Tracking Time (25 page)

A
fter the policeman left, Janice was too keyed up to return to work. She wanted some answers and once again she was enraged at her absent husband. She and David had been visited by the
police.
It was outrageous. Poor David was being harassed for cutting school. She did not think the police were the appropriate ones to bother her about it. This was a family matter. She talked to herself, because Bill wasn't there to consult. She was upset because the lieutenant who had come to talk to them had no education himself; he probably hadn't been to college and didn't know what David's stresses and issues were all about. The man was clearly in awe of their lovely home and envious of their situation, and he wanted to humiliate them by interrogating their child.

After the lieutenant left, David gave her no comfort
at all.
After everything she'd done for him that day, he just grunted and retreated to his room the way he always did. That left her with nothing to do but pace back and forth in front of his door, sniffing at the air flow. If the true purpose of the cop's visit had something to do with David's taking drugs, she was going to be
really
angry. She
would not
tolerate drugs in her home. This was definitely Bill's fault.

As she paced, Janice relived the Sunday evening several years ago when David had come home from an afternoon play date with some friends so drunk he could hardly stand up. They had gone out to an Italian restaurant for dinner despite his obvious inebriation. When David's head literally fell into his plate of spaghetti, Bill thought it was a riot. To divert them from
any
possibility of a substantive discussion about alcohol, he regaled them with stories of his own drunken days at Amherst and all the fun it had been back in the good old seventies.

"Good thing you didn't order a tomato-based sauce," he quipped, proud that his son was being initiated into manhood.

"Wait a minute. It's not the same," Janice had protested. But when she pointed out that Bill had been in college when he'd started drinking and David was only in the eighth grade-and also that it was a far more dangerous world these days-Bill had aligned himself with David in pooh-poohing her and causing her to react with more heat than she meant to. Because of Bill's lack of parenting skills all of this had happened.

Finally she knocked on his door. "David, I want to talk to you."

No answer.

She knocked again. "I'm sleeping," came the answer.

"At this hour?"

"I'm tired."

"David!
You have a psychiatrist's appointment in half an hour. You've got to get going."

"I don't," came the sleepy reply.

"Yes, you do. Open this door right now," she bellowed.

"I don't feel well, I'm going to cancel."

"You
can't
cancel. He'll charge me anyway."

David opened the door and showed his tired face. "He won't charge you if I'm sick, will he?"

"Of course he will, he doesn't know you're not faking." Janice softened at the sight of him. Her baby.

"But what if I'm really sick?" he asked, quite reasonably, she thought.

"Well, frankly, David, he doesn't give a damn. He wants to be paid anyway. And today, you've been a bad boy. You have plenty to talk about."

"Nooooo, Mom, please. I feel like shit."

"Well, you are shit, David. I'm very angry at you for all this and so his your father."

"Is Dad here?"

"He's on his way. He was tied up in traffic."

"He'd
say I can cancel."

"He would not. These are expensive fees, and we're paying them to make you well, so put your shoes on and get out of here." She gave him a not unfriendly swat on the bottom.

"Don't do that, Mom," he protested.

"Come on, you know your mommy loves you. Just get going and learn something useful. Then you can pass it on to me. Ha ha. I need to know what's going on with you."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"And none of that language," she barked.

When he was out of the house, she breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't wanted to show too much interest before but now she went into his room and sniffed around some more. She didn't have a clue what drugs she was searching for or what they looked like. But she had at least an hour and a half to check things out. She knew marijuana looked like oregano, and pills were pills. How hard could it be? And the paraphernalia they used for drugs was pretty self-explanatory, too. If she found it, he was never going out again.

She searched his closet, his knapsack, his bed, none of it smelled good. The sheets and pillowcase on his bed smelled horrible. The kid had to bathe more often. Use deodorant, something. She picked up rank underwear. She tried to think of everything, even went through the plastic containers the CDs came in. Nothing.

When she got to the computer, she paused. It occurred to her that David's secrets might somehow be in there. She booted the thing up and looked into the document file. There was nothing but school stuff in there. She knew he went on the Internet at night. Sometimes when she woke up in the middle of the night, her phone light showed his line in use. When she pushed the intercom to find out whom he was talking with, there was only music playing softly. His download files were listed in My Docs. "David's Friends" consisted of E-mails back and forth, mostly jokes. She checked the file "Teen" and found some interesting titles. "Mommy 1" was the one she opened first.

