by Leslie Glass
Rosa turned to her, complaining. "You got me into this by criticizing my work. I was respectful of you, and now you want to destroy me. This is not my fault."
"Rosa, let's not debate it here," April said.
"I'm a doctor. Do you know what it takes to be a doctor? Huh, you little street rats? You know how much it costs, how many years it takes? Ten years of starving and studying and taking tests, working two jobs. Eighty thousand dollars in loans," she screamed. "Call me doctor!"
"This isn't about medical school. It's about murder." April watched Rosa's hands.
"Call me doctor," Rosa insisted.
"Where's your coat, Doctor?" Mike asked.
"You got the jock. What do you need me for?"
"You talking about Liberty?"
"Fucking football player," Rosa muttered. "The man's a fucking football player. Let him go down."
"He didn't kill anybody," April said quietly.
"No!" Rosa was shocked. "You didn't let him go! I saw it on TV. He was arrested."
Mike shook his head. "You stopped watching too soon. The eleven o'clock news will have another story. Liberty wasn't arrested for the murders of Tor Petersen and Merrill Liberty."
"No!" Rosa exploded again. "I don't believe this."
"You wouldn't want someone else punished for your crimes."
"Uh-uh. You're not pinning murder on me. I didn't do anything wrong. I only did what I was told. My boss was sick. I did what he and the mayor and the police commissioner asked me to do. That's all." Rosa stood, shaking all over. "My only fault was that I knew Petersen. You can't prove anything else."
"We can prove you killed them." April watched Rosa, giving her a moment to make her decision. The best thing was to get them to confess. But sometimes they came at you instead.
"You're going to have to get me out of this," Rosa cried. "It's your fault. You started this. And now it doesn't look good for anybody. I'll blow your careers. I'll blow all their careers. No one will survive."
April thought the mayor and the police commissioner, and even Rosa's boss the ME, would survive somehow. She and Mike, however, would probably not get a medal.
"Let's go, Rosa," she said. "You can tell your story uptown."
Rosa moved toward the French windows. At first April thought she was going to close them, but Rosa quickly swung one door open and stepped outside onto the tiny balcony. April didn't pause to consider what she was doing. She followed Rosa out the door into the small space where she stood looking down at the street and shivering all over.
"No," April said softly. "That's not the way." April was trembling, too. She could hear her voice crack in the cold. The sidewalk was six stories down, and the railing on the -balcony was low, meant for plants, not people.
"Come inside. We just want to talk, that's all. You'll have lots of chances to explain. Just come inside," April urged. "Come on. This isn't the way." She held out her hand. Rosa didn't take it. "Come on."
"I'm not going to the station. You understand me. I'm not going to any police station. I'm one of the good guys." Rosa was crying now. "You're just treating me like this because I'm black. If I die, it's your fault. My blood is on your hands."
"No." April was shaking all over. Her gun was in the holster. She was too close to the woman to unholster the gun. The gun wouldn't do any good anyway. It wasn't April who was in danger.
"Yes!" Rosa screamed. "You just want a black to go down for killing those white folk. How could you do this to me? Don't you know you're colored, too?"
"No, Rosa," April said. "Come inside. We can talk about this later."
"Yes, you are. Chink and spic—colored." She spat out the words. "No better than I am."
"Mike!"
"I'm here. I'm right here." Mike reached out the door and touched April's shoulder, encouraging her to move aside. "Come inside, April."
April shook her head. She didn't want to move and give the hysterical woman a chance to jump. "1 didn't do anything wrong."
"Rosa, let me talk to you," Mike said. "No one wants to hurt you. And you don't want to get hurt." He nudged April. Will you get out of there!
There wasn't room for three of them on the balcony, no way to each take a side of Rosa and move her downstairs into the car before she was totally out of control. They'd wanted her to go quietly. They'd played nice. But Rosa was screaming now, calling for help.
"Help! help! Police brutality! Somebody help. They're trying to kill me. Helllp!" The noise soared out into the street. Later witnesses would recount the scene. Two against one. Police brutality.
