by Leslie Glass
"Do you have the baby?"
"Yes." The voice got even smaller.
April didn't want to tell her she might have saved Lin's life if only she'd spoken up sooner.
"I'm coming out there. We have to talk."
"They all found out. Someone else from the police just called me!" Nanci cried.
This was news to April. "Oh, yeah? Who called?"
"Some captain. He said it turns out the baby wasn't Lin's. She got him by mistake, and
he's
coming out to take the baby away." "What captain was that?"
"I don't remember his name. He just told me there's been a terrible misunderstanding about this whole thing because of Lin's unfamiliarity with the language. He said the baby Lin gave me isn't Lin's. The baby's real mother wants him back this afternoon, and he's on his way out to get him."
No police captain had told her that. April's sadness and dizziness vanished. Suddenly her head was clear. Nanci was crying now. "He said the parents want to prosecute me for kidnapping. I didn't kidnap him."
"I know you didn't. What did Lin do, call you to come in and get him?"
"Yes. It's my fault," she sobbed.
"It's not your fault," April snapped. She was getting tired of hearing her countrywomen take the blame for everything.
"He told me that keeping the baby without telling the police made the baby's real mother crazy with worry."
"Listen to me. He wasn't telling you the truth," April said firmly. "We can easily establish whose baby he was."
"But he told me Lin is dead," Nanci cried.
"What else did he tell you?"
"He said she jumped out of a window. I don't understand. Last night that woman, Annie, told me Lin was sick, and if I gave her two thousand dollars, I could have my cousin. But she never called me back. And now Lin's dead. It
is
my fault."
"Try to calm down and listen to me," April commanded.
There was a short silence; then Nanci blew her nose.
"Nanci, are you alone?"
"Yes. I called Milton at work, but he isn't home yet."
"When did you get that call from the man who said he was a police captain?"
"I don't know, a few minutes ago." "Look, he wasn't with the police."
"He wasn't? Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"How do you know?"
"Because
I'm
with the police. Listen to me—I don't want you to let anyone in, okay? Wait for Milton to get there. Wait for me to get there. We'll go over all of this."
In the background April could hear the cry of a baby mingle with Nanci's panic.
"What's your address? How long does it take to get there?"
"Wait a minute. I have to pick up the baby."
"That's okay. I'll hold on. Don't hang up, Nanci."
There was static on the line as April waited. She willed the cell phone not to go dead. A wave of nausea hit, then passed. The baby stopped crying. A few seconds later, Nanci came back on the line.
"Don't give the baby to anybody. Keep him for now. He
is
your cousin's."
"Is she dead?"
"I'm sorry," April said softly. "Yes."
"Oh, God, it's my fault."
"No, Nanci, somebody hurt her. It's his fault, not yours."
"But why? Who would do that?"
"I'm not sure yet. Just stay inside and don't open the door. Give me your address."
"It's 355 Ring Road, Garden City."
"Okay, that's not too far. We'll have some people out there very soon."
"People? What people? Oh God, I'm scared." Panic traveled through the line.
"Just stay inside and no one will hurt you." April didn't think a Popescu would break the door down.
April hung up, then dialed Lieutenant Iriarte. He was not in a good mood.
"I told you to be back here by noon. Where the hell are you?" he demanded. "You got a fucking convention of hysterical Chinese waiting for you up here."
"You asked me to locate the baby, sir. I've located him. The dead woman's cousin has him at her home in Garden City."
"Well, great. Now get the hell up here and deal with these weeping women."
"Ah, I can't, sir. I think Popescu is on his way out to Garden City to reclaim the baby. I have to go out there."
"The hell you do."
"He may be a killer."
That got him. "What!"
"It had to be one of the Popescus who did the baby's mother. My guess is it was Anton."
Iriarte didn't buy the hypothesis. "Oh, come on. Why him?"
"It's complicated, sir. It may be because he has no balls." April really loved to shock her lieutenant.