"Jesus Christ!" Her mouth fell open when she saw what Mommy was doing with a boy about David's age. "Jesus Christ. He's a pervert."

She didn't know whom to call first. The psychiatrist who was treating David, or her husband, Bill. She opened "Mommy and Daddy" and couldn't believe her eyes. This was worse than drugs, worse than bad grades, worse than ADD. Her son was a
pervert
of the worst kind. She called her husband. Bill's secretary answered.

"I need to talk to my husband."

"Bill's gone for the day."

"Where did he go?"

"He didn't say."

"When did he leave?"

"Oh, an hour ago, maybe longer."

Janice swore and tried his cell phone, but Bill must have turned it off. Like his son, he broke the connection whenever he didn't want her to reach him. She hated to break down and have a drink to calm her nerves, so she got more and more disturbed about the whole family situation as she waited for them to come home.

M
ike was back at Midtown North at half past four. He was ruminating about Brandy Fabman's acting out with the tongue pierce, the tight sweaters, the beer drinking/pot smoking in Central Park, and, of course, the playing hooky, all to compete with her sexy divorcee mother. The boy was obviously smitten by her. Their stories were the same. They claimed that what they'd been attracted to-the sole reason they'd been targeted by police on the scene-was their interest in dog tracking. They'd been drawn to the scene by the appearance of Slocum's dog, Freda. April said there was something odd about them. There was certainly something upsetting about them. But did they know anything about Maslow Atkins? Had they known Pee Wee James? He wasn't sure yet.

When he returned to the station, the detective rooms were still mobbed. April was in her office with Assistant DA Leonore Jacobi. The two were in deep conversation when he came in and occupied the empty chair. The DA was a small, thin woman with a face that was all jutting bones and nervousness who liked to grab people by the hand and hold on, peering deeply into their eyes. She did that to Mike as soon as he plopped down beside her.

"Hey, Mike, nice to see you. You look like a different guy," she said, locking him in one of her famous visual embraces. "Nice shirt. Well, this case
definitely
needs your touch," she joked.

Even though their moment together had been short-lived and long ago, she was giving him the treatment just for the fun of it, and he liked her the better for it. April was inscrutable.

"Same here, Leo. Haven't seen you around in a while. You look great, nice haircut, nice suit." He smiled at her cap of short curly black hair and the newest look in fall suits, winter white in a heavy fabric that was definitely rushing the season. Her nails were still bitten to the quick, her cuticles were bloody, and she'd eaten off all her cinnamon-stick lipstick. Only the dark lip liner remained. Same old Leonore.

"It's too heavy. I'm sweating like a pig," she said, writhing on the chair a little for him.

Mike blew air through his nose, laughing. "Well, better to sweat like one than look like one. Speaking of pigs,
querida,
you still with that deadbeat boyfriend of yours?"

Leonore glowed with the attention. "Yeah, Sam's still defending the bad guys. We try not to talk about it over dinner. He thinks he'll flip me one day." She smiled at Mike, radiant. "You've been reading about those death row cases in Illinois?"

"Uh-uh.Tell me about it."

"This is no joke. They've started testing the DNA of convicted rape/murders on death row. Turns out more than one in ten is innocent in Illinois. They had to stop executing there. I wouldn't want to get arrested in a state like Texas. Makes you wonder, don't it?" Another big smile at Mike.

"Hey, the meter's running," April murmured.

Leonore turned to her. Smooth. "Thank God we know what we're doing here in New York. Maybe some day we'll have an accredited lab. What do you have, Mike?"

"Not a lot. Two kids who like dogs and play hooky. What do you have, April?"

April made a face and glanced at her pages of notes. "I've got a mess. A real weird puzzle. I talked to Grace Rodriguez for almost two hours. She works for Atkins's father and has been his girlfriend for twenty-three years. Same old same old. She loved the guy, thought he would leave the wife he hates and marry her. She's a very attractive woman, didn't you think, Mike?" she glanced at him.

