"Of course, everybody cares about you," Derek said softly.
"Then come over. I need a massage. I need some relief from all this pain."
"You know 1 can't come over."
"My husband isn't here. Please!"
"No, Alison. I'm not coming over. I don't want to see you."
"Don't say that. I don't do too much," she whimpered, certain that she was totally sober.
"You're out of control. Get a grip."
"But I'm so unhappy. Andrew never comes home. He's such a prick. And you won't take care of me like you promised. Today was supposed to be my day, Derek," she said accusingly.
"I'm very sorry, Alison, and very sad. Maddy was a gentle soul. Heaven is lucky to have her."
"That does it." Alison bolted up from the sofa. "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to have you killed."
"Oh, Jesus." The phone clicked.
"Wait a minute. Derek, don't go. There's a murderer in the neighborhood," Alison yelled, but he had already hung up.
"Shit." She threw the phone on the floor. It jumped off the area rug and skittered across the travertine, bouncing twice before it hit the wall.
On TV Nancy Grace was still talking. The woman always had a lot to say. Alison bent to retrieve the phone and dialed Derek. She hung up before it could ring, then hit redial. She couldn't make up her mind what to say. Again she hung up before it started ringing. She hit redial a second time and waited impatiently for seven rings until his voice mail came on, then hung up.
"I don't fucking believe this." Infuriated at the insult, she dialed her husband on his cell, but he didn't pick up, either.
Just then Lynn came into the room with Leah tagging along behind her. Alison narrowed her eyes
at them. Lynn was another one of those sweet-looking blondes. With her sweatshirt and jeans, she almost looked like a clone of Remy, the girl who might have murdered Alison's best friend. The resemblance used to amuse the two mothers—now it was horrifying.
"What do you want?" Alison demanded.
"Leah and I were just going to get a couple of sodas—we're all out. Do you want something?"
"No, 1 don't want anything. And 1 don't want you to leave the house," she said angrily.
"Why not?"
"Andrew is on his way. We're going out for dinner.' '
"We'll only be a minute," Lynn said pleasantly.
"What if Andrew comes while you're gone?"
"It's just around the corner."
"You never come back when you say you're going to. You'll be an hour, and Andrew will be sitting here twiddling his thumbs." Alison did not want her to go. Whenever she sent the girl on one tiny errand, Lynn wouldn't be back three hours later, and half the time she'd return with that girl Leah in tow. She frowned at Leah, another blue-jeaned creature who worked in the neighborhood.
"What's she doing here at this hour?"
"She was just helping me put the kids to bed. Look, we'll walk the dogs for you, okay?" Lynn offered.
"Wait a minute. 1 want to talk." Alison wobbled to the sofa and fell on it, disturbing the poodle.
"Are you okay? How about some coffee?" Lynn asked.
"I don't want any coffee. 1 want to know what
Remy told you about Maddy. Was she sleeping with Derek?"
"I don't know," Lynn'said uneasily.
"What about you? Did she tell you?" Alison leveled her gaze on her new target.
"Me?" Leah said.
"You're always together. Didn't she say anything? Is Remy fucking Wayne? Come on, you know you know."
The two girls looked at each other, then slowly shook their heads. "She doesn't talk," Lynn said.
"Well, what do you know about her?" Alison poured herself some more wine.
"Just what you do—her father's an alcoholic, her mother is some kind of hippie artist."
Alison patted the sofa. "Come on, girls. Sit down. What else?"
"She wants to be Wayne's executive chef," Lynn said, sitting on the far edge. Leah curled up on the floor. Roxie jumped off the sofa and sat on her lap.
Alison made a face. "I'm sure she killed her. I'm absolutely sure of it."
Neither girl said anything. There was an awkward moment. Then the phone rang. Alison reached over to answer it. It was a reporter asking for an interview.
"Well, I don't really know anything," she said, and began to elaborate.
The two girls got up and went into the kitchen.
