Judging Time (44 page)

"What are we taking her in for?" April asked after a minute. "Intentionally messing up an autopsy or unintentionally messing up an autopsy?"

She had been working for seven days straight, the last three days for fourteen hours at a stretch. Today with the funeral and the fiasco in Kiang's office had been the worst. Mentally, she shook herself, trying to wake up. She was tired, felt flabby and soft as she tried to work herself up to the nervy state necessary for telling the deputy ME she was in big trouble.

"You know her best. What's your call?"

"Here we go again with the your call, my call bit," April complained.

"You did pretty well last time."

"Fine. No plan. We play it by ear." She sank into her own thoughts and didn't glance in Mike's direction until he said, "There it is."

April studied the building at Rosa Washington's address. Nine stories. Red brick. Small windows except on the Hudson Street side, where the middle apartment every other floor had French doors and a narrow balcony for plants. The building was prewar, but not the kind of prewar Petersen's lavishly appointed Fifth Avenue building was—all limestone and brass and marble with huge windows. This kind of prewar was just old, kind of run-down, had an external fire escape. Mike parked in front of a fire hydrant and killed the engine.

"Let's take this real easy." April inhaled and exhaled a few times, trying to take it real easy herself. She glanced up at the sixth floor. The left apartment still had Christmas lights ringing the window, but the inside lights were off. The right apartment was dark. The middle windows glowed. April guessed that Rosa was up.

The front door of the building was open. Inside, the second door was locked. Mike found Washington's name on the menu of tenants: 6B. His options were to ring the super's bell and, if the super was there, have a conversation with him about letting. them in. Mike could ring Rosa's bell, ask her to ring them up, thereby alerting her to their presence. Or he could wait for some other tenant to open the door for them. Apparently none of those options appealed to him. He didn't look at April as he casually popped the lock open with a tool from his pocket.

April brushed past him, got into the elevator, hit the button marked six. "Nice and easy," she cautioned again as they moved slowly upward after a few introductory bumps. She realized she was afraid of Rosa.

The elevator door slid open. Mike moved out into the narrow hall first. April followed. Five apartments on the floor; 6B was in the middle of the hall, just opposite them. April took the center position. She glanced at Mike's face, taut now. When he lowered his chin, she rang the bell. She knew he didn't like her position. He preferred to be the target in front of the door, liked her to be the one covering him from the side. She smiled. Macho man. Rosa wasn't going to hurt them.

A crack of light showed under the door, but the occupant was in no hurry to open up. April rang the bell again. Maybe she had company.

Finally a low voice came from within. "You have the wrong apartment."

"It's Sergeant Woo," April said, then added, "and Sergeant Sanchez."

"It's late. What do you want?"

"We want you to open the door." This from Mike.

Rosa didn't reply. She took some time rattling the chains and turning the locks. When she finally opened the door, she was gazing past April at the elevator door. The window in it showed that the elevator was not there. It had returned to the first floor. Rosa stood in front of the entrance to her apartment. "What's up?"

"We need you to come uptown with us." April took in the fine white sweater, the gray trousers, and gold chain belt the doctor wore. The gold earrings and gold watch. The doctor's hair was washed and set, not wispy now. Her lips red. She looked good.

"This is my day off," she said.

Mine too,
April didn't say. "Are you going to let us in, or do you want to talk in the hall?"

Rosa's face showed no sign of tension as she backed away and let them enter her surprisingly gracious apartment. The foyer had a parquet floor and a black-painted fence that ran the width of the sunken living room except at the entrance in the middle where two small steps went down. Recessed lights gave the yellow living room a warm glow. Trees and plants lined the windows facing Hudson Street. Two maroon sofas and two club chairs had a comfortable look. A large square coffee table placed between them was laden with books. The focal point of the room were the French windows that opened on the narrow balcony Mike and April had seen from below. Now that they were up here, April could see that the French windows were cracked open.

Dispassionately, Washington watched them examine the place. "You want to sit down?" she asked, inviting them down the steps into the sunken living room.

Mike checked his watch. "We're in kind of a hurry," he replied.

