A Clean Kill awm-9

by Leslie Glass

  Nobody seemed the least bit surprised about that.

  "And Woody, 1 want you to pick me up on First and Fifty-sixth Street at eight a.m. Good night, all."

  "Wait, you don't have your car. I'll drive you over there," Woody said.

  "Thanks." She grabbed her purse and her jacket. She hadn't even been there an hour. On the way back across town, she left a message for the medical examiner. She wanted to know Alison's cause of death as soon as possible.

  forty-three

  The task force gave itself an informal name: Town House Killer. The p.m. meeting was j ammed. Every chair and desk corner was taken, and the tension was tremendous. April took a low profile in the back by the door, and Mike sat up front, near Sergeant Minnow. As the primary on the case, Minnow led the meeting. He was milking his role to the fullest, allowing the minutes to tick away as he slowly went through the reports. Detectives had begun canvassing people in the neighborhood, especially those with windows that overlooked the town houses below and the neighbors who lived on the two blocks where the murders occurred.

  In the days to come, the search for witnesses would widen. Detectives and uniformed officers had been going through the bags of garbage left out on the street for pickup. The Crime Stoppers Unit had been out both days and its hotlines were flooded with hundreds of tips corning in. It would take days to process them. When the operations reports were concluded, - Minnow talked about where they were with the suspects. Wayne's life had become a media event for reporters. The cops were assembling the minutiae of his life for detailed examination. His affairs, expenses, and phone records, as well as his comings and goings in the last six months, were being analyzed to see if his habits had changed. His close associates were being questioned. He'd been interviewed again and didn't have anything new to add. His alibi for the time in question was strong, and his statement was being prepared. Andrew Perkins, whom Remy had reported as so cocky and sure advising his friend the day before, was now in such a state of shock from the murder of his wife that he could barely form a sentence. He and his little girls were under a doctor's care at his brother's home in New Jersey. At the time of his wife's murder, he'd been in a meeting at his office. Derek was off the hook for the murders, though he was being questioned in regard to the amount of money he'd received from the victims as well as the illegal substances he may have provided them. Furthermore, the personal phone, bank, and credit card records of Maddy and Alison were being examined for more insight and information about their last days. Everything took time.

  The electrifying moments in the meeting came when April spoke about the contents of the Alison tapes, as well as Detective Hagedorn and Sergeant Gelo's visit to Jo Ellen Anderson at the Anderson Agency and the files of Lynn and Remy that had been taken from there. Although the two nannies were being looked at as strong suspects, Minnow hadn't listened to the interview of the second victim, nor had he sent anyone to the agency to get the histories of the suspects. So much for the helpfulness of her attempt at transparency. He was pretty pissed off.

  Toward the end of the meeting, the DA was pressed for his opinion of the cases. April was glad that the veteran Ben was in attendance again. He pulled on his shirt collar as he thought about it. "Who has a reason to want us to assume those girls did the unthinkable? That person is your killer. Maybe his goal is to hurt them." He shrugged as a big argument ensued over that view. It wasn't much of a motive. Mike Sanchez listened, but didn't say a thing for over two hours.

  At ten thirty, April left her car near the Seventeenth Precinct for the second night in a row and began the drive home with her husband. The meeting had been tough for her to take, as it must have been for Mike. She liked helping people, but had never had much tolerance for the organizational aspect of criminal investigations, especially when she wasn't the primary. No matter how carefully things were done, there were always mistakes. There were mistakes here. Something was being overlooked. She kept wondering, who left the short red hair in Alison's powder room? Not the maid who'd cleaned the house the day before. She'd made a point of asking Lynn about that.

  "She's from Equador," Lynn had said. "Her hair is jet black."

  April had shown her Woody's photos. "Do you know any of these people?" she asked.

  Lynn picked out some faces of people she'd seen on the street many times but didn't really know. She pointed at the redhead and said, "That's Leah. She's around a lot."

  "What's Leah's last name?"

  Lynn shook her head. "I don't know."

  "Where does she live?"

  "Across the street somewhere." She didn't add anything else on the subject.

  April was working out of two places with two unconnected units, and had too many things roiling around in her head. While she was in the Seventeenth her thoughts were back at Midtown North, where Eloise was turning out to be a very smart detective. And Minnow made it very clear that he wanted her people out of the picture. But everybody needed their own people for comfort, and April was no exception. She had promised to play nice, but she didn't know if she could.

  After the meeting had ended, she didn't want to leave the city. The killer was out there somewhere, and it made her nervous to think he (or she) was holed up somewhere, waiting for morning. She reminded herself that serial killers usually targeted people no one cared about, prostitutes and runaways—not high-life mothers who lived in expensive town houses. But everything about this was unusual. Remy and Lynn were being watched.

