Janice swore and tried his cell phone, but Bill must have turned it off. Like his son, he broke the connection whenever he didn't want her to reach him. She hated to break down and have a drink to calm her nerves, so she got more and more disturbed about the whole family situation as she waited for them to come home.
Fifty-three
Mike was back at Midtown North at half past four. He was ruminating about Brandy Fabman's acting out with the tongue pierce, the tight sweaters, the beer drinking/pot smoking in Central Park, and, of course, the playing hooky, all to compete with her sexy divorcee mother. The boy was obviously smitten by her. Their stories were the same. They claimed that what they'd been attracted to-the sole reason they'd been targeted by police on the scene-was their interest in dog tracking. They'd been drawn to the scene by the appearance of Slocum's dog, Freda. April said there was something odd about them. There was certainly something upsetting about them. But did they know anything about Maslow Atkins? Had they known Pee Wee James? He wasn't sure yet.
When he returned to the station, the detective rooms were still mobbed. April was in her office with Assistant DA Leonore Jacobi. The two were in deep conversation when he came in and occupied the empty chair. The DA was a small, thin woman with a face that was all jutting bones and nervousness who liked to grab people by the hand and hold on, peering deeply into their eyes. She did that to Mike as soon as he plopped down beside her.
"Hey, Mike, nice to see you. You look like a different guy," she said, locking him in one of her famous visual embraces. "Nice shirt. Well, this case definitely needs your touch," she joked.
Even though their moment together had been short-lived and long ago, she was giving him the treatment just for the fun of it, and he liked her the better for it. April was inscrutable.
"Same here, Leo. Haven't seen you around in a while. You look great, nice haircut, nice suit." He smiled at her cap of short curly black hair and the newest look in fall suits, winter white in a heavy fabric that was definitely rushing the season. Her nails were still bitten to the quick, her cuticles were bloody, and she'd eaten off all her cinnamon-stick lipstick. Only the dark lip liner remained. Same old Leonore.
"It's too heavy. I'm sweating like a pig," she said, writhing on the chair a little for him.
Mike blew air through his nose, laughing. "Well, better to sweat like one than look like one. Speaking of pigs, querida, you still with that deadbeat boyfriend of yours?"
Leonore glowed with the attention. "Yeah, Sam's still defending the bad guys. We try not to talk about it over dinner. He thinks he'll flip me one day." She smiled at Mike, radiant. "You've been reading about those death row cases in Illinois?"
"Uh-uh.Tell me about it."
"This is no joke. They've started testing the DNA of convicted rape/murders on death row. Turns out more than one in ten is innocent in Illinois. They had to stop executing there. I wouldn't want to get arrested in a state like Texas. Makes you wonder, don't it?" Another big smile at Mike.
"Hey, the meter's running," April murmured.
Leonore turned to her. Smooth. "Thank God we know what we're doing here in New York. Maybe some day we'll have an accredited lab. What do you have, Mike?"
"Not a lot. Two kids who like dogs and play hooky. What do you have, April?"
April made a face and glanced at her pages of notes. "I've got a mess. A real weird puzzle. I talked to Grace Rodriguez for almost two hours. She works for Atkins's father and has been his girlfriend for twenty-three years. Same old same old. She loved the guy, thought he would leave the wife he hates and marry her. She's a very attractive woman, didn't you think, Mike?" she glanced at him.
"Not my type. I never liked blonds."
April smiled. "I'm not touching that. So two decades pass, and no wedding bells. That would be enough to make any mother crazy."
"Eh, lot of people don't get married anymore. Who needs it?" Leonore cracked.
"Some of us are still traditional, Leo," Mike replied, looking at April and liking her smile.
Leonore snickered. "God, if you're talking this way, the world must be coming to an end."
April was smooth, too. She went right on. "Well, apparently being illegitimate bothered Dylan pretty bad. Grace said she's been worried about her daughter's mental health for some time. Atkins hates psychiatrists and didn't want her to go to anyone. Grace was torn between the two of them, wanted to be a good mother, wanted to protect her boyfriend. I felt sorry for her."
Mike shifted in his chair. He still didn't understand how this all fit together. If Dylan was the center of the case, where did Brandy and David fit in?
"What?" April responded to the unasked question.
"Nothing. Go on with your story."
"Dylan applied to the analytic institute where Maslow was a candidate, gave a false name and identity, and for about four months her own brother was her analyst. A first. Relatives aren't supposed to treat each other, you know. According to Jason Frank, who's Maslow's supervisor on the case, Maslow was anxious about it from day one. Something must have tipped him off on Tuesday. That night he wanted to see Jason, but he disappeared." April sat back. "She could be some kind of psycho."
Leonore chewed on her fingers. Mike reached into his pocket for a breath mint. "Miss lunch again?"
"Thanks." She took one and handed the tin across the desk to April.
"Is it lunch time already?" April looked surprised.
"It's dinnertime," Leonore said. "Do we have a hypothesis?"
April sighed. Mike knew she was thinking that twenty-four hours ago Pee Wee James had been alive. And Pee Wee had known something. And it was his fault for not listening to her. He shook his head. Burro.
April chewed on a mint. "When I talked to Dylan yesterday, she maintained her identity as his patient, Allegra Caldera. Maybe she took off. Maybe she's a killer."
Woody knocked on the door. "Coffee, two lights, Sweet'n Low, one tea?"
"Thanks, Woody," April said.
"Hey, Mike," Woody greeted him.
"Pull up a pew," Mike said. There was no chair, but then he didn't like Woody much.
"Yeah, sure. Where are we?" He leaned against the wall, sipping his light coffee as April dipped a Lipton's tea bag into her Styrofoam cup of hot water.
"Pathological sibling rivalry. Maybe Dylan killed her brother to be her dad's only child and heir," Mike said.
"Nice," Woody said. "But I don't think so. That girl was a doll, don't you think?" He held up a flier with her picture on it. Have you seen this girl? And the number to call. The phones were ringing off the hook. The manpower to answer them was a major problem. Culling through each tip took forever.
April gave Woody some credit. "Good touch, the camera, Woody. And you noticed how freaky she got when you took her picture?"
Woody gazed at the photo. "It's quite a story," he murmured.
"Look, I've got to get going." Leonore slapped her hands on her knees and stood. "I'll talk to my boss about this. Whatever it is-kidnapping, murder. Get a warrant to search the girl's place. Maybe something there can shed light on all this." She gave April a conspiratorial smile. "What about you, Mike?"
"Well, April's friend John Zumech thinks this is a Vietnam thing."
"No kidding, why?"
"They trained the dog trackers there with human body parts so they could find the Vietcong hiding in the tunnels."
Leonore threw up her hands. Where was this going?
"The vic was a Vietnam vet," April said.