"Not my type. I never liked blonds."

April smiled. "I'm not touching that. So two decades pass, and no wedding bells. That would be enough to make any mother crazy."

"Eh, lot of people don't get married anymore. Who needs it?" Leonore cracked.

"Some of us are still traditional, Leo," Mike replied, looking at April and liking her smile.

Leonore snickered. "God, if
you're
talking this way, the world must be coming to an end."

April was smooth, too. She went right on. "Well, apparently being illegitimate bothered Dylan pretty bad. Grace said she's been worried about her daughter's mental health for some time. Atkins hates psychiatrists and didn't want her to go to anyone. Grace was torn between the two of them, wanted to be a good mother, wanted to protect her boyfriend. I felt sorry for her."

Mike shifted in his chair. He still didn't understand how this all fit together. If Dylan was the center of the case, where did Brandy and David fit in?

"What?" April responded to the unasked question.

"Nothing. Go on with your story."

"Dylan applied to the analytic institute where Maslow was a candidate, gave a false name and identity, and for about four months her own brother was her analyst. A first. Relatives aren't supposed to treat each other, you know. According to Jason Frank, who's Maslow's supervisor on the case, Maslow was anxious about it from day one. Something must have tipped him off on Tuesday. That night he wanted to see Jason, but he disappeared." April sat back. "She could be some kind of psycho."

Leonore chewed on her fingers. Mike reached into his pocket for a breath mint. "Miss lunch again?"

"Thanks." She took one and handed the tin across the desk to April.

"Is it lunch time already?" April looked surprised.

"It's dinnertime," Leonore said. "Do we have a hypothesis?"

April sighed. Mike knew she was thinking that twenty-four hours ago Pee Wee James had been alive. And Pee Wee had known something. And it was his fault for not listening to her. He shook his head.
Burro.

April chewed on a mint. "When I talked to Dylan yesterday, she maintained her identity as his patient, Allegra Caldera. Maybe she took off. Maybe she's a killer."

Woody knocked on the door. "Coffee, two lights, Sweet'n Low, one tea?"

"Thanks, Woody," April said.

"Hey, Mike," Woody greeted him.

"Pull up a pew," Mike said. There was no chair, but then he didn't like Woody much.

"Yeah, sure. Where are we?" He leaned against the wall, sipping his light coffee as April dipped a Lipton's tea bag into her Styrofoam cup of hot water.

"Pathological sibling rivalry. Maybe Dylan killed her brother to be her dad's only child and heir," Mike said.

"Nice," Woody said. "But I don't think so. That girl was a doll, don't you think?" He held up a flier with her picture on it.
Have you seen this girl?
And the number to call. The phones were ringing off the hook. The manpower to answer them was a major problem. Culling through each tip took forever.

April gave Woody some credit. "Good touch, the camera, Woody. And you noticed how freaky she got when you took her picture?"

Woody gazed at the photo. "It's quite a story," he murmured.

"Look, I've got to get going." Leonore slapped her hands on her knees and stood. "I'll talk to my boss about this. Whatever it is-kidnapping, murder. Get a warrant to search the girl's place. Maybe something there can shed light on all this." She gave April a conspiratorial smile. "What about you, Mike?"

"Well, April's friend John Zumech thinks this is a Vietnam thing."

"No kidding, why?"

"They trained the dog trackers there with human body parts so they could find the Vietcong hiding in the tunnels."

Leonore threw up her hands. Where was this going?

"The vic was a Vietnam vet," April said.

"I don't know anything about any tunnels in Vietnam. Are you suggesting we have tunnels in Central Park?" Leonore asked impatiently.

"He's referring to the soft tissue finds," April translated.

Mike nodded. "Zumech's theory is the tissue was a plant, you know, maybe as a hoax or a message of some kind about Vietnam."

"What kind of message, and why does it have to be something to do with Vietnam? Why not something else?" Leonore gathered up her stuff She didn't like this angle.

"Like what?"

"Like a medical student hoax?" April threw in. "Maslow is a doctor. Maybe he was treating a doctor nut. Are there other possibilities?"

"I'm just quoting John. He's convinced this tissue thing has something to do with Vietnam. Pee Wee was a vet."

