Judging Time awm-3

by Leslie Glass

  Rosa sniffed. She didn't think much of the looks of Asian women, even though they were highly thought of by both black men and white ones. Very few were genuinely gorgeous. More often, they had broad flat faces with deep-set, snakelike eyes. They were bow-legged and too long-waisted. Their butts were flat and they had no bosom. Asian women were not generously proportioned and open like African women. They were closed and secretive. Rosa knew from the ones who worked in the lab, from the ones with whom she'd gone to medical school, that you couldn't guess what an Asian was thinking. They were tricky and not to be trusted. Rosa didn't think she was prejudiced. She just didn't like them.

  Sergeant April Woo looked like some kind of geisha with a gun as she shook her black helmet of shiny straight hair in denial. "You have a great many supporters, Doctor. I got your message. It's clear I was out of line last night. I'm sorry about that."

  "Really? Why don't I believe you then?"

  "I'm sure you know how much pressure we're under right now to clear this case. It's been almost a week. I guess the urgency to make an arrest was getting to me yesterday."

  "What about today?"

  "It's still getting to me. We've got three suspects, two of them are missing, and we've got to plug these holes."

  Rosa didn't say anything.

  "And Petersen's dying first kind of changed the way we had to look at the thing."

  "Ducci's an asshole," Rosa muttered.

  "We can't change what the bloodstains tell," April replied softly. "Got to work with the evidence."

  Rosa made a face. "Okay, you've said you're sorry. What else do you want?"

  "Oh, nothing. That was it."

  "You have something else on your mind. I can see it sitting there on your brain, like a tumor the size of an apple."

  you must be good if you can see that without an X ray." April moved a step toward the door.

  "Who are the suspects? What's the theory now?"

  The cop paused. "Oh, could be Liberty, could be Petersen's driver. We're still troubled about the murder weapon. We haven't found anything yet. As you indicated for us, measurements of the wound show that the hole in Merrill Liberty'S throat is smaller and neater than what we'd get with an ice pick. We're trying to figure out what kind of knife blade, or needle, might make a round hole that size."

  "I suggest a knitting needle. They come in all sizes. Did the Liberty woman knit? He could have used one of her-"

  April shook her head. "If she was a knitter there was no evidence in her apartment."

  "He could have killed her with a knitting needle," Rosa said again. She liked that idea.

  "That's a thought I hadn't had. Thank you, I'll check it out." The cop turned to the bathroom door again.

  "No problem."

  Rosa peered in the mirror. She sighed, then spoke again. "Who's the third suspect?"

  "Daphne Petersen."

  "Don't fuck with me, April. Petersen died of natural causes. It's in my report."

  April shrugged and headed toward the door. "It was just a thought."

  Rosa calmed down fast. "Anything else you want to know?" she asked, eager to make amends.

  Again April paused before she got to the door. "Well, a lot of things. But probably nothing you can help us with."

  "Maybe I can. What do you need?"

  "A miracle."

  "Well, I have a feeling you'll get one today, and then we can all get on with our lives." Rosa sighed, knowing it was wishful thinking.

  "That would be nice. I wouldn't mind a day off," April murmured.

  "No, I'm sure of it, and we women have to support each other, stick together more, know what I mean?' '

  An Asian lab technician with heavy black eyeglass frames and permed hair pushed the door open, forcing April to move aside. She had a cup in her hand, nodded curtly at Rosa and April, then filled the cup at the sink.

  Rosa frowned at her. "I wouldn't drink that if I were you, Marsha," she said.

  "I wasn't planning to," the technician replied.

  "Drink from the water fountain, not from the tap, don't forget," she admonished.

  "Well, I've got to go now. Good talking to you." The cop opened the door and hurried off.

  Rosa followed her out into the hall, thinking it hadn't been good talking to April at all. She was more tired than she'd been before. And now she had to go back downstairs to the stink chamber. She really needed a rest, but the next one was a five-year-old boy who'd possibly had his neck broken by his father. Rosa didn't want to keep him waiting.

