“Hey, don’t tie my feet. I got claustrophobia.”
“Shut up. I’m doing this.” She didn’t look so bad like this. Now he was feeling better.
She kicked with the free foot. “Hey. I said not the feet.”
He pulled the switchblade out of his pocket and flicked it open.
Her eyes bulged at the knife. “Oh, shit. You said you weren’t going to hurt me.”
“You’re supposed to give me a good time,” he said angrily. He kicked the sofa. “Now do it right. Act like you’re in a movie.”
“I’m going to need another hit,” she wheedled.
“When I’m finished.” He grabbed the other foot and tied the ankle down.
She pouted.
He was satisfied at the picture she made. This sofa was not as good as the other one. He had to tie her hands over her head, but she was spread-eagled from the waist down. The sparse tuft of pubic hair showed she was a real blond. He cursed himself for not thinking of bringing a razor to shave it off. He knew just what to draw there. He pulled up the chair and laid out his equipment: four pens—red, blue, black, and green—rubber gloves, the switchblade, the Zippo, and two condoms.
She giggled nervously when he put on the gloves. But he had already forgotten her. He was planning the picture. Snakes going up the inner thighs with fangs darting into her cunt. Then the torso would have a new addition, the doctor’s staff, since he was the Doctor of Death. The flames would curl out of the staff, burning it up.
When the first pen tip touched her thigh, she jumped back in alarm. But after he unzipped his pants, and had her suck on him, she got into it. By the time he began shoving rubber fingers into her, and his double-sheathed penis, and biting the pictures he had drawn, she was way out in outer space.
54
In the early hours of the morning, Jason pulled himself out of the taxi and headed for his front door. As he rang the bell for the doorman, he was seized again with the same wild, unreasonable hope that had been nudging at the corners of his mind all the way across the country, the hope that his instincts had been wrong all along. Emma was not really threatened. She had just moved into another life without him. The letters were just an excuse for him to develop an elaborate fantasy of a madman’s retribution for his wife’s transformation from teen angel to movie-star whore. In this scenario he was the one who was threatened by it, and the hurt and anger were his alone. Nothing else was acceptable. He desperately wanted to be the crazy one, so caught up in the fantasy of retribution that he went all the way to San Diego to find himself an imaginary serial killer.
Francis wasn’t at the door. Jason had to ring twice. Maybe Emma had come home, and he would be proven a fool. Rumpled and exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, he thought about that as he waited for Francis to appear.
Not many people actually did what they dreamed of doing. Even Charles had suggested more than once that there was a big difference between writing letters and acting on the rage and hatred expressed in them.
Francis shuffled across the lobby and started at the sight of him. “Oh, Dr. Frank, Dr. Frank. Thank God you’re back. The police were here,” the doorman cried as he swung the heavy door open.
“I know,” Jason said.
“What do they think happened to Mrs. Frank?” he demanded. “They just didn’t give me no choice. They forced their way in. What did they expect to find anyway?”
“It’s all right.” Mechanically, Jason went through the motions of calming him down. He was a stoic and a doctor. Staying in control when people around him were bouncing off walls was what he did. He had managed his raging panic on the plane and continued to do so now without thinking.
“It set me off for the whole night, I’ll tell you.” The man followed him to the elevator. “I didn’t leave them alone for a minute. Stayed with them the whole time,” he insisted.
“Thank you.” Jason got on the elevator, hardly knowing what he was saying. The acid had begun eating away at his insides again. Emma had not magically returned. He refused to let himself think about Troland Grebs.
Upstairs, he went through the apartment carefully. He saw the towels, still damp in the bathroom, and her purse on the bed. Nothing of hers seemed to be missing. Not a coat, not a dress, not a credit card, not a hairbrush or a toothbrush or a lipstick. There was no way in the world that she would voluntarily go anywhere without those essential items.
He went into the kitchen. There was the lettuce in a bowl in the sink. The treadmill in the laundry room was still on Pause. In the bedroom he turned on the answering machine and fiddled with it. Detective Woo had been right. Several messages had been counted by the machine, but not recorded. Only blank tape played back. This had happened with the machine before, but it had righted itself before Emma had gotten around to getting it fixed.
Just like the police, Jason saw an interruption in life in the apartment. But he did not want to jump to any conclusions about it. There could be more than one explanation for Emma’s disappearance. She could have gone out to the store for something and had an accident. Only a month ago an old woman crossing Riverside Drive had been struck by a van when the driver ran a red light. More recently a taxi jumped the curb and smashed into the window of the video store on Broadway. The driver had been distracted by a homeless man waving a stick at him. And other things happened, too. Bicycle messengers, silently racing the wrong way on one-way streets, knocked people over all the time.
Emma might have been sideswiped by a bus, or a car, and was in the hospital. There were a thousand unexpected, freaky things that happened to people every day in New York City.
Jason took his jacket off and went back into the kitchen. He made himself a cup of strong coffee and started calling hospital emergency rooms and morgues. No Emma Chapman or unidentified woman who fit her description had been admitted anywhere that night.