April could see he wanted to get moving. When they'd entered the building, she'd unbuttoned her coat, just in case. Now it was very hot in the apartment even with the French doors not fully closed. If they didn't get going immediately, she'd have to take the coat off. It didn't look as if Rosa was ready to come with them. The woman moved to the sofa closest to the windows and sat down. April considered her options in the coat department, but Rosa started speaking before she had time to make a decision.

"I saw that Liberty was arrested. Good job."

"Yeah. A real stroke of genius," Mike said sarcastically.

"What's the problem?" The doctor looked puzzled.

"You'11 hear everything uptown at the station." Mike checked his watch again. "They're waiting for us."

Rosa didn't ask who. She scowled and turned her attention to April. "I took you guys into my confidence. The least you can do is fill me in."

"It's your turn to fill us in," April said softly.

"About what?"

"Oh, a few things need clarifying."

"What things?"

"Your relationship with Tor Petersen. Your relationship with Daphne Petersen."

"Hey, hey, hey. I have no relationship with that bitch."

"She called you on the phone the day her husband died. What did she want?"

"She wanted to know when the body would be released. "

"Before she knew the cause of death? Come on, Rosa, the game is up. You have to come clean about this. We know about you and Petersen."

"Well, I can't do it this way," Rosa snapped. "I'm a doctor. I don't go to the precinct. You can send someone to my office tomorrow."

"Doctors come to the precinct to talk all the time," April told her. "Tomorrow is too late. We have to do it now."

"It's been a hard week. I don't work on the weekends," Rosa said stubbornly. "My position requires some respect."

"Rosa, none of us get respect in murder cases. Don't make this hard for yourself." April pursed her lips. She glanced at Mike, standing by the door. He was sucking on his mustache.

Rosa glanced at him nervously. "All right, I may have made a mistake about Petersen," she admitted suddenly. "Let's let it go at that."

"People make mistakes," April said, neutral.

"I thought I could get away with it. We were so careful."

"You and Daphne?"

"I told you I had nothing to do with her," Rosa said angrily. "It was Tor I knew. Isn't that—?" Her face flashed horror as April's mouth dropped open: Rosa Washington was Petersen's secret lover!

Mike picked up instantly. "Guess you weren't careful enough."

"We only met here. Can you believe that son of a bitch wouldn't even take me out to dinner?" Rosa glared at them. "He was afraid his wife would find out and steal his money." Her breath came short. "Oh, he was some piece of work."

The trocar that only doctors knew how to use, Rosa's hair on Petersen's body—on his sweater—the mink coat that Emma saw at the scene of the crime— all Rosa's. That was Ducci's message. Rosa hadn't missed the cause of death; she'd murdered the victim.

Mike opened his jacket and placed himself between Rosa and the door. He jerked his head at April to get out of the way. She moved toward the window. "Why?"

Rosa's face distorted with rage. "No way I'd let him tie me up and beat me. Not for all the money in the world. Once was enough." Her mouth twisted. "I don't let nobody trick me and hurt me like that." She sniffed back angry tears.

"What about Merrill Liberty, did she hurt you, too?"

"I'm a doctor. You understand? I'm a doctor." Rosa didn't move. "I'm a doctor. You can't treat me like this."

"I don't understand, explain it to me. He hurt you, so why didn't you just break up with him?" April asked.

Rosa shook her head. "He wouldn't let go."

April shot a look at Mike. Now one of them was at each end of the room. It occurred to April that Rosa might be crazy enough to try to shoot them. But where was the gun? Not on her person. Maybe behind the pillows in the sofa. Once again Rosa's hands were folded in her lap. She'd calmed down. Now she looked both dangerous and helpless at the same time. Spooky. This was a woman who killed her lover, then coldly dissected him as part of her job. All the pieces that hadn't fit before came together. Rosa had access to Petersen's body in the morgue. She had removed his T-shirt with the tiny hole in it and used waterproof makeup to disguise his wound. Rosa had been so cool when Ducci picked it up during the autopsy. She must have figured, as ME, she was in control. Only later, when April kept picking at it, did she feel threatened. April took off her coat and laid it over the back of a chair.