  38

  Six days after the murder of Merrill Liberty, there were no more reporters hanging around Midtown North. A number of crime junkies from the local newspapers were now parked at the Two-O, bugging everybody in sight for printable material on progress in the Central Park basher case. Downtown at One Police Plaza, a huge crowd of reporters from all the communications gathered each afternoon, where Public Information held a press conference on the state of the Merrill Liberty investigation. The state that Public Information reported did not necessarily bear any resemblance to what was actually going on. Excessive amounts of airtime and page space, however, were filled with background stories on Liberty and Merrill and Tor, featuring the many highlights in their lives. Since all three of them had led very full lives, the saturation point had not yet been reached.

  When April returned to the station from the medical examiner's office at 4:37, there was a chilling message on her desk. "Call mother." There were another two from Dean Kiang and one from Mike. In addition to those, there were five more messages related to cases she'd put on hold because of Merrill Liberty. She was looking through the little pile when Creaker leaned in the door.

  "What's up?" April asked.

  He smirked. "The lieutenant wants to see you pronto."

  "Okay. Tell him I'll be right there." April didn't move. She stood at her desk with her coat on and called her mother.

  Sai picked up on the first ring and spoke in a dangerously angry dragon voice. "Wei?"

  "Hi, Ma, you all right?" April asked.

  "No aw light," Skinny screamed. "Velly bad."

  "What's the matter?"

  "He die. Father no home. No can go."

  "Who died?" April bit her tongue. Oh, God, she didn't need this.

  "Unca Dai die," Sai screamed. "You worm, ni, you no better than ant—" She would have gone on, but April interrupted her.

  "Oh, Ma, I'm sorry. What happened?"

  Sai switched to Chinese for her account of going to the hospital with April's father (in a taxi because worm daughter wasn't there to drive them). Dai was in intensive care. She couldn't even recognize him he was so full of tubes and needles, Sai said. Tubes going in, tubes coming out. She began to weep. All the relatives were there. Al the friends. Out there in the hall, of course. April's father had to wait in the hall. Everybody in hall. The nurses only let special people go in. For some reason she got in. Then, when she went in, she'd only just had time to say hello and remind old Dai how they'd played together as children back in China when he began to jerk at his tubes. His eyes had been closed all the time and he seemed to be sleeping. But when she came in, it was as if old Dai had wanted to get up and join the living again. His spirit was not strong enough, however, Sai lamented. "Old Dai went to the other world before your father had a chance to wish him a safe journey."

  Sai went on to describe how Dai had grunted as if he had something to tell her, then suddenly he was gone.

  "I'm sorry, Ma," April said again, wondering who'd let her in intensive care and thinking most likely the old man had died trying to tell her to get out.

  "It's almost five o'clock. Shift over. Come home now. Pay respect," Skinny Dragon shrilled.

  "Ahhh, I'll be home soon."

  "No bereave. How soon, ni?"

  "As soon as I can. We've got a deadline here."

  "TV say you double stupid, ni. Say you no good, can't find nothing."

  "You watch too much TV, Ma."

>   As soon as she'd said it April knew it was the wrong thing to say. Dragons carry the pearl of life in their mouths and sometimes they breathe fire through it. Skinny picked that moment to breathe fire through her pearl. "You no gimme babies to take cawr, nothing to do, just watch TV."

  Why did other Chinese mothers gather together in societies to improve the community in Chinatown and the neighborhoods in Queens? How come they bothered to build and work in community centers? Hah? How come other mothers found useful things to do and Sai Woo could only watch TV and nag her daughter?

  With her coat still on, April hung up and went into Iriarte's office. Mike was sitting in his visitor's chair.

  "Hi, Sergeant," he said carefully, then stroked his mustache.

  Oh, great, trouble. April smiled at Iriarte.

  Iriarte glared back. "Well?"