Twenty-two
A pril and Mike lived in the brick Tudor house that had once belonged to April's rabbi in the Department, Lieutenant Alfredo Bernardino. For years after she'd left the Fifth Precinct, where Bernardino had promoted and trained her, she rarely. gave him a thought. Maybe a fleeting reminder of those long-ago days came to her from time to time, but nothing lasting. Now her history was permanently tied to his. Bernardino had been there at her inception as a detective, and ten years later she was there when he was murdered. Now she owned his house, and he was always- in her thoughts.
The relationship had been a lucky one at the beginning. When April decided to join the Department, she'd disappointed everybody who had high hopes for her. She became a beat cop, something no Chinese wanted for their precious children. She'd been one of two Chinese officers in the precinct, the only woman. A female with no respect from anyone, she'd walked the streets of Chinatown helping people who couldn't negotiate the system. She'd been a translator, a social worker with a gun. But things changed after an unheard-of occurrence in an Asian community: a little girl
from Mott Street was kidnapped and murdered. April had been the searcher who found the child's body in some garbage behind the building where she'd lived with her family. April had also been the only person to whom the girl's parents and the other residents in the building would talk. Impressed, Bernardino rewarded her when an opening came up in his unit. He said it was stupid not to have Chinese-speaking detectives in Chinatown.
Stoopid had been one of his words. He used it so often it almost lost its meaning. But one thing was certain; he'd died a stupid death. His wife hit the lottery jackpot in the last weeks of her life and died of cancer a multimillionaire. That fatal stroke of good luck also ended Bernie's life. He retired, April organized his going-away party, and an evil person broke his neck as he was walking back to his car after the festivities were over.
April thought about that stupid end to his life every day. Good luck, prosperity, long life, were the things every Chinese prayed for. But nobody ever thought there was danger in answered prayers. The bad luck of losing Bernie, however, led to the good luck of April's getting his house. She thought about those circumstances every day, too. Bernie's daughter Kathy had sold her and Mike the three-bedroom house with study for practically nothing because she never wanted to move back there. She was an FBI agent in Seattle. April called her from time to time. Bernie was the closest thing she ever had to a mentor—before she met Mike anyway. He'd been closer to her than her own dad. Now that he was gone forever instead of just to Florida as everyone had expected, she found that she missed him.
The drive home from Soleil was uneventful. April left her car on the East Side and drove with Mike in his new Buick. By eleven o'clock the rush to get home was over, and cars were humming along on the highways. April was happy to let her husband drive. It meant she finally had a moment to call Sergeant Gelo on her cell to find out what was going on at Midtown North. Gelo was working a second tour.
"It's quiet, boss," Eloise told her. "I spoke with the senator earlier. He called to thank you for helping his son. He's putting you on his Christmas card list."
"That's nice." April said, figuring there had to be more to it than that. "What else?"
"He doesn't want to pursue any arrests."
"Unfortunately, the chief has other ideas. When are you going out?" April asked.
"Soon."
"Who's going with you?" she asked.
"Charlie," Eloise said.
"He doesn't do underc
over," April replied quickly.
"He went out with me earlier. I thought we'd try him out," Gelo said, her voice careful.
"Why?"
"We're shorthanded, and he wants to go."
"Why?" April said again.
"I guess he likes the idea of naked girls."
"Well, this is your call. I guess you can take care of him."
"Yes, boss. I can take care of him," Eloise laughed.
Hagedorn was a techie, a skim-milk kind of person whose white skin looked like it had never been touched by the sun. For years, whenever April needed deep background checks, she'd had to beg him for help. Now he was part of her team and would do anything for her. But he was backward. Twelve-year-olds not yet in middle school were getting sex, but not Hagedorn. She had a soft spot for the poor schlub and hoped Eloise knew what she was doing. "Are you using Petey?"
"Yeah."
April told Gelo to put someone who looked like a kid on it. Petey Steele was twenty-eight, but he had a baby face. "Good. I'll talk to you in the morning, see how things went," April said, then punched off her cell.