"What!
Are you crazy?" Now he was screaming in her ear.
"Lieutenant, why don't you call Jason Frank and ask him to talk to Heather Rose and her parents. He'll know how to deal with them."
"I know how to deal with them."
April could hear him swearing; she cut him off. "The cousin's name is Nanci Hua. I'll call you in an hour or so."
"You get the hell—"
April quickly tried to make some static noises with the saliva in her mouth. The sound was more like someone trying to choke her.
"Hey, April—"
Then she got an idea and pushed the channel button. Real static crackled on the line. After a few seconds the phone went dead. She dialed Jason. He picked up and started complaining right away.
"Where are you? What's going on? You promised to get right back to me," he chided.
"Sorry; I couldn't talk before. The baby's biological mother—her name was Lin Tsing—worked at the Popescu sewing factory. She was beaten to death in their building last night."
He was speechless.
"Jason, are you there?"
"Yeah. Jesus."
"It's a terrible thing. Did you meet his relations?"
"I met the brother in the hospital." He had nothing else to say about Marc.
"They'd been keeping Lin in a closet in the storeroom. I'm sure one of them got her pregnant. She probably gave birth there. That's why we couldn't find a hospital record."
"Jesus." Jason fell silent again, then asked after a moment, "What's Anton's involvement?"
"That's what I'm calling about. Some of the pieces are coming together on Heather's end. She's been identified as the person who gave the baby to Lin. Lin gave the baby to her cousin on Long Island. I'm on my way out there now."
"You don't think Anton's the killer of the baby's mother, do you?" Jason sounded horrified by this idea.
"Could be. I'm not placing any bets. I want you to talk with Heather again."
"But, April, I was with Anton at his apartment last night. There's no way he could have killed that woman."
"What time?"
"Between eight and nine."
"The 911 call came in at ten. But the death report puts the TOD at several hours before that. She could have died as early as five or six. The killer must have waited until the cover of darkness to move the body. It was light until nine last night."
"Couldn't have been Anton. I talked to him. I talked to Heather Rose. We know he couldn't have gotten the girl pregnant, and he didn't kill her. He doesn't have the profile of a killer. I'm sure of it," Jason insisted.
"You seem pretty invested in that theory," April remarked.
"I think Heather's protecting someone else."
"She's at the station house right now with her parents. She says she's ready to talk."
"So what to you want from me, April?"
"I'd like you to talk with her. We need to know who assaulted her."
"Why aren't
you
talking with her?" he demanded.
"I told you, I have to go out to Garden City."
"Why?"
"We have a situation. It's looking like Anton thinks if he recovers the baby, he can put his fa
mily back together again. He's gone out there to get him. The victim's cousin is a friend of mine. I don't want anybody else hurt."
"This whole thing sounds volatile." Jason sighed.
"You said Anton's not a killer," April reminded him.
"He may be unpleasant—grandiose and delusional. That doesn't make him a murderer." Jason sounded concerned, though.
"He could be the killer. He's certainly an abuser. You get Heather's testimony. I pick him up. Either way, we get him for something. I don't want this guy to slip away."
Jason sighed again. "Give me twenty minutes," he said.
CHAPTER 45
G
et the fuck out of here. You can't come in without a search warrant." Ivan Popescu started screaming the moment he opened the door and Mike introduced himself as Sergeant Sanchez. Marc rushed to the door and held out his hand to Mike, who pretended not to see it.
"I'm Marc Popescu," he said. "Sorry about my cousin, Ivan," Marc went on. "He's upset. We're under a lot of stress here." Marc used the rejected hand to pat Ivan's shoulder. "Calm down, kiddo."
Ivan shook him off. "Don't kiddo me, you asshole." The two men blocked the doorway to the office, bickering.
Mike chewed on the ends of his mustache for a moment and watched them argue, wondering if this was collusion, or a party act, or both. The one called Marc rubbed and patted the one called Ivan, and the one called Ivan punched him back, insisting he wasn't a kiddo. It was diverting for exactly thirty seconds.