  Well, it hadn't been the best day April had ever had. She made a big deal of searching for her notebook in her purse, then getting it out and opening it up. During her handbag rampage, her fingers brushed the paper with the printout of Liberty's E-mail to Jason. She knew she should give it over. But she turned the pages of the notebook, leaving the E-mail printout where it was. She didn't bother to inform anybody that there'd been a death. A pillar of the Chinese community had died. An old friend Skinny had known since the terrible China days. Maybe they'd been friends. Maybe even lovers. Who knew what went on back then? Her mother was distraught and wanted her to come home, which was not entirely unusual. But nobody would care about any of that.

  "Let's see, I talked with Daphne Petersen. She told me some interesting things about her husband's character and that she'd fought with him on the day of his death. She still maintains that although he deserved to die, she didn't kill him because she worships the divinity in all creatures. She gave me a lock of her hair." April smiled then read on.

  "I saw Emma Chapman, who told me Merrill Liberty was something of a shrew. The screaming and fights between the couple were pretty much onesided—Merrill was a coke user and did her partying with Tor Petersen because her husband didn't approve. That was one of their issues as a couple. I also had a long talk with Jason Frank," she said. "He told me an interesting story about a woman who tried to pierce herself in the heart with a coat hanger, and guess what? She didn't have to stab herself in the chest to do it. Dr. Frank also told me Liberty was not the kind of guy to kill his wife, anyway not with a coat hanger. I've just come back from a visit with the deputy medical examiner. We've gotten very friendly. She was so helpful she left me one of her hairs on the sink. I gave all the hairs I collected to Ducci."

  Iriarte didn't look too happy with the report so far. "What do you want the hair for?" That was the part that got him.

  "There was a hair on Petersen's body. I just want to find a match for it. You know how these little details can complicate a court case." April's bland expression didn't change.

  Mike smiled. Oh, boy, are you looking for trouble!

  Suddenly she smiled back. So I'll get an afterlife. "You know what else Dr. Washington told me? She now thinks the murder weapon may be a knitting needle. Did Merrill Liberty knit?"

  "A knitting needle?" Iriarte coughed into his handkerchief.

  "They come in all sizes," April said, sobering her face even more.

  "This is all shit," Iriarte thundered. "You had a whole day to find this son of a bitch, and what did

  you do? You went visiting with a bunch of women and a shrink."

  "You wanted me to make nice to the ME," April reminded him. "I made nice to her."

  "I didn't tell you to go asking for her hair."

  "It was on the sink. All I had to do was pick it up," April said modestly.

  "What do you think you're doing—no, don't answer that." Iriarte turned to Mike. "I get a call from the commissioner every hour. You know, we've known each other from way back. He used to like me. You know what the commissioner keeps telling me? He keeps telling me how personally let down he feels because we didn't clear that murder in the park last summer, and because of us, that maniac is still out there hurting young women. Now we can't clear a simple boyfriend/girlfriend murder. The whole world's watching us, and we can't locate one of the most famous people in the city. We got several people positive they saw the bastard on the street last night when there was an incident involving a possible shooting. The commissioner wants you two to get in a car and go up there and drive around until you get that guy. We've got to make an arrest before the week's up."

  The heat rose to April's face. Her week was already up. She'd missed a day off. If you missed a day off, you didn't get to make it up later. She'd worked all day. It was her night off. Her mother was going to kill her. She glanced at Mike. He loved nothing more than driving around in a car with her all night. His eyes crinkled and he smiled like a pirate.

  "Look, April, I'd like to talk to you about this in person," Dean Kiang said to April on the phone at 7

  P.M.

  "I don't want to lose touch on this. The boss is getting anxious. He's talking about putting some new people on the case."

  So what else was new. April stared grimly out the window in her office door at Lieutenant Iriarte, talking to his men with his coat and hat on. The lieutenant

  was on his way downtown for a huddle with their big bosses. Each time there was a downtown huddle, the effects radiated outward through the precincts like ripples in a pond. The talk would be followed by a press conference. The press conference would be on all the news programs. And out of the TV would come an announcement that some new important action was being taken that would inevitably make life a little harder and more pressured at the precinct level.

