Tracking Time

Twelve

April traveled to the Park Precinct, a hundred-year-old renovated stable on the Eighty-fifth Street transverse, to inform the CO there that within the hour, a K-9 unit would be doing a search for a missing person around the area of the rowboat lake. Luckily Captain Reginald, whom April didn't know, was out in the field when she arrived. So was Sergeant Mackle, CO of the detective unit. Because neither of them was there, she didn't have to embellish her story with any lies about what she was doing on the case. She ended up speaking with the second whip, Captain Rains, a tall, heavyset man with a lush crew cut who looked unhappy with the news that a man had gone missing in the park last night. This would make big trouble for the park, the jewel in the New York City crown, and hence for the precinct dedicated to maintaining its security.

"I'll inform Captain Reginald immediately," Captain Rains told her.

"Thank you, sir."

Ten minutes later, April and Woody met up with Officer Sidney Slocum outside Maslow's building not far away on Eighty-second Street. Slocum was the opposite of Mackle; short, skinny, freckled, entirely bald, with a ginger-colored mustache so extravagant it made Mike's merely luxuriant one look puny. He was wearing an orange Search and Rescue jumpsuit, and if he was lucky, he weighed a hundred and twenty after a big meal. His dog was a huge German shepherd with a flat collar and leather leash that looked as if it weighed as much as its trainer. The two had come in a blue-and-white, and two other patrol cars were parked nearby. So far so good. No shouts from Iriarte. No challenges to her authority yet. April was still hopeful that she'd be able to pull off the operation without a hitch. She was dreaming.

She got out of the gray Buick, which still smelled pretty bad from Pee Wee, and approached the dog trainer.

"I'm Sid Slocum. Sergeant Woo, I presume. You in charge here?" he asked.

April nodded. Instantly, the dog growled and lunged at her, setting the tone for their relationship. April jumped back and assumed a kick-boxing stance.

"Don't worry about Freda-she's a sweetheart," Slocum assured her, hiding a smile under his mustache.

April didn't think it was so funny. "Yeah, well tell her I'm carrying. This is Detective Woody Baum." April jerked her chin at Woody, who approached with caution.

The dog, however, seemed to like him. She strained at the leash for the chance to shed all over Woody's navy jacket and lap at his hand. "Hi, guy." Woody wiped the slime on the shepherd's head and looked pleased by the exchange. April thought the drooling, growling hulk wasn't even a close second to Dim Sum-the six pounds of adorable, smart-as-a whip apricot poodle that was the Woo family pet. She didn't have much judgment if she preferred Woody to her. She had her doubts about the dog finding Maslow. So much time had passed that it was probably too late for this kind of hunt.

"Is this all the backup you have?" she asked to cover her anxiety.

"Yep. Four uniforms, the three of us, and Freda. It's a pretty small area. We're not talking about the Jersey Wetlands here. If your man is here, we'll find him." Another smile. Slocum was full of confidence. Then his expression changed when an ABC news van cruised by and the driver stuck his head out of the driver's window.

"I heard something big's up in the park. Missing jogger. You here about that?" The man's eyes looked red and his long gray hair was gathered up in a ponytail.

"You're misinformed," April told him, frowning.

He heard? How did he hear? She hadn't used the police radio, hadn't told anyone but Iriarte. She had a really paranoid thought. How bad did Iriarte want to mess her up? She frowned as the van moved half a block down CPW, did a U-turn, and parked in a bus stop to wait for the story to emerge.

"Jesus," Slocum swore, then pointed at one of the uniforms. "Get that asshole out of there. We have to close off the area. No cars, no people. It confuses the dog."

April's beeper went off. Lieutenant Iriarte's number flashed on the screen. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the squad room. A minute later he came on screaming, "Where are you, Woo? I got the PC on the phone. He wants to know how come no one briefed him on this? Your missing person case is on the fucking news!"

April eyed the ABC truck. "No kidding?" she said.