When he could think of nothing else to do, he went into his office and played back the messages from his own answering machine.
55
April had arranged to meet Dr. Frank in his office as soon after eight o’clock as she could get there. She had that in her mind as she spent several precious minutes placating her angry mother.
But even after she got away from Skinny Dragon Mother late at night, April didn’t sleep. She spent nearly an hour writing up her notes on the Chapman case. As she worked, she tried to put out of her mind the unrelated incidents her mother insisted on telling her as tit for tat about jealous lovers and humiliated husbands in long-ago China. April hadn’t wanted to hear about it. It was after two in the morning, and had nothing to do with now.
“That’s what you think,” Sai said huffily, blocking the stairs. “People crazy like fox everywhere.”
Her mother was offended, but April had to sleep. What did a kidnapped young noblewoman locked up in a farmer’s cave in a mountain because she was pregnant and his only wife was barren—ninety years ago—have to do with anything?
Still, April kept thinking about the young woman in the cave for a long time before she could fall asleep. What was the meaning of the story? There was no way to know if it was true, or the myth of anxious mothers-in-law, made up to prevent unhappy young wives from straying far from home. Women had to be obedient or suffer terrible consequences in China.
It came to April later, in her troubled sleep, that her mother might be telling her the actress was a runaway. The same thing April herself once told the parents of the missing girl, Ellen Roane. She forgot to tell her mother missing girls and wives in America don’t leave their credit cards behind on the bed. There had to be another meaning.
It seemed like only five minutes passed before the alarm went off and April was up again, pulling herself together and heading back into the city. Luckily, in the morning her mother was too busy with her father to come upstairs and knock on her door.
Luckily, too, Sergeant Joyce was already in when April got into the precinct a full ten minutes early. April went into her office t
o fill her in on what had happened, except for the part about how she and Sanchez went out for dinner. She was a little uneasy about that.
Sergeant Joyce made a lot of listening faces and frowned when April asked if she could go out to take Dr. Frank’s statement on his missing wife. Nothing was happening right then, and no one else was around yet, so Sergeant Joyce reluctantly said okay.
“But we’ll have to review the case when you get back,” she said ominously.
It was April’s turn to frown. She knew that meant her coming back might be the end of the case for her. Sergeant Joyce would reassign it to someone with more experience, maybe even take it for herself. And April would be stuck doing foot-soldier work in the wrong part of town. She might even have to learn Spanish. That was a horrible thought. She stopped at her desk for a minute. Sanchez wasn’t in yet. Humph. So much for his being an early riser.
She took a Missing Person form from the color-coded stacks of forms on top of a filing cabinet. Then she checked her bag for the notebook with the long list of questions she had prepared last night, for the investigation she probably wouldn’t be allowed to finish. Finally she drove the few blocks over to Riverside Drive and parked by the same hydrant she and Mike had parked in front of the night before.
In the building, as she waited for the elevator that was like a cage, she stood looking up at the stained-glass skylight which was brilliant with color in the morning light. More than once she felt in her bag for the hard shape of her gun to reassure herself that she was meant to be here and knew what she was doing. Her confidence fell apart when Dr. Frank opened the door.
“She’s been abducted. She’s been kidnapped,” he cried wildly, hustling her inside his office.
“What?”
Waiting room, empty of everything except a few chairs and some bookcases, all filled with books and periodicals. Brown rug on the floor. Two floor lamps gave off a lot of fairly harsh light. His office was much more crowded with objects and furniture, the desk cluttered with papers and notebooks. There were three clocks in the room, all ticking away. Like the ones in his apartment, they looked pretty old.
April tried to take everything in all at once, the way she was taught. How he looked. How the room looked. What he was saying. Most important, what he was saying. She was aware from her first second on the scene that above all she had to keep her wits about her and find the real story.
“My wife’s been kidnapped,” he cried. “What are you going to do about it? It’s been a whole night. We’ve got to find her right away. We don’t have much time. It may be too late already. Grebs threatened to kill her. He will kill her. We have to hurry.”
He stood in the middle of the room talking rapidly, as if he thought he could propel her right into action without going through any of the preliminaries first. His appearance was alarming. He was large and pale, and so shaky April was terrified he might topple like a tree from the stress.
She’d seen Chinese do that. Before the questioning even got underway, they’d fall right over. And then April had to pick them up and calm them down. But very rarely did Asians kill the people they kidnapped. Kidnapping was just business. She thought of that as she asked herself for the thirtieth time what mistake had brought her to the upper West Side where people were movie stars and psychiatrists, not immigrants from Asia.
“Sit down,” she said quietly, trying to calm her own hysteria as well as his. The voice inside said, I can’t do this. All I know is caves in mountains. Another voice told her it was all the same thing. She did know what to do.
“Take a minute.” She put her hand on the doctor’s arm. “I know how it is. Sit down for a minute, Doctor. What makes you think she was abducted?”