"Let's get started here." Mike pushed them aside and went into the office. The remains of pizza and deli, Cokes and Bud Lights on the coffee table indicated that the two men had been ensconced in the office for many hours. They broke apart and followed him into the room.
"What are you here for?" Ivan demanded.
"I just want to ask you a few questions."
"They already did that."
"We do it more than once."
"What are you talking about, you do it more than once? Get outta here."
"We still have a few things to clear up." Mike glanced around the room. At the front stood a sofa, and a table with fashion magazines and food on it; about a third of the way back were matching rolltop desks, one on each side of the room, one with a laptop on it. And finally, all the way at the end of the building-deep room, were the office computer, filing cabinets, and back door. It was the back door that interested Mike.
"It
is
cleared up. I don't want anyone else in here."
"It won't take too long," Mike said mildly.
"Shit, you're not listening to me. We already did this last night."
"There's been a little upgrade in the case since then."
"You in there, Mike?" Bernheim and Cartuso came through the front door, then sloped into the office with their open knapsacks slung over their shoulders.
Marc Popescu's jaw dropped at the sight of them. "Who the hell is this?"
"What are you talking about, 'upgrade'?" Ivan broke in.
"This is the Crime Scene Unit, Officers Bernheim and Cartuso. Messieurs Popescu, Marc and Ivan."
Marc's eyes popped. "Crime scene! She jumped out of a window!"
"No. She was murdered." Mike watched their reactions.
"Murdered! No way. We have someone who saw her jump out of a window."
"The witness is at the station now. She's changed her story."
"What?" Marc was shocked. Ivan didn't seem surprised.
"Maybe she jumped to escape her attacker." Ivan glanced at his cousin.
Bernheim and Cartuso ignored them both. "We're going up now. You want to clear out of here so we can get to work?"
"Fine, I'll take care of it and be right with you." Mike punched out some numbers on his cell phone, then turned around and spoke into it softly, requesting backup from the 5th.
"This is very puzzling. How could she have been murdered . . . ? Maybe the medical examiner is wrong." Marc seemed at a loss. He looked helplessly at the garbage.
"Well, Annie is nuts. She'll say anything for a buck," Ivan threw in.
"How can you say that?" Marc cried. He dragged the garbage can over to the coffee table. In the crisis he'd decided to clean up.
"Leave everything the way it is, please." Mike put the phone away and jumped on the bribery angle. "How much did you give her to say the girl jumped?"
"Hey, now. Watch your mouth." Ivan's voice cracked like a whip.
"Look, I'm not going to beat around the bush. We know everything that happened here. We know the girl had a baby—"
"Hey, that's no crime," Ivan said quickly.
"The baby was given away or sold or stolen; his mother was murdered. And the woman who had the baby was also assaulted.
Those
are crimes. So is bribery."
Three uniforms and Bernheim entered the room. Saul looked the room over, giving particular attention to the back door. Mike nodded at him. "Mike, you want to come upstairs with me for a minute?" Bern-heim said.
"Sure." Mike turned to the Popescus. "Gentlemen, would you take a seat for a few moments?"
"What are you looking for?" Marc asked, almost tearful now.
"Can I sit at my desk?" Ivan said sarcastically.
Mike glanced at the desk, then jerked his chin at the three uniforms, noting their name tags. He didn't want the Popescus leaving or touching anything. "Officer Lapinsky here will take your fingerprints."
Ivan's face reddened. "Hey, it's our building. Our prints are everywhere."
"It's routine. We'll do them for everyone who works here. Would you sit on the sofa, please?" Mike stepped out without waiting for an answer. "What do you have?"
