Tracking Time

Fifty-eight

Mike was in the middle of a clot of smoking men in the squad room. April went out and caught his eye. She didn't say anything, just returned to her office. Seconds later he joined here there, smelling like a smoker.

"New?"

"I just talked to the ME. Pee Wee died of a head injury."

"No surprise there." Mike sank into a chair.

"Yes. Surprise. Dr. Gloss thinks Pee Wee may have fallen, or been hit on the head earlier in the day, then wandered around for hours. He says the attack in the park isn't what killed him. The earlier head injury was the cause of death."

"Wow." Mike inhaled, exhaled, sucked on his mustache. "Where does that get us?"

April gave him a grim little smile. "Quite a ways. We have some evidence on Brandy and David."

"Those kids? Ah Jesus. What does he have?"

"Nail polish for starters. Black nail polish chips on Pee Wee's body. Brandy was wearing a color like that yesterday when I talked to her in the park. Dr. Gloss told me Pee Wee's finger was cut off when he was still alive. That's something."

"And she was cool as a cucumber an hour ago."

"There's more. Hey, stop him for me, will you?" Behind Mike, April saw that Baum was getting ready to go downtown with his warrant request to search Dylan Rodriguez's apartment. The man was so slow filling in a form, this time he'd gotten lucky. He wasn't going to have to hang around the courts waiting forever for a judge to give his autograph. They had new suspects now and new apartments to search.

Mike followed her eye and called out the office door. "Hey, Woody."

He trotted into the office looking pleased not to be banished anymore. "What's up?"

April liked having the floor. "Woody, you're off the hook on Dylan's warrant request. And hold on for this one. Brandy and David were Pee Wee's attackers."

"They were?" Woody was surprised.

"Yeah. That puts them in the park last night. When I spoke to John, I thought I'd feel him out about trying another search for Maslow." April swiveled back and forth in her chair. "You know, Mike, that whole story you told me about tunnels in Vietnam made me think, I don't know, maybe Maslow is there, under the ground somewhere."

Mike nodded. "I thought of that. Drainpipe or something."

"And Peachy never had a chance to search because she got distracted by dead smells, and then we got distracted by Pee Wee's homicide. We never looked for Maslow, either over or underground. So I thought we might take Peachy out and try now. Those kids must have gone out to Zumech's place last night and stolen his body parts to throw Peachy off track."

The two men stared at her. Mike chewed on the ends of his mustache. Woody made faces. "Body parts?"

April checked her watch. "I've got people out watching the buildings where they live. But we should get going. John is on his way into the city with the dog. But who knows, maybe we won't need her. We'll bring Brandy and David into the station. If they're involved in the Maslow disappearance, we'll know soon. I also have a BOLO out on Dylan Rodriquez."

"Body parts, querida?"

April gave him her deadpan look. "John Zumech kept body parts in his garage for training the dogs. Brandy and David knew all about it."

"Okay, I gathered this morning that John had some personal concern about this. And then David told me all about his father's Mercedes. I didn't put the two together."

"This gives me the creeps." April swiveled angrily. She knew what Mike was thinking. She'd talked to the girl and boy yesterday, let them go. He'd questioned them again today and hadn't been alerted to the danger. Both of them had missed the signals. She was not able to comfort herself with the fact that it happened all the time. It wasn't unusual to come back and question a suspect many times before getting the real story. It wasn't always so easy to nail someone. But in this case, Pee Wee might not have died. And somewhere Maslow might still be out there.

Mike gave Woody the Owens' number to check the garage. "Find out if David took the car out last night, will you?"

It was time to move. April touched his arm. "Did you ask David's and Brandy's mothers if there were any firearms in their homes?"

"Yes, April. I did. Neither family has an interest in guns. In fact, David said he's terrified of them."

"Well, Brandy is interested."

"Her mother said they both hated guns. Put on your vest anyway," he ordered.

"Okay, I'll borrow one for you."

"I don't need one," he protested.

"Rules is rules. I'll borrow one for you. You'll wear it."

He smiled. "It's nice to be together."

"Yeah, sure. How much backup are you thinking?" "They're just kids," Mike said. "Little crazy rabbits. We'll keep this thing low-key. The fewer people the better. What do you say?"

April nodded. They could call in for backup if things got hairy. Good thing Iriarte had gone home. One fewer person to worry about.

At eight-forty-five an astonished Janice Owen opened her front door to April, wearing navy slacks, and a jacket with "POLICE" in big yellow letters across the back.

