Loving Time

fifty-seven

When April walked in at seven-forty-five, it was still dead in the squad room. The only person already busy at his desk was Mike, turning the pages of his notebook. Maybe he couldn’t sleep, either.

“Yo, querida, how was your day off?” he asked without looking up.

“A real bummer. Pasé el día en blanco,” she grumbled.

“You didn’t do a single thing? ¡Qué lástima! You must be hanging with the wrong people.”

“Must be. ¿Qué pasa, chico?”

He smiled. Now he was chico. “What’s happening is our new best friend wants a meeting this afternoon. He says he wants to give us a present. All we have to do is pick it up and it’s ours.”

April dumped her shoulder bag on her desk. She sank into her chair. “The last time I heard a Feeb ask a cop to make a pick-up, it was an unauthorized search-and-seize they didn’t want to take the heat for if we got caught.”

“Oh, yeah? You do it?”

April looked him over for signs of fever. Today Mike was wearing a red shirt and a black tie, his first foray into color. Must want to attract a bull. She smiled. “You’re looking better today, Mike. That Jade Treatment must have worked.”

He made a face. “You mean that nasty green stuff you made me drink? What was it supposed to do, shrivel my balls?”

“A girl does what she can.”

Mike leaned back in his chair, stroking his mustache and wearing his pirate’s smile. “Well, it didn’t work. You’ll have to try again.… ” He stared at her until she blinked. “So did you go in for the Feebs? Do the search-and-seize?”

She laughed. Laughing didn’t feel too bad. “Not me. I don’t take falls.”

He changed the subject. “Well, we have to do a little homework here. Let’s make a plan.”

April nodded. They decided who would do what and where they’d meet to discuss their findings before meeting with Special Agent Daveys for lunch at the Lantern Coffee Shop. By nine-thirty April was back in the Psychiatric Centre. Gunn Tram hadn’t told her the truth the last time they’d talked. April thought it was about time for another little chat.

Gunn Tram, however, wasn’t in her office. She’d called in sick that Monday. The young African-American slumped at the desk in the outer office said Gunn had a bad cold and sounded terrible. April asked the woman if she knew an employee by the name of Boudreau.

“Uh-uh.” The nameplate on her desk read Malika Satay. Malika had a spectacular head of braids that dusted off her shoulders as she shook her head emphatically with every statement. “Nobody by that name working here.”

“How about a little over a year ago, in the summer?”

“Wouldn’t know about that. I started last year at Christmastime.” Malika clicked the gold beads at the ends of her extensions with her long gold-painted fingernails.

“Would you check for me?” April asked.

“Huh?”

“Would you look in your files and see if you can find a Boudreau in there—B-O-U-D-R-E-A-U.”

“You with the cops? I seen you in here yesterday with that other guy.”

April leaned against Malika’s desk. April hadn’t been there yesterday. Neither had Gunn; neither had Malika. “What other guy?”

“I don’t know. Some other guy. Hung around all day bugging Gunn.”

“You mean Friday.”

“Whatever.” Malika figured she’d done enough talking and shut her mouth.

“Whatever isn’t good enough.”

“I don’t remember what day. One day last week.”

“Okay, why don’t we check the files?”

The woman got up sullenly. “Is that what he wanted?”

“The guy? What did he say he wanted?” April followed Malika’s heavy steps to an interior space lined with banks of files.

“Uh-uh. He had a gun on his ankle. Made Gunn real upset.”

“I can see how it would. What did this guy with the gun say he was looking for?”

“He just say Gunn knew what he wanted, and he’d stick with her till she tole him.”

“Did you see this guy around here today?”

The secretary swung her heavy braids around, shooting April a look she couldn’t read. “What’s it to you?”

“You like Gunn? Is she a good person to work for?”

Malika turned back to the cabinet, pulled out one of the B drawers, shuffled through the files around B-O-O. “Yeah, she’s all right.”

“Then help her out, okay?”

“She in trouble? I knew she in trouble.” The woman slammed the drawer shut. “I tole you, there’s nobody with that name in here.”

“It’s B-O-U,” April said patiently. “Try it again.”

“Huh?”

“B-O-U-D-R-E-A-U.”