"You don't have much of a life expectancy, Sergeant. Give me your location, I'm coming up there."

"Yes, sir." She gave the entrance to the park as Maslow's Place Last Seen, then hung up and checked her watch. It was two on the button. Her boss would be there in fifteen, twenty minutes. Her heart was racing. Her palms were wet. Her head felt light. The PC himself was going to ream her. Her mother's dream would come true. The whole world would see her cease being a cop. She'd be disgraced on the evening news, on the morning news. She'd lose her boyfriend, the man she worshipped and adored. Why? Why had she done this? Then she remembered Maslow was still missing and the minutes were ticking by.

"Come on, Officer, let's get started," she said.

"Call me Sid. Good girl, good girl. We're going to work. Yeah, yeah. You hot, old thing? Good, good, good." Slocum pumped the dog. She responded by practically taking his arm off in her eagerness to get going. He turned to April. "We need to get a feel for this guy. He live here? I want to start at ground zero."

"Uh-huh. "The dog growled at her, and April stepped back uneasily.

"Wow, this is an unusual reaction for Freda. She always loves everybody."

"Uh-huh." April didn't believe it.

They crossed Central Park West and went through the routine with Regina again to get into Maslow's apartment. This time she kept a respectful distance as Sid unleashed the dog and let her run around the apartment, root into the armpit of Maslow's jacket that he'd left on the sofa. She leapt up onto the bed, dove into the pillows. Then, finished with that, she raced into the kitchen, where the rotting Chinese leftovers drove her into a frenzy.

Slocum glanced at the stereo, computer, medical texts. "What is this guy, a medical student?"

"Doctor. A psychiatrist."

"Jeeze. Hear that, Freda, this guy's a headshrinker." The dog raced back into the bedroom, nosed into the pants on the bed, and came up with the wad of bills and the wallet.

"How do you like that? I didn't even tell her to fetch. Good girl, Freda, but put it down. You don't get a tip unless you find the guy alive." The dog dropped the money. A bunch of twenties and fifties fanned out, looking to April like several weeks' pay.

"Interesting," she murmured. "Woody, bag that and the wallet so they don't disappear, will you?"

Woody stepped forward to comply. The dog growled when he reached for the money.

"Interesting," April said again. Freda had an interest in cash. So did April. She wondered why Maslow had so much on hand.

"Guess he wasn't heading off for a night on the town. Anything in the hamper? I need something only he touched."

"Nothing there, I checked."

"Was he depressed? Did he have any illness we didn't know about? What about his medications?" Slocum asked.

They went into the bathroom. Sid checked out the medicine cabinet. "Hey, look at all this. This guy has asthma, allergies, psoriasis, migraines. You name it. Today must have been laundry day."

"Maybe he has a maid. We can check that out." April glanced at her watch. "You have enough now. Let's get the show on the road."

Slocum swore at the neat apartment and empty hamper. He debated between the suit jacket flung on the sofa and the T-shirt and socks lying on the floor in the bedroom. He chose the T-shirt, approached it with a plastic bag, slid the thing inside without touching it himself.

"Freda, come, baby. We're going to work." He held out the bag for the dog to sniff. Freda leaped around for a while, trying to get into the bag. Then she lunged at April's crotch without warning.

April let out a yelp. Sniff, sniff, sniff, slobber, slobber, slobber. The dog nosed her privates while Slocum and Woody yucked it up. Then, Freda lost interest in April and moved on. She shoved her muzzle into Woody's crotch, smacking her jaws at the delights she found there, causing manly consternation and more macho jokes. Freda sure knew what she was doing. She then dived back into the bag for more of Maslow. Sid reattached the leash.

"Go find," he said.

The dog went for the door, knocking the hovering Regina out of the way and nearly off her feet. Freda panted at the elevator, sniffed it all over when it arrived, and they got inside. Down in the lobby she sniffed the rug, stopped, headed for the door. Sniffed the brass struts holding up the canopy, peed on one of them, then dragged Sid right to the corner and across the street to the park.