"Okay, that's enough," April said sharply. She reached out to take hold of Rosa to pull her inside. At April's touch, Rosa lunged, grabbing April's arm as she tried to launch both herself and April over the railing.
April dodged, shifting her position to throw Rosa off balance so she could save the woman, take her down on the right side of the abyss. But both women were holding on to each other, and Rosa's weight propelled her over. April lost her balance and her breath as her knees banged against the railing, then caught as Mike grabbed her around the waist, stopping both women from plunging to the pavement below. April's shoulders wrenched from their sockets. A scream caught in her throat.
She tried to pull Rosa back, grunted with pain, as
Rosa dangled by her wrists, kicking against the side of the building.
"Let go!"
"Take my hand."
April couldn't breathe, couldn't think or speak. She heard noises from below, heard Mike say something, but couldn't tell what it was. Some language she didn't know. She heaved on Rosa's arms, but couldn't budge the bigger woman. Sirens rang out on the street below.
"Hold on, baby." This she heard. "Switch hands," Mike said.
Whose? How? April's fingers were frozen. She heard the sound of a fire engine. Had she been there two minutes? Five minutes. How long? Her body trembled. She didn't think she could hang on.
"Switch hands," Mike said again.
How could they do it without the woman falling? Tears froze in April's eyes. She didn't want to let go. Mike moved around to her side and grabbed one of Rosa's wrists, taking some pressure off, then reached to grab the other. Now April and Mike both had hold of Rosa's two arms. They started dragging the woman back. Someone banged on the apartment door, trying to get in. Must be the fire department.
Rosa kicked at the building's brick wall, screaming at them to let her go. People started calling up from below. More instructions April couldn't understand. A ladder was coming up. "Hold on."
Behind them, the door to the apartment crunched.
They pulled, and Rosa's head rose above the railing. Mike adjusted his grip. "Come on, Rosa, you don't want to die."
"Oh, God," April cried. "Help us, Rosa."
Rosa's face was contorted with pain and fury. She let them heave her chest up on the railing. Then, when the tragedy was averted, when April and Mike moved their hands to haul her higher and the firefighters rushed in with their axes, Rosa turned her head and sank her teeth into Mike's arm. He recoiled, letting go. As the firefighters spilled into the apartment to help, Rosa twisted from April's hold and propelled herself out from the building.
A gasp rose from the crowd on the sidewalk as she fell, missing the round trampoline-like contraption that six firefighters held out too late to catch her. She socked into two of the firefighters holding it before hitting the pavement.
Then, upstairs on the sixth floor, something happened that April would be ashamed of for the rest of her life. Overwhelmed with the pain of two dislocated shoulders and regret for not having saved the suspect they'd been charged with bringing in, she did a very uncoplike thing. She fainted in the sergeant's arms.
49
The TV was on most of the time during the seven days of April's recuperation. For the first two days she was stuck in the hospital" where her room was not far from that of Rosa Washington, who had survived her fall with more than two dozen broken bones, some so badly
shattered the doctors were confident she would never walk again. It was predicted, however, that before the year was out Rosa Washington would be well enough to appear before the grand jury in a wheelchair and be indicted for her crimes.
Through the haze of painkillers, exhaustion, and a bad chest cold, April saw clips of Liberty finally returning to his home at the Park Century. He had nothing to say. She saw Cinda Stewart make an appeal on TV for Liberty to come on Ahead of the News and tell of his ordeal. She saw Emma Chapman get out of a car in front of the theater where she was acting. Asked to make a statement for the press, Emma said she was grateful to the police for finding Merrill Liberty and Tor Petersen's killer and clearing Liberty's name. She talked about Sergeant Mike Sanchez and Sergeant April Woo on TV, then said the department, indeed the whole city of New York, was indebted to those first-class detectives for their extraordinary police work. Emma stated she felt they deserved commendation, thus making Skinny a happy Dragon Mother, finally with something to brag about. April, however, had no doubt they would not receive medals. During April's confinement in bed, Jason Frank and Mike Sanchez both visited, called every day and sent flowers. April did not hear from Dean Kiang. But she was not thinking of him. She lay in bed thinking about Mike Sanchez and what a great man he was.