“I done that.”

“You’ve checked before?”

“Yeah, when that guy was here.” Malika headed back to her desk.

“The file wasn’t there then?”

“Uh-uh.”

April turned back to the cabinet, wanted to see for herself. She shuffled through the B’s, found a file upside-down in the B-u section, and felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She pulled a pair of disposable rubber gloves from her bag and put them on before touching it. It was Robert Boudreau’s disappeared, now magically reappeared, file. She looked around for a supply cabinet, opened a few drawers until she found a large manila envelope. The file disappeared again into the envelope. April went to see Malika.

She was slumped at her desk again. “Bye,” she said without enthusiasm when April stood in front of her.

“I’m not finished. Did Gunn know which files were gone?”

“She real upset after Dr. Dickey died. Real upset. She say she the only one knew which files was missing. She had to get ’em back right away. All of’ em.”

“Gunn told you she’d made a list of the files Dr. Dickey took?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she tell you where she put it?”

“I tole you—that guy upset her real bad. He say she gonna go to prison. I heard him tell her.”

“The guy with the gun?” April said.

“Uh-uh, the one with the ponytail.”

Oh, now there was a guy with a ponytail as well as a guy with a gun. April’s stomach churned. She could feel the burning acid attack a new clot of anxiety. There was another guy hanging around Gunn. Did Daveys know that? Neither April’s voice nor her eyes betrayed the impatience her body was beginning to vibrate.

“Any of these guys have a name?”

“I didn’t hear one.” Malika didn’t even bother to shrug. She didn’t give a shit.

“Can you tell me what they looked like?”

“Uh, one guy looked like a cop.”

Uh-huh. Cops came in all colors, shapes, and sizes. “The one with the gun on his ankle?”

Malika thought it over. It seemed to be a difficult question for her. “Yeah.”

“What did he look like?”

Malika sighed at April’s denseness. “Looked like a cop,” she insisted. “Like Tommy Lee Jones.”

April didn’t know any cops who looked like that. “Okay, and the other one?”

“Looked like a doctor.” Malika nodded.

“The one with the ponytail?” April asked doubtfully.

“Yeah. He was wearing a white coat.”

That didn’t exactly make him a doctor. “Could you see what he was wearing under the white coat?”

Malika looked surprised at the question. “It was buttoned.”

“Yeah, but could you see a dress shirt, a tie, a sports coat, the kind of pants he was wearing? Could he have been an orderly? A male nurse?”

Malika thought about it but stayed silent.

“What about his ID? Did you see that?”

“No.”

“No ID or you didn’t see it?”

“No ID. The cop had no ID, and neither do you.”

Daveys would have a pass like hers. April pulled it out so Malika could see it. “One last question. Have you seen the guy with the ponytail before?”

“Yeah.”

“Many times before?”

“A few times.”

“When?”

“A while ago. Maybe a month, two months.”

“Was he wearing a white coat the other times you saw him?”

“No.”

“What was he wearing then?”

Malika pursed her lips with annoyance. “Street close.”

“What kind of street clothes?”

“The kinda close you wear on the street. Jacket, sweatshirt, pants.” Malika prolonged her skimpy description because April was jotting down what she said.

“Where did you see this guy with the ponytail, the jacket, the sweatshirt, and the pants?”

“Huh?”

“On the other occasions when you saw him. Where was he?”

“He and Gunn walking on the street. They drinking in a bar.”

“Which one?”

“This is more than one question.”

“You have more than one answer to give me, Malika. What bar?”

“French Quarter.”

April nodded. She knew where it was. “This guy, was he white, black, Hispanic, tall, short? Fat, thin?”

“He beige, and he big.”

Beige, now that was descriptive. “How big? Six foot? Hundred and seventy pounds, eighty pounds? Two hundred pounds?”

“Yeah.”

That was all Malika was prepared to say at the moment. The guy had a ponytail. He was light-skinned with mixed blood of some kind and wore street clothes when he was not wearing a white coat. That did not put him in the doctor class. And he drank in a less-than-upscale bar way west on Ninety-ninth Street. April took Gunn’s phone number and address, then headed to the lab to have the file dusted for prints.