by Leslie Glass
"Tomorrow. We'll talk about it." He brushed her lips one last time, tickling them with his mustache. Then he got out of the car. "Be a good girl," were his last words.
"Well, sure," she said.
But of course she didn't head home right away. How could she go home so early when she had things to do in Manhattan? She took the Saw Mill River Parkway to the Henry Hudson Parkway. At this hour all the traffic was coming out, and traveling was a pleasure. The route she followed brought back memories. As she crossed the toll bridge into Manhattan and drove south along the Hudson River, the old city views of the West Side reminded her of her years in the Two-oh when Mike had been her supervisor, always on the make. All his heavy breathing when they drove around together in the unit had driven her nuts. Why couldn't he just keep his mind on the job? she'd wondered back then. Men!
She smiled, remembering her irritation. Shou zhu dai tu was a Confucian saying: Change is the only constant. It was the primary incentive for a Chinese to hold his tongue. In police lingo the litany went, What goes around comes around. Just wait; things would change and maybe you'd get what you wanted. But lucky for April there were a few things that hadn't changed in her life. Mike's mind still strayed from the job to love whenever he was with her, even when the tight muscles in his neck betrayed the pressure.
Clearly someone high up was nervous about Bernardino. As long as the back story on his lottery money and his murder were a mystery, the Department didn't want to take the chance of giving him a hero's funeral. Politics was another thing that never changed. It was only the influence of the players that waxed and waned.
By seven-thirty p.m. she was driving east on Fourteenth Street, forming questions in her head for Jack Devereaux, the man who'd saved her life. She had not yet made a list of places where tae kwon do was taught, but it was on her to-do list. Mike had been right yesterday when he'd said she had a link with Bernardino's killer. But he didn't know that it was in the moves that almost killed her. The killer was a fan of unarmed combat.
People interested in the martial arts came in several categories. The shadow boxers, tai chi fans, did it to limber up and acquire balance. Some tae kwon do practitioners thought they could use it to protect themselves from muggers on the street. Others learned it as part of their military training and used a variety of fighting techniques: Thai boxing, karate, mix fight, Muay Thai, kata, and a whole bunch of others. All martial arts involved weight, core strength, and balance training along with spiritual elements as an aid to concentration. Many people who started training became obsessed with the fighting discipline of "empty hand" combat. April herself used to be one of them, working at it for hours a day from seven, eight years of age. She had been a girl child and a small one, and needed to even the odds against her. From long experience she knew the moves and the training it took to excel. She knew that those obsessed with mind and body control did a lot more than keep in shape, but no one she knew learned martial arts to kill the way a sniper kills.
She shook her head. She hadn't competed in this arena for a long time. She didn't have to even the odds anymore. She was in love and had mellowed. A person in love didn't need to live and breathe the mantra "one punch, one kill."
Full of remorse for faltering the one time her life was on the line, April told herself that the reason she'd been caught off guard was that she'd lost her edge. But the truth was that Bernardino's killer had to be a very strong man, an iron man. He had to be one of the obsessed. And he was probably younger, rather than older. Maybe someone around Bill's age. Bill was into karate, but if the killer wasn't Bill himself, maybe it was someone he knew or someone with whom he'd trained. Those guys tended to stick together. They needed someone to show off for. But why would Bill kill his own father for money when there was so much more on the come? It bothered her. The boldness of the hit and the possibility of a buddy thing. Who would be the buddy?
As the car moved through city traffic, April brooded again on the cop and former-cop theme. Even a crazy cop wouldn't thumb his nose at the Department so publicly. Too dangerous. An enemy would have followed him home and killed him on his quiet Westchester street, where a less experienced local law enforcement agency would investigate and never connect the dots. She felt certain that Bernardino hadn't been killed by a cop. But if it had been Bill, he would not have let him get home. She didn't like thinking dirty and switched to other possibilities.