Peret had been found alone on the sidewalk. Before they could arrest anybody or shut a club down, they had to prove where he'd been, and from whom he'd gotten what made him sick. If the senator didn't want his son to be involved, they had to catch somebody in the act of dealing drugs, or selling alcohol to minors, without him. She didn't know if her second whip could handle a sting and had to remind herself that all of her bosses once had exactly the same concerns about her. Nervous, she leaned her head against the window and felt the cold pane against her cheek.
"You okay, querida?" Mike murmured.
"Oh yeah, fine. The senator doesn't want to pursue it," she replied.
"You'd expect that. What did Gelo say?"
"She's taking Petey and Hagedorn. They've got a plan."
"What a fun bunch." Then he added, "Don't worry. They'll be fine."
"I hope so," she said, then paused before continuing. "What's your take on Wayne?"
"You mean, do I like him, or did he do it?"
"I know you like him," she said.
Mike smiled. "Querida, he may not have been a very attentive husband, and you may not like the way he's acting right now, but he doesn't strike me as a killer. And Danny said he was there all morning."
Danny was the sous-chef. April snorted. "Did you see that guy?"
"He had some interesting tattoos. Dirty hair," Mike said. "Seemed nice enough."
"He was missing a finger," April said.
"Only one. He told us Wayne was there for the deliveries. Easy enough to check that out."
"He and Remy could have run home in between," April mused.
"Between nine-oh-five and nine forty-five, when Remy called 911, maybe."
"We should listen to that tape, too, hear how she sounded. I don't know. All that stabbing—it doesn't play. If there were two of them, why so many blows?" She shook her head and fell silent.
"How are we doing, queridaMike asked after a long pause.
"Personally? We're doing great," she murmured. In fact, she was very worried about her honeymoon.
Monday was over. Now there were only three days to go. She didn't know why she'd gotten so devoted to that cruise. They'd canceled trips before.
But this time, even though she had no real idea what a cruise would be like, she had her heart set on it. She'd been in a rowboat a few times. She'd been on the Staten Island Ferry. Mike had gone deep-sea fishing on the West Coast. That was pretty much it in the boat department for both of them. Mike had some reservations about being on a moving vehicle he couldn't get off. April was the one who'd wanted to go. All the pictures, the commercials onTV, made it seem a hotel on the move, headed from one beach to another.
They were flying to Puerto Rico Friday morning, then sailing for the Caribbean from there. She had her clothes all lined up. The worst thing was they'd decided not to spend the extra money for travel insurance. She'd wanted to save five hundred dollars. Now she felt badly about that choice. Her thoughts returned to Maddy, Wayne, Derek, Remy, and Alison. And the two little boys, one of whom seemed to be named for a cow. She wondered what had happened that morning in the Wilson household and let her eyes close, hoping that some answers would come to her.
It seemed only seconds later when the car made a sharp left turn, and she twitched awake as Mike drove into their driveway. She stared at the house for a second and thought she was hallucinating. All the lights were on.
"Mike," she cried, alarmed because they were always careful to turn the lights off when they left in the morning.
"You tell me, querida," he said in that voice that meant he thought her parents were involved.
"Oh, no, it can't be," she said. Her parents had no way to get there.
The house was perfect in every way except one. The garage was not attached to the house. In the rain it was a small annoyance. They had to park the car behind the house, close the garage door, then walk a few short steps to the back door. Or they could walk around to the front and go through a gate. There were a few obstacles to getting into their house. Tonight there was no sign of any vehicle, but as Mike killed the engine and they emerged from the car, the sound of a barking dog tipped them off. The dog sounded like Dim Sum, the pricey poodle that was April's surrogate in the Woo family.
"Jesus," Mike muttered.
April held up her hands in defense as they came out of the garage. "I don't know anything about this. I didn't have anything to do with it. I swear." . He gave her a look. How did they get here? How did they get in?
