I don't believe in portents, signs, and predictions, and I'm not going to die,
April told herself. She also told herself she was a cop and hadn't heard this. No one heard this. But she was shaken all the same. Crazy people could do that to you. Now April had to reconsider this whole issue of the woman killing the baby, after all; and maybe the husband was shielding
her.
She shivered. One thing was clear: this woman was no longer unconscious, if she ever had been.
"You okay, boss?" Woody asked a second time.
April didn't hear him. At the precinct she left Woody to park the car and climbed the stairs to the second floor, fervently hoping to beat the odds and find her office free. Instead, there was a federal agent comfortably ensconced at her desk. She saw him through the glass in the door and didn't have to ask who he was. She knew he was FBI by the gray suit, white shirt, gray-and-white-striped tie. Mouse-brown hair a quarter of an inch long, features undefined enough to act like putty whenever necessary. No glasses, about thirty-five, medium height, slender build. This one was sharp, though. He looked down at the "Sgt. Woo" nameplate on the desk and up at her. Then he stood up behind the desk and waved her into her own office with three fingers. Showing her who was boss.
"Sergeant Woo, I presume?"
"Yes, sir. Special Agent—?" April got it all, the seeming politeness of his standing to invite her in, and layered under that, a putdown in the clear indication of his intention not to surrender the territory. God, she hated this.
"Gabriel Samson. Good to meet you, Woo." He held out his hand, challenging her to advance to the front of her desk. She advanced for the shake. She didn't have much choice in the matter. Then when she reached out for the bony hand he offered, she got her knuckles crushed.
"You must catch a lot of flak for the name," she remarked, flexing her fingers. "Gabriel
and
Samson. Your mother must have had high hopes for you."
"I disappointed her in the music department," he said modestly.
"Only that? Then you're doing well. What can we do for you, Gabe?" April wasn't feeling as perky as she might, what with the crushed fingers, disembodied death threat and all.
His lips tightened. Oh, he didn't like a cop using his first name. He was a real FBI type. She felt a little better.
"There was no space outside, so the lieutenant offered me your office. I hope it won't inconvenience you too much." His smile lacked sincerity.
"Not at all. What's the deal?"
"The deal is we're cooperating. You tell us what you've got, we tell you what we've got, and together we clear the case."
"Great. What have you got?"
He laughed and wagged a finger at her. "April, your boss said to be careful of you, you're a pistol."
"I'm flattered." April laughed, too. They were having quite a party, but he hadn't answered the question, and she wasn't going to play nice and brief him on the case after Iriarte gave him her office without mentioning it to her and there were a dozen other detectives right outside the door who could brief him just as well as she could. And besides, right now she needed to use the phone. "Do you mind if I use the phone?" she asked sweetly.
"No, go ahead." He nodded toward the phone.
"I mean, privately."
"Oh, sure. How long will you be?" He was a pistol, too.
"Two minutes."
He checked his watch. "No problem."
April was impressed by his efficiency. The man was actually going to time her. She wasted no time dialing Dr. Jason Frank's number. If she was going to consult with anybody outside the precinct, it was going to be Jason, and only Jason. He was a psychiatrist she'd met a while ago, when his actress wife was being stalked. Ever since April had called him whenever she had a head case. He was always busy with patients and rarely answered the phone, so she was astounded when he picked up now.
"Dr. Frank."
"Jason, it's April."
"Hey, April, my favorite police officer. What's up? I only have thirty seconds."
"Head case. I need a consultation."
"Could you elaborate a little?"
April peered out into the squad room where Gabe stood at the door tapping his finger at his watch. A real nice guy. She was tempted to flip him the bird. "In twenty seconds?" she asked Jason.
"Well, for you I have two minutes. What's up?"
She turned toward the wall in case Gabe could lip-read. Never underestimate a white shirt. "Got a creepy case, Jason. Missing baby. Possibly a battered wife. But the baby isn't hers. A lot of people are banking on the kidnap angle, but I'm not completely convinced this woman didn't maybe kill the baby, after all. I could be wrong, but I think this is a head case. Would you see her?"
"What's a head case, April?"
"You know what I mean. Wacko, crazy. By you, certifiable illness."
"Well, you know my credo on the subject: if they seem crazy, they probably are. Sure, I'll see her. You want to bring her to my office?"
"Sorry, can't do it."
"Oh, I don't know. I can't come into the station. I'm really socked in here." "We'll come and get you. How's Emma?" April played the trump. She and Mike had saved Emma's life, and they both had scars to show for it. Jason owed her, and she would never let him forget it.
"All right, I had time set aside for jogging in an hour. Pick me up then
;
" he said wearily.
"Thanks, I'll pay you back," she promised cheerfully.
"That won't be necessary, and Emma's fine. Thanks for asking."
April hung up, and Gabe walked right back in.
"Okay, have a seat. Let's do that debriefing now," he said.
"Sorry, I can't. Something's come up downtown."
He looked disappointed. "How about later?"
"Later's great." April picked up her purse and bade her office a sad farewell. She didn't plan to come back for a long time.
It was noisy out in the squad room, and chaos still reigned. Ousted squad detectives were trying to do their jobs in impossible circumstances, without their desks and phones. At the moment four of them were squeezed into Iriarte's office, having a conference. When Lieutenant Iriarte saw April through his window, he waved at her to join in the meeting.
"Whatchu got?" he asked, motioning for her to shut the door after her.
When no one jumped up to give her a chair, she leaned against the door frame. "I like our Feeb; he's a real charmer," she remarked.
"Oh, Gabe? He's from the New York office. We want to help out all we can, all right?"
"Sure. What's going on?"
Iriarte pointed at Hagedorn. "Charlie was about to give us some deep background on the Popescu family."
"What about the baby's mother?"
Charlie gave her a look. "Nothing on her yet. One thing at a time."
"Look, Charlie, if this guy Anton has a babe on the side, I want her name and address. When are you getting on it?"
"That was your job," Iriarte barked. "Go ahead, Charlie."
April shut her mouth. Charlie Hagedorn happened to be a first-rate hacker, good enough to go downtown to the Big Building with the big boys. Iriarte wouldn't let this happen as long as he drew breath. He saw computers as policing's future, and Charlie's talent for finding out things as his alone. He nodded for his favorite to begin.
Charlie gave April a smug look and let his chest puff. "The Popescu family came in from France in the thirties. The grandfather, Paul, and the two sons, Marcus and Peter. Had some money, set up shop on the Lower East Side. Marcus Popescu had one son, Ivan. Peter Popescu had two sons, Marc and Anton. Anton is the younger by twelve years."