John was over the top. His jaw was working so hard April could hear his mandibles pop.
"John, are you okay?"
"Let's get going. I want to nail him."
"Do you think Peachy can find him?" April asked.
"My guess is that David has been out here a lot. He knows the park well, and murderers do often return to the scene of the crime. We know he was here yesterday afternoon. We know he was here last night when he attacked your victim. If he's here now, Peachy can find him."
"What about the Fabman apartment?" April asked.
"I called Fabman at home. He told me he's been in frequent touch with his ex-wife. Neither of them knows where their daughter is," Mike said.
A little whine from Peachy. These humans were sure taking their time.
"Hey, Peachy, Peachy, Peachy. We're coming, sweetheart."
"I have a present for you." April jerked her head at the car. Woody retrieved the scent bag and held it up.
"That's David?" Now John was really excited. "I have one, too, but mine is real old." He produced an old Path-mark shopping bag, tied at the top and sealed with masking tape.
April handed John the scent bag with the pillowcase from David's unmade bed. Triumphantly, John took it to the Jeep.
"Look, follow me at a distance, will you? You still stink." He directed this over his shoulder at Mike. "And by the way, this is going to be a wild ride. David's been all over the place in the last two days. If he's been where Maslow is and we're real lucky, Peachy could lead us there. But she may just pick up David's scent and take us a bunch of other places. Don't panic if she takes us all the way back to his apartment on the East Side. Peachy is a genius, but doesn't know from time frames. All she knows is where the scent particles pooled."
John stopped by the car and gestured for the three cops to step back while he opened the car door, snapped on Peachy's leash, and talked to the dog. He gave her a biscuit, crooned softly to her in tones women dream of hearing from their lovers. Then he opened the scent bag for Peachy to smell. The dog took her time with the bag, licked at the pillowcase as if it were food, tried to jump in.
April, Mike, and Woody stood off to one side. A few people watched them from a distance. They were used to being stared at.
"Go find," John said finally.
Peachy lifted her head to air scent, forgot the earlier command for silence, gave a little yip of joy, and took off, dragging her master and the three police officers after her.
Sixty
David and Brandy walked west on Sixtieth. David was trying to think things out. A detective had been to his house. By now his dad would know that. His mother and father never agreed about anything, but they would agree about this. If they found out he'd skipped his shrink, they'd punish him big time. If they found out about the car, they'd freak out completely. He didn't want to get in trouble, but he didn't care anymore. By now he and Brandy had long ago missed the six o'clock news on TV. He needed a drink or a joint, something to chill so he wouldn't worry so much. They hit Park Avenue. David's stomach stabbed him with killing force. His ulcer was killing him. He could almost feel it begin to seep blood. The pressure to do something really bad on his own was tremendous. Something without Brandy nagging at him and getting in the way. He felt like killing the girl in the cave his own way. That should be his job alone. He could do it the way he wanted. Then he could tell Brandy about it later. That was the best way. Two of them together never got the job done right. She'd forgotten the finger. That was pretty irresponsible. He wouldn't have done that.
They stopped on the corner. Brandy looked up. The wind was kicking up, and the sky had completely clouded over. He used that as an excuse.
"It's going to rain, maybe you better go home," he said.
"I don't want to. I want to stay with you." She took his arm.
He pulled away from her. "Look, Brandy, it would be better if I handled this myself." He started walking faster. He'd made up his mind.
Brandy followed him a few steps. "David, don't you love me?"
"Sure, I love you."
"If you love me, why didn't you buy me a gift?"
"What are you talking about?" He wasn't in the mood for this.
"You didn't buy me a gift. You're supposed to do that," she complained.
"Jesus, Brandy, I've got stuff to do. How about I bring you a gift? A human sacrifice. Would that do it?"
"Maybe. But I want a Prada bag, too."
He snorted. Prada bag. "Go home, Brandy."
She skipped to catch up. "Maybe I don't want to."
"It's not yours to choose. I'm the boss here. That's the way it has to be."
"Who says so?" Defiantly, she put her hand on his arm.
He took her fingers and bent them back until she squealed. "Ow, that hurts. Let go."
"Who's the master?"
"You are, now let go."
He let go and backed away.
"You hurt me," she said with tears in her eyes.
"I did not. You forced me to do it. Now go home and behave yourself."
She rubbed her wrist. "Will you meet me later?"
"Yeah, sure." He was thinking about the girl in the cave and what he could do to her.
"Call me on my cell?"
"Sure."
"Will you buy me a Prada bag?"
"Whatever. You're my girlfriend, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I need taxi money."
He gave her a twenty and hailed a cab going north on Park.
"You love me, don't you?" she said as she got in.
"I said you're my girlfriend." He slammed the car door and walked west. He hit Madison, then Fifth. He was wearing his Nike Airs and felt good to be alone. He crossed Fifth Avenue and saw the horse and buggies lined up across from the Plaza Hotel, where his parents used to take him for lunch at the Palm Court on Sundays when he was a little boy. He paused for a moment to take two Maalox. He saw two cops standing around outside the hotel. They didn't look his way. He crossed Fifth Avenue and entered the park on Fifty-ninth Street. He started walking northwest with his hands in his pockets, glad Brandy was gone. The evening was cool and damp, and for a few precious moments he was free of everyone.
As he stumped along, it occurred to him that he could double back and come out at Sixty-fifth Street, or Seventy-second, then walk home and the game would be over. But the unfinished business gnawed at him. He wanted to get on top of that girl and squeeze the life out of her with his bare hands. He kept to the same course toward Sheep Meadow and the West Side. When he was deeper in the park, he started jogging. He never saw any cops in police jackets or Zumech in his orange SAR suit. He was coming from the opposite direction and missed their operation a mile away.
He slowed his pace when he reached the lake. At nine-thirty people were still walking on the paths. He crossed the little bridge over the reeds where there used to be water and dove into the brush on the Central Park West Side. The path ended at the bridge, and the wild foliage and the grass took over. He plunged through the grass and found the gravel of the old lake bed. Here the grass was at its end-of-the-year highest, way over his head. Just as he hit the lake bed, it started to rain.
Sixty-one
Maslow was dripping with sweat. He had been working for hours without a break, hoping to dig and pry his way out before all the light was gone and he could see no more. A rock on the outside wedged the heavy gate in place. When he could not open it from the inside, he tried to lift it high enough to move Dylan's foot from under it. But there was not enough room above. He could lift the bottom only a little before the top edge struck against the roof.