"Mrs. Owen, I'm Sergeant Woo," April told her.

A tall man with blond hair, wearing a well-cut dark suit, appeared in the doorway beside Janice Owen. "What's this all about?" he asked, looking very surprised.

"Mr. Owen, I'm Sergeant Woo." April introduced herself again. "This is Detective Baum." Woody was standing behind her. He inclined his head but didn't say anything. He, too, was wearing a police jacket. The couple was horrified by them.

"Yes, yes. Hello. What's going on? Where's David?" He looked panicky.

"Do you mind if we come in?" April said gently.

There was a pause in which nobody moved. The couple locked eyes.

"No, of course not." Mr. Owen was the first to back away from the door. His wife was frozen. He took her arm and moved her back. "Come in. What's the problem?"

"Thank you." April entered and looked around the large foyer. It was every bit as grand as Mike had described it, but she was no longer intimidated by the trappings of wealth. She felt fortified by the jacket that broadcast her business. On Park Avenue no one was going to shoot her for wearing it. She was in a hurry to talk to the boy. Woody followed her inside. Two uniforms waited out in the elevator foyer. The Owens were in shock.

"We need to talk to your son, David," April told them.

"He isn't here. You'll have to come back." Mrs. Owen kept a wary eye on Woody, standing at ease, one hand holding the fingers of the other in front of his partially zipped jacket, as if she thought he might open fire at any moment with the pistol she knew was concealed in there.

"Where is he?" April was surprised. John had told her the boy was grounded.

Mrs. Owen raked a hand through her blond hair, talking quickly. "He's on his way home from a doctor's appointment. He called to say he's stuck in traffic."

"When was that?" April asked, pretty sure he was in the apartment.

"An hour ago. What is this all about?" Mrs. Owen was trying to stay cool. The hand raised to her throat was trembling.

They stood in the grand foyer, the two cops and the parents of the missing suspect. For April, having to telling someone a precious loved one was dead or injured was the worst thing in the world. Telling a parent that a loved child had hurt or killed someone else was almost as bad. These parents had no idea what was coming. Mr. Owen put his hand on his wife's shoulder. April could see him signal her to shut up.

"He took your car out last night," she said, starting with an easy one.

"Is there a problem with that? Borrowing the family car is not against the law. All kids do it." He looked at his wife. The kid took the car out. He hadn't known that.

April gave him a neutral face. "He's doesn't have a driver's license."

"So what?" The lawyer began to bluster like the wind kicking up in a storm.

Then the wife joined in. "A detective was here this afternoon, and we've had three other calls from the police this evening. Why are you harassing our son? He hasn't done anything."

April nodded at Woody. He escalated quickly.

"We're investigating a homicide, ma'am," he said.

"A homicide?" Mrs. Owen was astounded. "What could David know about a homicide?" She grabbed her husband's arm.

"What homicide, where-?" he responded to her alarm.

"We're not at liberty to talk about it at this time," Woody said, looking at his boss.

"Look, I can't let you talk to him until I know what this is all about. You can make an appointment and can talk to him with a lawyer present." Mr. Owen moved to open the door. The kid wasn't there. He wanted them to go. But it didn't work like that. He was just another parent who didn't know what was going on with his child and couldn't do anything to help him.

April felt a little sorry for them. "In ordinary circumstances that would be fine. But that won't be possible tonight. One man is dead, another is missing. David may be the only one who can help us find him."

"Oh God." His mother swooned.

"I'd like to see his room."

Janice Owen made a small cry, as if her whole world were coming to an end.

"I need to consult a lawyer about that," Mr. Owen said.

"For Christ's sake, you are a lawyer."

"Not a criminal lawyer, Janice."

"I'm not going to take anything at this time. But we have to secure the room," April interjected.

The two began to argue between themselves. Now was the time for blaming. Later would come the time for defending. April knew the whole story before they did. Her only interest was locating and talking to the boy. She found his room. He wasn't in it. It had a strong and not appealing boy smell that almost made her change her mind about taking something. But she did take something. She bagged the pillowcase on his unmade bed. Then she called in Officer Hays, who'd been waiting outside the apartment. He taped up the door of David's room with police tape and stayed behind to make sure no one went in and touched anything before they got a search warrant. April and Woody were out of there.

A few blocks uptown when Mike and several officers searched the apartment for Brandy, the completely hysterical Cheryl Fabman carried on a tirade against her missing daughter and the entire world. Neither mother could raise her child on the cell phone both had purchased to keep in constant touch.