Bernheim walked him through the place. On the second floor he demonstrated how easily the windows opened and closed and showed him the wooden props used to hold the windows open when the weather was warm. He also pointed out that the outside screens hadn't been disturbed, nor had the large fans placed in front of the windows. Even on a bright day, the room looked ghostly and dark, filled with stilled sewing machines and overhead wires. Under one window a sticky glue trap had recently claimed two mice and a cockroach almost as big as the mice.
Then they climbed a more primitive staircase to what looked like a messy storeroom. Up there Cartuso was busy taking photos of the layout.
"Pay dirt," he murmured.
Two of the windows in the back wall had been painted shut a long time ago, and the skylight was padlocked.
"Take a look over there," Bernheim ordered. "See how the paint has been chipped all around the frame of the third window, and it was jimmied open?" There were smudges in the dust that highlighted the activity. Mike moved in to get a closer look.
"I picked up some prints here." Bernheim pointed. "Two thumbs and the bottom half of one palm. Someone opened the window, leaned out, then closed it again. Now look out there."
Mike nodded. "Okay, I see it." The dirt on the outside of the sill had not been disturbed.
"If he had picked the body up, he would have rested it on the sill before pushing it out. The dirt would be disturbed on both sides. It's unlikely that he would have picked the body up, held it over his head, or even in his arms and then thrown it without touching the outside of the window, or dusting off the whole of the front side. You with me?"
Mike nodded.
"You can see he thought about it but decided against it. Check out the view."
Mike took in the view. Across the way was an apartment building. Two floors above them, a man wearing an undershirt sat in the window, holding up a newspaper, but watching them, not reading it. The ME's report said the skull had been fractured, but didn't mention broken bones. Now they had confirmation that the body hadn't gone out the window at all.
Saul let the window come down with a bang. "Now look at this."
Mike looked around at the abandoned furniture and sewing machine parts, and a folded mattress tied with rope. The floor had been swept recently, and parts of it had bee
n washed. Cartuso flashed one more photo and put the camera away.
"Any sign of the mop that washed the floor? Any idea where she died?" Mike could feel the dead air crackle with the criminologists' excitement. The body was gone; to anybody else, this space might look like an unused attic. To them, it was a treasure trove.
"You're getting ahead of me. Look at this." Bernheim popped on a plastic glove and pointed out a line of ants emerging from the corner of the window and marching along the floor and up the tilt of the wall, where it slanted in to meet the roof. The ants disappeared into a straight crack in the wall. Bernheim prodded the crack with the business end of a chisel. As it shifted, the rounded side of two hinges came into view.
"Open sesame." He pushed the plaster board with the flat of his hand and the door to a walk-in cedar closet popped open.
In a corner the ants had converged on two shiny drops, which Cartuso quickly photographed. Then he scraped them up, ants and all, and put them in a plastic bag. He sniffed.
"Honey," he said with raised eyebrows.
CHAPTER 46
T
wo police cruisers and the Crime Scene van were parked in front of the Popescu building when April arrived with Alfie in his unmarked Toyota. April surveyed the party of vehicles, including Mike's red Ca-maro, which needed a bath, and gathered up her stuff. The driver killed the motor. Alfie hitched around in the passenger seat to look at her. "Thanks for the update," he said.
"Well, thanks for coming to get me," she replied. "I have to pick up Mike and get going."
"Too bad you'll miss the picnic—you okay to travel?" He gave her a second appraising look before getting out.
"Oh sure, I'm fine." April took a stab at pumping herself up for action.
"I mean for the trip to Garden City. You up for that?" Alfie regarded her so apprehensively she knew she must still look pretty bad.
"I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. I want to nail that bastard." April said this with considerable force, but Alfie didn't appear altogether convinced. He leaned over to open the car door for her, then took her arm as she got out. She was impressed. "Just one quick look, and I'm out of here. I've called for local support. They'll be there waiting for me," she said.
They moved across the sidewalk like the team they used to be. Alfie greeted the uniform guarding the door, a tall, big-nosed blondie who'd propped open the front door with a shim. Alfie waved his hand for April to enter the building first. "Turn right," he directed her.