"I have no idea. Really." She touched his arm, annoyed that neither of them had changed the lightbulb that was burned out at the back door. "I hope everything's all right," she said anxiously.
"Stay behind me."
He took the lead and they circled the house cautiously. It was a little scary at midnight to think that someone, even a loved relative, was in the house and not know the reason why.
Wa wa wa wa wa. The dog had its own signature bark.
"That's definitely Dim," April said.
The toy poodle was making a racket. They went through the front gate, but no one responded to the barking dog or came to the door to greet them. If April and Mike had been ordinary people, they might have put the key in the lock and gone in without any real concern about what they might find in there. But April and. Mike had too much experience with random acts of violence to be relaxed in such a situation. Once before, two killers had been waiting for April in her parents' house when she went home to visit them. Her father, who was at least sixty, had killed one of the intruders with his meat cleaver. Now she had a sick feeling in the dark, remembering that bloody day.
Then she saw it all. The picture window in the front room framed Dim Sum, sitting up on the back of the sofa, barking her poodle head off. Them TV was on, set to Skinny Dragon's favorite channel, where a surgery was in progress. Skinny was paying no attention to the dog. Her head was bent over in concentration, her fingers moving needles and yarn.
"They're here," Mike said, as if the enemy had landed. He opened the door.
Dim jumped off the back of the sofa in a great flying leap and ran to the front door. April caught her up and hugged her. Skinny Dragon, however, was so busy knitting and watching a two-headed baby being born that she didn't register that her daughter and son-in-law had returned. Beside her, Ja Fa Woo, April's father, had made himself comfortable. He had his shoes off and had imbibed the last of Mike's only bottle of brandy. The empty bottle was beside him, and he was snoring loudly, a hot-blooded killer out cold.
"Ma, what are you doing here?" April cried.
"Ayeeiiiie," Skinny shrieked with delight, and held up her knitting, which looked like it was going to be a tiny yellow sweater. "Babysitting. Making crose for baby. Hao?" [Good?] she demanded.
Not good at all, Ma, April thought, since she wasn't even pregnant.
Twenty-three
At six thi
rty, Andrew threw back the quilt exposing Alison to the cold morning air. "Hey," she mumbled. She felt like a land mine had gone off in her head.
She'd taken too much coke the day before. First because she was upset about Maddy—and Derek— and then because she wanted to delay the inevitable crash as long as possible. By early evening she hadn't been able to avoid it any longer. She'd started drinking and taking painkillers. She'd finally slept, but now the war was on in her body again. And pain always made her focus on everybody else's faults. What she saw at the moment was her naked husband yawning widely and scratching his hairy belly. It never failed to provoke her.
Unlike her, a perfectionist, Andrew didn't care that he was a mess and getting fatter every day. The rolls started in his jowls and moved down to his neck. His shoulders were padded and soft, and his belly was so big he said he couldn't see his dick anymore. Although he was very critical of her, he didn't think his own weight was a problem. In fact, he thought it was. funny. His belly shifted as he planted his feet on the floor and stood up.
Alison turned away and felt for the comfort of her dogs, but they weren't there. No wonder she was cold. Plus Andrew had opened the window. Even though it was June, it was still cold at night. He'd turned off the furnace for the summer, and it was just freezing in the room. She reached for the quilt. Her arm was so heavy she could hardly lift it. She struggled to remember what happened last night. In the haze of an alcohol and Vicodin hangover everything was fuzzy. Then she remembered the important things. Maddy was dead, and Derek had been her lover. She groaned.
"You're drinking again. I hate that," Andrew said coldly.
"No, it's Maddy. I'm so sad for Maddy." She started crying.
"Get up. We have to talk," Andrew said sharply.
Yes, they did, Alison thought, but not right now. Painfully, she pulled herself to a sitting position. "Can't we do it later?"
"No, we can't. Why didn't you wait up for me last night?"
A Clean Kill Page 12