She drove down University Place, thinking about it. University Place was a short street, only six blocks long. Where was the killer training? A search of all the martial-arts schools in the tristate area could take months. She peered out at storefronts, the cop's habit. She didn't remember a tae kwon do studio there, but the words were spread across three large windows on the second floor of an old building. The fourth window said Tai Chi. The fifth, Aerobics. Clearly the whole floor. Twelfth Street and University. She made a note of it, thinking she'd come back when she had an hour. Maybe she'd get lucky.
Then she concentrated on the geography of the area and found the brownstone where Devereaux lived on a busy block. She parked the car in front of a hydrant, too tired to worry much about getting a ticket. She was losing her steam and felt uneasy so near her old neighborhood and the site where Bernie had died. She decided to visit the spot before returning to Queens.
With this plan in mind, she rang the bell next to the name Devereaux and waited for what felt like a long time before a female voice answered.
"Who's there?"
"It's Sergeant Woo; can I come in for a few minutes?"
"A is in the front," was the reply.
A buzzer sounded, and April pushed the door open. Inside the foyer, the floor was worn stone, but the blue marbled wallpaper and runner on the stairs appeared to be of a more recent vintage. She followed the homey aroma of cooking chicken upstairs to the second floor and rang the bell of the front apartment.
The door opened on a chain.
"Sergeant Woo. I hope I'm not interrupting dinner," April said.
"Can I see your ID?"
April held her gold up to the opening.
"Sorry, we're a little paranoid these days." The girl who opened the door was short, not more than five-one, more cute than classically beautiful. She had chin-length almost-black hair, almond-shaped eyes a little like April's, and a nice apologetic smile.
April followed her into a small living room, where the girl suddenly broke into excited chatter.
"Jack, this is April Woo."
"What?" With a stunned expression, April's rescuer lumbered awkwardly to his feet from his place on a sofa in front of a TV. He was a regular-looking white guy, one of thousands of ordinary young people in the downtown crowd. Just under six feet tall, skinny, sand-colored hair, surprised blue eyes.
"Hi," April said a little uncertainly. "I'm sorry to bother you at dinnertime. I just came by to say thanks."
A chocolate lab with a mouthful of scary-looking teeth closed the space between them to sniff and lick her while its fat tail lashed out at everything within reach. April made a point of patting its huge head only because she thought it would be impolite not to.
"You didn't have to do that." Jack took his time studying her, as if trying to match her with the barefoot girl in a party dress who'd stopped breathing in Washington Square two nights ago.
"Well, you saved my life. People don't do that every day." April stood there trying to smile, feeling like a jerk. She'd never had to thank someone for saving her life before. Well, only Mike. Now she thought she should have brought a gift. A big gift. Jack Devereaux didn't help her out. It was an awkward meeting.
"You look pretty messed up. How are you feeling?" she asked finally.
"Not too bad. I've never broken a bone before. This is my girlfriend, Lisa. This is Sheba." He introduced his dog. April concentrated on the girl.
"Pleasure to meet you. It smells like you're a great cook."
"Well, it sounds like you need what I made." Lisa laughed, happy under the p
raise. "Bronchitis?" she queried about the voice.
"Ah, it's on the mend." April downplayed the problem.
"Please sit down." Lisa patted the sofa, where a blanket bristled with itchy-looking dog hairs.
April avoided it by sitting in a nearby armchair that was too small for the beast.
"Would you like some Jewish penicillin?" Lisa offered.
"No, thanks. It's not an infection."
"Well, it's not real penicillin; it's just the soup. Very good for the chest, you know, the sinuses, the throat, and the fingernails. Practically everything. I know it's going to fix Jack's arm."
"Really?" April smiled. Another doctor.
"Absolutely. Would you like some?"
April hesitated, computing the time since she'd eaten Skinny Dragon's jook. Six and a half hours with only tea since then. Her voice felt and sounded horrible. She could use the soup.
"It would help, really. We were just going to have some, weren't we, Jack?" Lisa was pushing the soup hard.
"Oh. Yes, we definitely were." Jack flinched as the dog jumped up on the sofa and dropped its heavy head and shoulders into his lap, then added, "Don't worry; we have a lot," as Lisa disappeared to get it.
He rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "You don't look like a cop."
April heard this every day. She always wondered if people meant Chinese couldn't be cops, or women couldn't be cops, or just-how could she be a cop if she wasn't wearing a uniform? She always chose the last answer. "Detectives don't wear uniforms. I was hoping that you could fill me in on what happened that night."
"They've already asked me," Jack said vaguely.
April studied him. He was hardly huge-a young man not filled in yet, but he was taller than Bernardino. Definitely taller than she was.
"I'm sure they did, and I'm sure they will again. Sometimes new things come out. Right now I'm asking for me," she added.
"I was wondering how you lost your shoes," he said suddenly.
April didn't like the question. She'd taken off her shoes not only to run after the killer, but also to fight him. Really nuts.
"Let's do you first," she said. "What time did you go out with the dog?"
"No one asked me about Sheba. I always take her out at eleven. We walk over to Washington Square and walk around the square a few times. She's a big girl. She needs her exercise." He patted the beast fondly.
April remembered hearing the sound of a chain leash when she exited the restaurant. She didn't think it was this dog but wanted to be sure. "What kind of leash do you use?"
Jack nodded at a doorknob across the room, which had a chain leash hanging on it. "She'd eat any other kind. Why do you ask?"
"The dining table is in use." Lisa returned with a large bowl of something that looked more like stew than soup. She put a spoon and paper napkin on the coffee table in front of April.
"Thanks, it looks great." April returned to her subject. "What route do you take?"
Jack looked surprised. "What route? We go downstairs and head straight to the square. We turn left and walk counterclockwise, north first, then east, then south."
"You did that Wednesday?"
"I always do it. I'm a creature of habit."
"You didn't walk down Thompson on Wednesday?"
"No, why do you ask?"
"Just trying to place everything. Did you see anything unusual?"
"Well, now that Giuliani is gone, the drug dealers are out again everywhere. Anything you want, and people are smoking right out in public."
April didn't tell him that the new mayor wasn't responsible for drugs being back on the streets. Priorities had changed after 9/11. Guarding against terrorists was number one now. She dipped her spoon in the soup and tasted it. Thicker than Chinese chicken soup, this version had rice and very thin spaghetti strings in it, carrot coins, celery chunks, chicken meat, and not even a hint of ginger.
Lisa sat down. "How do you like it?"
"It's really great," April told her. "Do you ever walk with anyone else?"
"I walk with him if I'm still awake," Lisa piped up.
"I mean other dog walkers."
"Oh, yeah. I know what you mean. Some people cruise with their dogs. They know each other and everything. I'm not part of that scene."
"You don't talk to anyone?"
"Just to say hello. The dogs know each other. I know some of the dog names, not the people."
April nodded. She didn't know the dog owners on their block because they always put Dim Sum out in the backyard. But Jack knew the local dogs. That was something. She took a moment to eat her soup and think about it.
"Do you know anybody with a mastiff?" she asked.
He rolled his eyes and didn't answer. "Who was the guy who died?" He couldn't balance the bowl with one hand but shook his head when Lisa tried to help him.
"He was a retired lieutenant from the Fifth Precinct. That's in Chinatown. My old boss," she added.
"Jesus. That's too bad… The story is all over the TV."
"And you're pretty famous yourself," she said.
Jack shook his head. "The whole thing is weird."
April was curious, but she didn't want to embarrass him by asking about his father. "New Yorkers are supposed to run away from trouble," she said instead.
"Oh, that. Well, I didn't realize you were in trouble at first. I didn't see it. The fog was something. Why didn't you yell?"
Good question. The answer was, she didn't yell because she was fighting. You don't yell when you're fighting, only when you're losing. Then when you're yoked, you can't yell. She burned with shame. No wonder Chief Avise was angry at her. She would fire any cop who'd done the stupid things she'd done.
"Do you know anything about martial arts?" she asked.
Jack shook his head. "Only that it can kill you."
