, I guess you don't understand what any of this is about." April stopped in front of a dirty window with displays of ugly dried twigs and leaves and powders. Chinese labels on different colored pieces of paper, but the prices in dollars and cents.
"Oh, I understand what it's about. You don't care if a guy's an asshole. You just want the asshole to wear a suit."
"Hey. It's not that."
"What is it then? He's Chinese? He's sexy and I'm not?' '
April didn't answer.
"Oh, great. This is great. I've always been straight with you. You wanted respect. I respected you. I met your parents. I took you to meet my mother. I didn't just throw you over my shoulder and take you to my cave, show you how a real man makes love, so you don't think I'm sexy. This is a switch. I didn't grab you, so now you think I'm dumb and crude." God, he was loco, a gored bull. His face burned with the pain.
Hers was white. "Look, I like you. Why don't we leave it at that."
Like you. "Like you" meant she didn't find him sexy. That meant he saved her face all these months only to lose his own.
"I have to go in here. You all right?" Her voice was soft now, seemed to quaver in the frigid air.
Chinese apothecary. Sold disgusting powders made of insects, dead animals, mold, ghosts and dragons, fish guts and bone, leaves and twigs. For every ill known to man and woman. Not sexy, not lovable. Ugly and crude. Mike's heart was splitting. He turned to go back down the hill to find his car.
"Meet you at the Park Century in half an hour?" April asked anxiously.
He called over his shoulder, "That's where I'll be. Hey, and while you're in there, why don't you check out if they have anything to cure assholes."
20
Wally Jefferson did not find Julio that day in any of his usual hangouts in Queens. He found him in the Magic Club off Broadway in West Harlem at 9:39 in the evening. Julio was leaning against an un-painted side wall, drinking a Corona from the bottle. From the way he was standing it did not look like the beer was his first. But the five or six other men weren't standing at all. They were sprawled on chairs scattered around the otherwise unfurnished room in various states of nodding off. Only one grizzled grandfather was watching the basketball game on the TV in a corner, smoking a cigarette and talking to himself.
As Wally gave the signal to the one vigilant man at the door and was let in, Julio turned away from him. He wore a scarf with three knots tied on his head. Wally knew the knots were some kind of code for bad. He'd been frightened by Liberty and chilled from his daylong search and Julio's lack" of acknowledgment. He wasn't in the mood for a display of bad dude. He crossed the space between them on the tips of his toes like the boxer he used to be.
"Hey, man, I told you I needed to talk to you."
Julio's eyes were dead. He shrugged. "Diga me."
"Don't give me any of this Spanish mierda. I need that car back. And I need it now."
"Why need?"
"Because my boss is dead and so is Liberty's wife."
"So people die."
"These people are muy importante, Julio. You have Liberty's car. He reported it stolen. His wife is dead
and because of the damn car he thinks I had something to do with it."
"Thees is no my problema."
Wally bunched his broken hands. "This is your problem. The car has to go back."
"Why?"
"I told you. He and the police think I killed them. I ain't going to prison for killing no woman."
Suddenly Julio smiled. Seven gold teeth flashed at Wally. "Man, wo-man, what difference?"
"Hey, I didn't have nothing to do with this killing."
"No se nada."
"Don't give me that shit, man. They're going to tie this all together, they're going to tie you into it. You're not safe if that car doesn't
go back to the garage."
Julio laughed. "Thees is no my problema. Is yours."
"Okay, you want to see it that way, just tell me where the car is. I'll pick it up."
"Thees is the problema. I don't know where the car. "
"What do you mean you don't know? You used it. Where did you put it?"
"Other guy take."
"What guy took it?"
"Don't know name."
"The guy took the car?" Wally was stunned.
Julio nodded. His hollow eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "Took limo."
"You let him take my car?" Wally couldn't believe it.
"Not your car."
"Jesus, are you crazy? The guys in the garage know me. They know me on the street. Why'd you let him take it?"
Julio shrugged.
"What happened? Did something go wrong?"
"Yeah, went wrong."
Wally looked around and took a deep breath. No one was interested in their conversation. Wally's buddies were all too wasted to join a fight on either side. Julio was a small man who owed him a car and a lot of money. "Went wrong" didn't sit well with him. He considered busting Julio's head, then decided to be smart.
"I want the car and my share of the money."
Julio shook his head. "Don't know about the car, but I'll get you some money. You take off. Okey-doke?"
Wally nodded. "Fine, but don't shit me. I want the whole amount."
"Okeydoke. I'll get."
"When? Don't make this hard," he warned.
"Sabado."
"What the hell is that?"
"Saturday. "
"How about tomorrow? .
"Saturday."
Wally chewed on his lips, looked around at his wasted buddies, then nodded. He didn't want to push this Julio too hard. The little man was known to carry a machete under his jacket. Saturday it was.
As the elevator door opened, Rick Liberty could see that the reception area was empty just as Marvin had promised it would be. The door to Marvin's office was open. He sat alone at his enormous desk, his head bent over some papers. Rick pushed back the hood covering his head and the lower part of his face. He unzipped his down jacket that covered the laptop he clutched close to his chest. Underneath the parka, he was dressed in the same well-tailored gray trousers and sweater he'd been wearing for four days.