  "April, you listening to me?" Dean demanded.

  "Yes, I'm here."

  "Here's the deal. I think you have potential, and I don't want you screwing up."

  She'd heard this before. "I won't screw up," she promised, fairly sure it was too late for such assurances.

  "I heard you paid another visit to the ME's office," Dean went on.

  "Yes, I went to make nice."

  "Well, that's the kind of thing I like to hear. Now tell me what's happening."

  "Not a lot. We've got a BOLO out on Petersen's driver, Wally Jefferson. Also on Liberty. Word is Liberty's hiding out up in Harlem." She didn't add that she was still working on the double homicide/Daphne Petersen angle.

  "Anything else?"

  April considered Rosa's suggestion of a knitting needle as the murder weapon. Damn. She'd forgotten to call to ask Emma if Merrill had been a knitter. If Liberty turned out to be the killer, he could have picked up something close at hand on his way out, something out of his wife's sewing basket. Nice. But unlikely, since she hadn't seen any such knitting basket when they'd gone over the place.

  "No, it's frustrating. There's nothing else," she said. Liberty and his wife were having problems. Merrill was a doper. The usual.

  A pause, then Dean made a suggestion. "April, why don't you come down and have dinner with me?"

  "Ab," April hesitated. She didn't want to say her evening was already booked, that she had an assignment to drive around Harlem in a car for four or five hours. With Sanchez most likely at the wheel.

  "This is your night off," Kiang said.

  How did Dean Kiang know when her days off were? "Well, not tonight, Dean. I'm working off the chart," April replied.

  "I have to be in court tomorrow, but we could have a quick one. How about it?"

  April watched the loyal troops wave as Iriarte departed with a flourish. "Gotta go, Dean, my boss calls. Sorry about" dinner."

  April hung up, dejected.

  "Ready?" Mike stuck his head in the door. He'd done some washing up, had combed his hair and mustache. It was clear he was ready.

  "Give me a minute." April dialed Jason's home number. No one answered. She checked her watch. Of course. It was late. Emma had probably already left for the theater. She dialed information for the number of the theater and explained who s
he was and what she wanted to three different people before the phone finally rang in Emma's dressing room.

  "Hi, it's April," April said when Emma picked up and said hello.

  "Oh, God, did you find Rick?" was Emma's quick reply.

  "No, not yet. I'm sorry to bother you, Emma, but I have some important questions for you."

  "Okay, but I've got to get dressed in a second."

  "Okay. One, did Merrill knit?"

  "Huh? Knit?"

  "Yeah, knit, quilt, do needlepoint? Anything like that?"

  "Uh-uh, she thought it was boring. Merrill was a big reader. And she liked to cook. Why do you ask?"

  "Oh, I'll explain it to you later."

  "The other question," Emma prompted.

  "Oh, yeah, did you ever show an interest in owning Merrill's mink coat?"

  "God, no. I always told her I wouldn't be caught dead in such a display. You know how many animals have to die to make a coat like that?"

  "More than two. Well, thanks, Emma, break a leg."

  "No problem. Call me anytime," Emma told her.

  April went to the bathroom to wash her face.

  An hour later she and Mike were seated in a small Mexican restaurant around the corner from the Two-0, where the owner didn't like Mike to pay, but Mike always paid anyway. April gathered that Mike's father had worked there when he first came to New York thirty years ago and had remained friends with the owner until his death. April didn't know all this for sure because Mike and the owner and the chef always spoke in Spanish, and her Spanish was limited, to say the least.

  Two tables away from them a yuppie-looking couple with blond hair were groping each other and sloshing down the sangria as if they'd never have to be alert again. April eyed them enviously.

  "What are you trying to accomplish, irritating everybody like this? You trying to suicide or something?" Mike demanded.

  April didn't think that was a question that required an answer, so she made a face at him. His response was to give her a deep look complete with sultry smile that caused her cheeks to burn.

  Then he said, "Relax," and reached over to cover her hand with one of his.