At six-thirty on the morning she was supposed to return to work, April awoke in her own bed. Her shoulders were still aching badly and the cough from her cold was not entirely gone. Carefully, she sat up and punched out Mike's number.
Yawning, Mike picked up after the third ring. "Yeah? Sanchez."
"My car won't start," April murmured.
Instantly, Mike's voice got soft with concern. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Great," she lied.
"Uh-huh . . . well, did you try putting the key in the ignition?"
"I don't think that would help. The car's—you know . . ."
"No kidding, it's you know. Well, what time is it?"
"Sorry to call so early. I just didn't want to miss you."
He didn't say anything for a minute. Then he said, "I'll be over in twenty minutes."
Twenty minutes later, Mike stood on the cement sidewalk in front of April's house in his new leather coat, completely oblivious to the rain. The frowning face of April's mother was in its usual place in the front window, watching him with a Chinese curse on her lips. She looked as if her head had been separated from her body and planted there as a warning that she would never forgive him for loving her daughter. Too bad for her. This time April had summoned him. He waved at the head.
"Good morning, Mrs. Woo. Howya doin'?" he mouthed into the wind.
Though she certainly couldn't hear him, a tentative hand came up from below the windowsill in reply. Mike considered the almost wave an extremely good outcome and felt ridiculously happy. Half a minute later the front door opened and April came out. She was wearing black rubber boots and a black slicker with a hood. Burnt cinnamon lipstick. She glanced up at the sky and put up the hood before dashing down the walk to meet him. The rain slowed to a fine drizzle as they got to the sidewalk where the Camaro was parked behind the Le Baron.
"What do you want to do about the car? Want to jump-start it and take it in?"
"Thanks for coming to get me," she said. A flash of lightning behind her eyes caused his breath to catch and the radar in his mustache to quiver.
"You don't want to jump-start it?" He took a deep breath and blew steam out into the cold misty morning.
"Doesn't need it," she murmured. Her inner eye flickered over him again like a butterfly searching for nectar in a flower garden.
i,Mi Dios, existe? Could it be? His heart jumped into his throat and blocked his breathing. Could it be? He'd been watching this woman with his whole being for many months, waiting for a sign. He'd been waiting for such a long time he'd begun telling himself to give it up. Give it up, move on. How many times could a man get that close only to be pushed away at the very last moment with a look determined enough to stop a starving tiger from lunging at a still target? Move on, his head kept telling him, A thousand women wanted it, move on. And then what would he do? He'd move an inch or two away from her, only to lose the ground the minute he saw her again. In the middle of work, he'd be sitting across the desk from her and smell her, feel the whole of her living inside of him as if his body were her home, and he'd yearn to be inside her the same way.
"You want to get in the car, or stand here in the rain? Either way's fine with me," she said.
Jesus. There was the sign. There it was. She loved him. No doubt about it. His scarred eyebrow jumped up as he opened the door for her. He checked for the devil's face in the window. It had disappeared. A good omen. He trotted around the car and got in on the driver's side, glanced in the mirror. His hair and face were dripping. His coat was water-spotted. He looked horrible. The car smelled like wet upholstery. This was not the best moment, but he couldn't let the chance pass. His lips burned. He didn't want to mess up again, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What was he supposed to do here, ask her to marry him? Ask her to sleep with him, or give her a kiss?
Okay. He opened his eyes. April had put down her hood and was studying him with a wrinkled forehead.
"You all right?" she asked.
"Yeah, sure." He nodded, trying to be cool.
"So?"
"So . . . April, I've been thinking." He scratched his cheek. "We know each other pretty well now. It's been six weeks since we haven't worked in the same shop. What do you say we get married?"
April let her breath out in a whistle. "Just like that?"
Mike shrugged. "Well, it's not just like that. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I think cops should marry each other, know what I mean?"