"I'm not following you on this one," Leonore said.

"The tissue samples turned up the day after Slocum's search with his dog," Mike went on.

"You're suggesting that someone saw the rescue dog on the news, then came out and planted the tissue samples later? Why?" April demanded.

"It wasn't my hypothesis. It was John's," Mike replied.

"What about the killing of Pee Wee? Who would kill him?" Leonore drew blood on a cuticle, checked her watch. She wasn't interested in this. Too far-fetched.

"Maybe Pee Wee really did see Maslow out there. Maybe someone didn't want him sobering up enough to tell what happened," April said.

"I don't see what this has to do with the tissue finds. It wouldn't have taken a dog to find them. Look, I've got to run."

"Maybe they were planted to cover Maslow's scent. Yesterday we were searching for Maslow. Maybe we would have found him today. We didn't even have time to get Peachy on the trail. The dog was distracted from the word go." April looked unhappy. "Mike, how did your interview go with those two kids? Did you meet their parents?"

Mike paused. "The boy, David Owen, looks like something of a nerd. His mother is a big shot at the bank where she works. Public relations, and
Dios,
did she work a public relations number for the kid. I get the feeling he's a major disappointment. Right in front of me she says he has ADD. I didn't see any signs of hy-peractivity. He didn't act aggressive or even angry. He was very polite to me. But what do I know? I'm a cop." Mike shrugged modestly.

Leonore was interested. "Medication?" she asked.

"Maybe, for ADD. I'd call the kid a loser. But we'll have to dig a little more. A few weeks ago we had a case of a kid freaking out in school, burning people with cigarettes. He put out someone's eye. When we asked why he did it, he said it seemed like a good idea at the time. He didn't even know the kid he injured."

Leonore shook her head. "I'll never have children. So, where was David Owen last night?"

"At home in his bed. His mother said he had the flu. He's missed school for two days because of it."

"Not true," April cut in quickly. "She's either lying or doesn't know what she's talking about. Yesterday afternoon he was out in the park with his knapsack looking pretty healthy to me." She sipped her tea and grimaced at the taste. "What kind of mother?"

"She seemed very concerned. Kept saying, 'I love this boy' She was out at a party last night. The father was at work."

"So no one was home to confirm he was there." Leonore perked up. "What about the girl?"

Mike pulled on his mustache. "The girl is a whole other thing."

"I'll say," Woody remarked.

"Her mother's a recent divorcee, recently restructured. She wanted to give me a private viewing of her new butt."

April made a face. "Where was her daughter last night?"

"She said she was at home and Brandy was with her the whole evening." Mike smiled.

"Well, if this is all we've got, you two have a lot of work to do. You have my number. Let me know when you have an autopsy report." Leonore pecked Mike on the cheek before heading out the door.

"Good working with you again," he murmured.

"Yeah, sure. Bye, April, take care." With that she marched out.

April turned to Baum. "Woody, we need a search warrant for Dylan Rodriguez's apartment. Get on it," April ordered.

"Can I finish my coffee?" he asked.

"At your desk."

He pushed himself off the wall, went out, and closed the door.

"What's that all about?" Mike said.

"He almost ran me down this morning. So, you slept with her, too." April clicked her tongue.

Mike looked shocked. "Naw."

"Looked to me like the two of you have something going."

"She's got a serious boyfriend. They've been together for years. What's the matter with you?"

"Doesn't matter, I can tell."

"Naw. She's nice, though, isn't she?"

"Who dumped who?"

"The whole thing,
nada.
Two ships passing in the night."

"My mother warned me about the perfume. I absolutely despise womanizers."

"Maybe a long time ago, but that's all over. If a man has a perfect woman, why keep looking?"

She tilted her head to one side, like a bird, considering. He smiled. One good thing about April was she could move on. She moved on now. "This is some kind of bizarre kid thing, isn't it?" she murmured.

"Looks like."

"What's your take?" She swiveled in her chair.

"We need to bring them in and talk to them together. There's something here. I know it."

"It's the dog, isn't it?" she said. "We keep getting back to that."

"Yeah, it's the dog thing. No doubt about it."