"Well, it isn't so easy to kill someone," April murmured. "How did you get out of it?"
"He flipped me, but I was screaming from the get-go. And Sheba got pretty loud. I don't think she would have bitten him, though."
"Can you remember anything about the man? How tall he was, what he was wearing? His face or hair. Anything?"
"He was shorter than me. He had to reach up."
"Five-eight, five-nine, five-ten?"
He shook his head. "You wear tea-rose perfume, right?"
"Yes." She was surprised that he could pinpoint her fragrance.
"He smelled of Icy Hot."
"What's that?"
"It's like Vick's VapoRub for the muscles. I think it has eucalyptus in it."
April ate more of her soup, considering that.
"Do you know Lieutenant Sanchez?"
She nodded cautiously.
"He told me a plainclothes cop is watching us."
"You're a witness."
"So are you; is someone watching you?"
April smiled. "I have a gun. What's worrying you?"
"A lot of things. We're getting phone calls. Hangups. And someone keeps saying 'Don't forget your promise.' "
"What promise?"
"I don't know. I didn't make any promises."
"Male voice?"
"Yes."
"Is it on your voice mail?"
Lisa glanced at Jack, then shook her head. "He doesn't leave messages, just hangs up."
April pushed her bowl away. "Did you tell Lieutenant Sanchez about this?"
Jack locked eyes with Lisa. "We didn't think it was a big thing."
"Do you have caller ID?"
"Of course."
"I'd like a list of the numbers of your incoming calls."
She took down all hundred of them. A large number of them were private callers. She thanked Lisa for the excellent soup. Then it was time to go home. She didn't want to overstay her welcome.
"Oh, one thing before I go. The person you know with a mastiff. Who is it?" she asked.
Jack laughed. "Oh, God. I wouldn't know a mastiff from a sheepdog."
Twenty-one
April's car hadn't been towed away yet, but there was a parking ticket on the windshield. She didn't even register annoyance. She was looking for a plain-clothes cop who might be surveiling Jack and Lisa. She didn't see anyone wearing the color of the day, the sign the Department used for plainclothes cops to recognize and avoid hassling each other on the job. Undercover cops in the subways, in housing projects, and the DEA especially needed it. An uneasy feeling shot through her as she left her car where it was and took Jack's route to Washington Square, a straight shot east.
The sky was night-dark now, but lights were on everywhere, and the streets of Greenwich Village were full of people, many with dogs. April had her eye out for a mastiff, she thought, that wore a chain leash. Jack had told her that he'd come east from Sixth Avenue and turned left at the square. He'd walked north, then east, then south. It was on his southern route that he'd encountered April fighting with a five-tenish man who smelled like Icy Hot. She vaguely remembered that she'd met the black dog going north on Thompson before they hit the square. As she walked the area, she figured they could do a house-to-house canvass of the neighborhood, to find the mastiffs owner, who must have walked by-and possibly seen-Bernardino's killer. Dog walkers often had a regular routine. They'd find him. But tonight April didn't have time to stay out until eleven to look for him. She'd promised that she would be a team player. All she could do was make suggestions. They could check vets in the area. It shouldn't be too hard.
As she walked Jack's route, she was aware of the pungent smell of marijuana, as strong as that of frying garlic from the restaurant on the corner of Fifth Avenue. Jack was right that people were smoking dope and dealing in the square again. She didn't go all the way around, after all. Instead she crossed in the middle and came to the place close to Washington Square South where she'd called out to the suspect. Her stomach clutched, and once again she felt the shame of messing up. It didn't matter if it had been foggy, if she'd eaten too much and had had a glass of wine. It had been stupid to play Wonder Woman, to throw off her shoes and run barefoot after a killer. Stupid. Double stupid.
But she knew what her instinct had been. In martial arts they always fought shoeless. Her legs and feet were very strong. Of course she would shed the high heels to be more effective in bare feet. It wouldn't go down well with her superiors, though. She shivered as her cell phone rang. She located the thing in the bottom of her purse and saw private caller pop up.