April chewed on her bottom lip, then glanced out the car window at her house.
"So, what do you say?"
She studied the water dripping down the windshield before answering. "What about love?"
"Huh? Didn't I say I love you? You know I love you. You'd have to be crazy not to know that." He started patting his pocket down now for the car keys, didn't think this was going well and wanted to get away. "I want to marry you, be with you forever, don't I?"
"They're right here." She handed him the car keys.
"So?" He fumbled with the ignition.
After a long moment, she shook her head. "I couldn't marry anyone I haven't slept with, you know, quite a bit. Maybe as long as a year, to see if we're compatible."
"No kidding?" Mike perked up.
"I don't know why. But it seems important to me."
"It's important." Mike cleared his throat. "Shouldn't marry if you're not"—he coughed again— "compatible." He checked his watch. It was 7:00 A.M. He didn't know what time her shift started.
April brushed raindrops off the front of her raincoat, waiting for his next move.
Mike sucked on his mustache, considering. "You hungry? Want to go to my place for breakfast?"
"Sure," she said. "Got any food?"
"Ah, not really. Is that a problem?" Mike looked at her again, checking to make absolutely sure he wasn't missing something somewhere.
"No problem," she said, then smiled, stopping his heart again. Jesu Christe, she meant it.
After all this time no problem? Mike plunged the key into the ignition, got the car started, and pulled out with a roar. At 7:33 the rain stopped. At 7:45 Mike and April were in his apartment in their first deep kiss, struggling to embrace around their various weapons when the phone rang.
Mike picked up, breathing hard. "Yeah. Sanchez."
"You in the middle of something, Mike?"
"What's up?" He nuzzled April's neck, wasn't leaving now no matter what.
Hardly wincing at all, April pushed up her sleeves and wrapped her smooth slender arms around his neck. He kissed the inside of her upper arm. Her skin smelled of soap and roses. She pressed her hips against him. He kissed her mouth and tongue. She tasted of mint toothpaste. He could feel
her breasts, her heart beating, her thigh nudging between his legs. He felt light-headed, almost dizzy with excitement. All he wanted was to sink down on the floor with her and never get up.
He couldn't hear what was being said to him. "I have a bad cold," he said. "I have a fever. It's my day off."
"You heard me, this is important. Are you coming ill?"
April had removed her weapon and now was disarming him. She caught a tender place under his arm and tickled, making him laugh into the phone. And he hadn't thought she was funny! Then she was tugging at his shirt, at the buckle on his belt. He was breathing hard.
"Mike—! Are you coming in or what?"
"No, man, not today," he croaked. He tried to hang up the receiver and dropped it with a crash. By the time he got the two pieces of phone together and the dial tone shut down, April had most of her clothes off. He stopped short, gawking like a kid.
"Jesus, April—"
"What was that about?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing. Um—" He took his pants off, tripping and almost falling on a cuff. Not cool, not cool at all.
"Very nice," April murmured at what she saw. She said "Kiss me a lot" in Spanish. He was pretty much out of his mind with desire, but he did notice that her accent was pretty good. He figured that she didn't really mean kiss me a lot. She meant what kiss me a lot really means. So he did.
If you enjoyed reading Judging Time, be sure to look for Leslie Glass's powerful new April Woo suspense novel, STEALING TIME
Read on for a special brief excerpt. . . .
Available now from Signet
At 5 A.M., on what would tum out to be anything but a routine Tuesday, April Woo saw the glow of morning spread around the comer and down the hall into the bedroom where she was trying to sleep. The light came from the living-room picture window of the twenty-second-floor Queens apartment where her boyfriend had lived for six months and where no curtains concealed the drop-dead view of the Manhattan skyline. Punched out and highlighted by the dawn, the jumble of building shapes hung as if etched in the sky, a monument to the ingenuity of man, that great magician who used the raw power of steel and concrete in bridges and glass towers to dwarf nature and hide himself. Another day, and the city beckoned even before the cop was fully conscious.