She thought quickly. It couldn’t have happened up here. There was no way to get in or out without the doorman seeing. Maybe the day doorman saw something, or knew something.
“I’ve been calling every hospital. Nothing on her,” he said, looking at April as if he already knew she was useless.
“It took me hours to come in here. I didn’t think of it until just now, when I came in to meet you. I just didn’t think of it.” Furious, he hit his forehead with his palm. “Oh, God. I can’t tell you how serious this is.”
What was he talking about? April wished he’d get organized and tell her what was going on.
“Did you get a ransom call?”
He shook his head miserably. “Worse than that.”
“Why don’t you sit down and let me ask you some questions,” she suggested.
She had to get him organized. No different from Chinese. Except he didn’t take directions. He had to do everything his own way. Went to California, found his own suspect. What kind of person would do that?
He was shaking all over. “Listen to this,” he commanded. He went to his desk and pushed the button on his answering machine.
The voice of Emma Chapman jumped out, crying for help.
April’s face didn’t change, but inside every part of her started screaming, too. He was right. The shrink had been right all along, and she hadn’t been paying the right kind of attention. Here was the voice of the person she was supposed to protect, and hadn’t. She should have contacted Emma Chapman a week ago. Never mind if the woman didn’t return the call. Why so shy? Why so afraid to come and check it out for herself? Now look what happened.
My fault, she told herself. She let him scare her into staying away from the wife. My fault. The others weren’t her fault. Not her case until after they were gone. She’d heard a few pleading voices on the phone. They had all scared her, but this voice was on her head. It was slurred in places. The woman sounded hurt as well as terrified. It was horrible. Horrible to listen to. He played it four times, while they concentrated in silence. By the second time April had already begun taking notes.
Finally he switched the machine off and looked at her hard. April knew he was trying to see inside of her. Trying to determine what she might know. She was very aware that he was a head doctor. Head doctors knew what people were thinking before they said anything. Her pen was poised above the pad. She did not let her hand tremble with fear.
She was not a head doctor, but she knew what he was thinking, too. She knew he was thinking what can this Asian woman do, nothing. But she could do something. She could make sure he wasn’t right at her expense any more.
His office answering machine clocked the call from his wife at just before midnight. April was in the apartment next door about then, but not just then. If the woman had called the apartment only a few minutes earlier, April would have picked up and talked to her. They might have found her by now.
“She was alone at midnight,” April said.
“That was eight hours ago. What are you going to do?”
He kept demanding the same thing. She was going to do her job. What did he think she was going to do?
“She was able to make the call. She was by a window, looking out,” April said. “That means she wasn’t restrained.”
“What are you getting at?”
“It’s possible she got away.”
Dr. Frank looked at her like she was stupid. “Then we would have heard from her.”
“Maybe not yet.”
“She says the guy’s going to kill her. What are you going to do to find her?”
The way he demanded this sounded like he really thought she was going to drag her feet on the matter. April was determined not to bristle.
“I’m going to ask you a lot of questions, Dr. Frank. And when I leave here, I’m going to make a report to my supervisor. Then there will be many people in this neighborhood asking questions.”
“Why this neighborhood? She said it was the Bronx or Brooklyn.”
“It’s going to take a while. Why don’t you sit down,” April said firmly.
She could see he wanted to do it his way. He had been standing all this time by the machine. He seemed to have to think it over for a minute before sitting down at his desk.
“The doorman last night didn’t see her leave. That means she left before eleven,” April said patiently. “We’ll talk to the day doorman. We’ll try to find someone who saw her leave the building, set a time. If she met anybody, or someone stopped her on the street. If she got in a car. This is a busy neighborhood. Someone must have seen her. We’ll get a description.”
“But I know who it is, and he’s not going to keep her around while you’re busy setting times,” Jason said bitterly. “We’re talking about my wife and a man with a violent history. He’s going to kill her or rape her, or burn her.” His voice caught on the words. “Look, I’ll find her if I have to do it myself.”
April couldn’t help being impressed by him. He loved his wife, and he was professional. Like her, he was thinking all the time. He had been thinking from the beginning. He wasn’t completely helpless like everybody else. She watched him pull himself together. It took only a few seconds.
“Can you trace her call?” he asked more gently.
“From the tape?” April shook her head. “The phone company does have the technology to print out the number a call is coming from, but it isn’t available to the police yet.”
“He’s from a lower-class neighborhood,” Jason said suddenly.
“What is the significance of that, Dr. Frank?”
“People tend to gravitate to what they’re used to.”
“Yes,” April said, still not getting what he meant.
“I’ve seen where he comes from. He’s very compulsive. That means he does the same things over and over.”
April nodded. How did that help? She raised a delicate eyebrow, afraid to seem stupid by asking the question.
“He’s quite regressed right now. He’s likely to be in a place that looks to him like the place he came from.”
“And you know what that place might be?”
Jason nodded. “The Bronx or Brooklyn sound right, where the houses are small and right next to each other.”
Burning Time Page 26