Rosa turned to her, complaining. "You got me into this by criticizing my work. I was respectful of you, and now you want to destroy me. This is not my fault."

"Rosa, let's not debate it here," April said.

"I'm a doctor. Do you know what it takes to be a doctor? Huh, you little street rats? You know how much it costs, how many years it takes? Ten years of starving and studying and taking tests, working two jobs. Eighty thousand dollars in loans," she screamed.
"Call me doctor!"

"This isn't about medical school. It's about murder." April watched Rosa's hands.

"Call me doctor," Rosa insisted.

"Where's your coat, Doctor?" Mike asked.

"You got the jock. What do you need me for?"

"You talking about Liberty?"

"Fucking football player," Rosa muttered. "The man's a fucking football player. Let him go down."

"He didn't kill anybody," April said quietly.

"No!" Rosa was shocked. "You didn't let him go! I saw it on TV. He was arrested."

Mike shook his head. "You stopped watching too soon. The eleven o'clock news will have another story. Liberty wasn't arrested for the murders of Tor Petersen and Merrill Liberty."

"No!" Rosa exploded again. "I don't believe this."

"You wouldn't want someone else punished for your crimes."

"Uh-uh. You're not pinning murder on me. I didn't do anything wrong. I only did what I was told. My boss was sick. I did what he and the mayor and the police commissioner asked me to do. That's all." Rosa stood, shaking all over. "My only fault was that I knew Petersen. You can't prove anything else."

"We can prove you killed them." April watched Rosa, giving her a moment to make her decision. The best thing was to get them to confess. But sometimes they came at you instead.

"You're going to have to get me out of this," Rosa cried. "It's your fault. You started this. And now it doesn't look good for anybody. I'll blow your careers. I'll blow all their careers. No one will survive."

April thought the mayor and the police commissioner, and even Rosa's boss the ME, would survive somehow. She and Mike, however, would probably not get a medal.

"Let's go, Rosa," she said. "You can tell your story uptown."

Rosa moved toward the French windows. At first April thought she was going to close them, but Rosa quickly swung one door open and stepped outside onto the tiny balcony. April didn't pause to consider what she was doing. She followed Rosa out the door into the small space where she stood looking down at the street and shivering all over.

"No," April said softly. "That's not the way." April was trembling, too. She could hear her voice crack in the cold. The sidewalk was six stories down, and the railing on the -balcony was low, meant for plants, not people.

"Come inside. We just want to talk, that's all. You'll have lots of chances to explain. Just come inside," April urged. "Come on. This isn't the way." She held out her hand. Rosa didn't take it. "Come on."

"I'm not going to the station. You understand me. I'm not going to any police station. I'm one of the good guys." Rosa was crying now. "You're just treating me like this because I'm black. If I die, it's your fault. My blood is on your hands."

"No." April was shaking all over. Her gun was in the holster. She was too close to the woman to unholster the gun. The gun wouldn't do any good anyway. It wasn't April who was in danger.

"Yes!" Rosa screamed. "You just want a black to go down for killing those white folk. How could you do this to me? Don't you know you're colored, too?"

"No, Rosa," April said. "Come inside. We can talk about this later."

"Yes, you are. Chink and spic—colored." She spat out the words. "No better than I am."

"Mike!"

"I'm here. I'm right here." Mike reached out the door and touched April's shoulder, encouraging her to move aside. "Come inside, April."

April shook her head. She didn't want to move and give the hysterical woman a chance to jump. "1 didn't do anything wrong."

"Rosa, let me talk to you," Mike said. "No one wants to hurt you. And you don't want to get hurt." He nudged April.
Will you get out of there!

There wasn't room for three of them on the balcony, no way to each take a side of Rosa and move her downstairs into the car before she was totally out of control. They'd wanted her to go quietly. They'd played nice. But Rosa was screaming now, calling for help.

"Help! help! Police brutality! Somebody help. They're trying to kill me. Helllp!" The noise soared out into the street. Later witnesses would recount the scene. Two against one. Police brutality.