Mel laughed. "That's a funny question."
"What's so funny about it?"
He laughed some more. "We live to hurt each other. That's the fun of it. No, no, no." He reacted to April's disapproving expression. "Just kidding. Of course, we don't mean to do harm. But let's face it, we've got serious pros here, and sometimes somebody does get hurt. Mostly pulled muscles, sprains. Occasionally a snapped tendon. Once in a long while a broken bone. We train to fall light, know what I mean?"
April nodded.
"But no trouble. If there's an accident, no one complains." He shrugged. "And people get hurt in every sport, don't they? Was there some report of trouble with him?"
Woody smiled at April and held up a photo of a redheaded guy in street clothes with a black-and-tan dog on a chain lead. "Who is this guy?" he asked.
"Humph," he said musingly. "Where did you get that?"
"It was on the other side of this. Someone stuck it in a corner." Woody tapped the screen.
"Nice picture. That's Rick. Rick Leaky."
"And the dog?"
"That's June, Junie. Nice, isn't she?"
Bingo. April now remembered. The guy was tall, wore a hat. She recognized the dog now. It was a mastiff with powerful jaws. A hunter, a drooler, a fierce protector of its master. "Is Rick here today?" she asked.
"No, he comes in on Sundays. On Saturdays he helps out in a dojo in Queens."
"Is he a friend of Al's?"
"I guess you could say he's Al's trainer. They've been working together for years. Is there a problem?" He looked concerned for them.
"Do you have a name for that dojo in Queens?" April asked.
Mel pressed his lips together as his forehead furrowed with thought. "Of the dojo? Not offhand."
"How about a contact sheet?"
He breathed in through his nose, still thinking. "Yeahhh, we have a contact sheet, mostly phone numbers."
"You want to give me his phone number?" April said, a little annoyed by now.
"Is Rick in trouble?"
She tossed the question back. "Has he been in trouble before? Has he hurt people?"
"I have no idea. We don't talk about our personal lives here," Mel said. He went to the book on the table for the number, then showed the page to April. Rick Leaky's number had been crossed out.
"Oh, yeah, I remember now. He moved," Mel said.
"You want to go in there and ask if anyone has the new one?" April smiled. "I need it right now."
"Sure thing." Mel trotted around the screen to comply.
"Good job, Woody." April was exuberant. She slapped him five. It was the least she could do. She would have missed the photo.
Mel returned a minute later, flipping his huge palms up. "No. We were going to update his info when he comes in tomorrow. Do you want to leave a message?"
April thanked him for his help and gave the task force's number, not her own. Her cell was a private number, but there were times a person couldn't be too careful.
Fifty-three
Mike wasn't too happy when she reached him on his cell. "Where the hell are you?" he demanded.
"I have a name on the guy with the dog."
"Querida, whatever happened to communication?"
"How about a thanks?"
"I'm the primary on this, okay? I need to know where everybody is. Get back here right now."
"You're welcome. His name is Rick Leaky. L as in 'love,' E as in 'ever,' A as in 'after,' K as in 'kiss,' Y as in 'you.' "
"Very nice, querida. Leaky as in 'faucet,' " Mike said. "Where are you?"
"I'm outside an all-white, all-guy gym called Professional Prepare. Frayme goes there. Leaky goes there. It's quite a place; the members like to hurt each other. There's been some kind of trouble there, but I don't know what."
"S and M?" Mike asked.
"Only the karate kind."
"How did you find it?"
"Frayme has an a.k.a. It's Alberts. Al Alberts is his father's name."
"Get back here right now." There was some pretty heavy tension in Mike's voice.
"Okay, boss. I'm on my way to Devereaux's. I've got a photo to show him. He has a flight to catch.
Look, I got your a.k.a. I got your witness. What's your beef?"
"What ever happened to teamwork?" Mike was seriously pissed.
"Look, we've got this down really well, mi amor. You're doing the team. I'm doing the work." She heard his intake of breath at the smart remark. To anybody else he would say, "Fuck you."
"Do you have an address on Leaky?" he asked angrily.
"No. How about your team does that?"
"What about the dog?"
"It's a mastiff."
"Okay, get right back here and bring us the photo. And I mean now."
April checked her watch. "I'll be back at twelve-thirty, one," she promised, a little miffed at his lack of enthusiasm for her initiative.
At eleven forty-five Woody pulled up behind the limo waiting in front of Jack Devereaux's building. It was a busy Saturday in Greenwich Village. The car was idling in a no-standing-anytime zone, but no traffic cop was around to give the driver grief. April got out.
"I'll be right back," she told Woody.
This time she was able to identify the plainclothes cop sitting in a Corvette in front of the limo, also in a no-parking place. But she didn't take the time to stop and talk to him. She hurried across to the building's entrance and stabbed the intercom button. She stared at the officer in the Corvette until he raised one finger off the wheel to acknowledge her. The buzzer sounded. She pushed the door open and took the stairs two at a time.
When she reached Jack's floor, he was holding his door open and looking cheerful for a change. He was wearing khakis and a lightweight V-necked sweater. French blue, April's favorite color. His arm was still in its cast, and he hadn't shaved in ten days, but he looked as if he was finally getting a grip on his life. Lisa came to the door, and she was smiling, too.
"I hope this won't take long. We have to go," she said.
"I'm just going to stay for a moment. I just want to show you something."
April stepped around a pile of luggage to follow them into the living room, where the light was better. "What made you decide to get out of town?"
"You did." Lisa brushed her dark hair back. "Last night when Al called after you let him go, Jack looked at me and said, 'I must be crazy. What am I doing still here, still talking to a killer?' "
Jack nodded. "It's time to move on. Nothing like a life-threatening event to goose a person into reality. This is my life now. I have to deal. We're on standby on US Air. If we don't get on, we're taking the shuttle to Boston, then driving down to the ferry. When are you going to arrest him?"
"Probably today. We have a few things to clear up."
"Yeah, well, let me know when it's over. This has been…" He sat on the sofa, shaking his head. Lisa perched on the arm of the sofa. "We have to go," she reminded him.
April pulled the photo of Rick Leaky and his dog out of her pocket.
"And guess what-he called me again this morning." Jack couldn't quite let go. "It's so fucking creepy."
"Oh, yeah? What's he want now?"
"Same thing. He wanted to make sure I was coming to the reunion next week."
"What day is that, Jack?"
"Helloooo, it's Wednesday."
"Okay, Wednesday isn't a good day for either of us."
"No, and he asked about you."
"What?" April felt a little stab of concern. "Me cop?" Or me victim? she didn't ask.
"He recognized your picture in the paper. You'd better watch out."
April's tongue darted to the corner of her mouth. Never underestimate an opponent, she thought. "I have people with me," she said. And she was in a car, had a gun, was a cop.
"He's already killed a cop." Jack read her mind. "He's crazy. He thinks you're after him."
"Well, he's right. And I'm going to get him, too. Don't worry; we know where he is. He's not going to hurt anyone else." Still, she felt a second prickle of anxiety. Hell, she was furious, and worried. A second later she brushed off the fear. He wasn't Superman. He was just a crazy squirrel with a friend who got off on hurting people, seeing people hurt. Two nuts who probably egged each other on and weren't even smart. She'd found them, and they couldn't find her.