  She sat in Mike's car as they crossed town, wishing it were already tomorrow so she didn't have to feel as if she were letting Maddy and Alison down by running away to get some rest. If only she and Mike had a place to sack out somewhere close, and did not have to travel forty-five minutes for a few hours' sleep. But they didn't have such a place, and her frantic phone calls to Gao Wan had not panned out. He was taking her father's spot at the midtown restaurant where they both worked, and had not been able to go up to Westchester to remove her parents from her house. They were still there, and they had to be dealt with.

  "Thanks for getting Lynn and Remy taken care of," she said after a long silence. Mike had found two secure places for them to stay where no one could find them and they couldn't talk to each other or anyone else.

  "No problem," he mumbled, also not in a talkative mood.

  As they got on the Henry Hudson Parkway and headed north, a spring shower commenced. April watched him flip on the wipers and felt an ache for the old Mike who'd thought only of her. In the months since they'd married, he'd become less watchful of her and dependent on her moods for his happiness. Mostly she liked the change. But occasionally when his boat was rocked by things that were out of his control, he seemed to slip away and forget about her. It made her feel lonely. Right then she knew he was angry at Sergeant Minnow for not following through quickly enough and not widening the net. And she wondered if there were other instances in which the CO of the detectives' unit had let him down.

  The spatter of rain on the windshield intensified into a torrent. Mike turned the wipers all the way up, but the downpour impeded his vision. Suddenly they were in a blinding storm. Lightning struck, and the crack of thunder that followed was as loud as anything April had ever heard.

  "Ow, that was close," she said.

  Mike took his hand off the wheel and grabbed her cold fingers. "It's going to be fine, querida," he said, and she was relieved that he was still with her.

  "Promise?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Then do me a favor and slow down."

  "Sissy," he muttered, but complied immediately. Then he was ready to talk. "So what's going on?" he asked.

  "Fish and Jell-O are two food groups that don't mix," she replied.

  "Yeah, well, Minnow's threatened. Gelo's better than he is, looks like a comer."

  "She certainly does," she murmured. "What about you? Why were you so quiet?"

  He made a face at the highway that was beginning to flood in all the usual places. "Like the old da
ys, huh?"

  "Your kind of weather," she agreed. He'd always liked steamy cars at night. She couldn't help reminding him that they were passing a dangerous curve where several fatal wrecks had occurred. "Slow down."

  "Yes, ma'am." He slowed for another fifteen seconds with his hand still on hers. It was kind of a nice touch.

  Then thunder struck close by again, and April flashed to their race through Central Park one night long ago, chasing a teenage killer on a night just like this one. They went back a long way, and hadn't crashed yet. She tried to relax.

  "I talked with both Remy and Lynn for many hours. They're not telling me everything, and that's troubling," she said after a moment.

  "You think they're involved somehow?"

  "I think they know things they're afraid to tell. Maybe about Jo Ellen, maybe the two husbands. It's not clear. What worries me is that something else will happen."

  "Let's hope not. What about our trip?" He knew his customer, changed the subject, and moved on.

  "I'd forgotten about it," she said simply.

  "Well, maybe we'll get a break tomorrow," he said, and sped up again on a straight stretch of highway that he knew so well.

  He kept on through the driving rain, and when they finally reached home and saw that the lights were. on, April was almost glad her parents were still there. For once there would be hot food waiting for them. Tonight Skinny Dragon was at the door screaming at them before the engine was off. The sound carried through the storm.

  "Ayieee. Why so late? Wait so long for dinner," she yelled as if she wanted the whole neighborhood to know her grievance. "What's long with you? Don't know work supposed to be over? Time to go home?" Skinny shrieked out that she'd worried all day. Nobody came to check on them or bring them food. What kind of bad daughter didn't take care of her sick old mother? "Why no call, ni? 'Nother murder?" she demanded at last.

  "That's it, Ma."

  "Ayiee," Skinny wailed. Another murder meant the ghosts of the dead were too close to her precious daughter again.

  April made it through the front door without further assault and was horrified to see that a mirror had been placed in a strategic position by the door, the dreaded colored strings hung from the corners of the living room, and a few things moved around to suit the Dragon's idea of optimum feng shui. It looked as if she was planning an intervention on April's health and intended to stay awhile.

  "Ni hao ma. What's for dinner?" Mike asked with a faint smile. He had learned the Chinese way. He'd become a man who knew when to pick his battles.

  "I hope it's not something weird," April muttered.

  Forty-four

  On Wednesday morning at seven thirty a.m. Lily Eng was waiting for April at the Sutton Diner on Fifty-sixth Street and First Avenue. Outside it was still pouring. Mike dropped April off and she dashed for the small patch of sidewalk that was protected by an awning outside the restaurant. She charged it, and a wall of rain sleeted off the edge of the awning onto her head. "Shit."

  Inside the door, she immediately caught sight of Lily, who was seated at a table in the window looking dry and chic and every bit the TV reporter. She was wearing a distinctive pastel tweed suit that could well have been Chanel. A pink plastic raincoat was folded over the back of the chair next to her. Compared with her splendor and calm, April felt both poor and frantic. She had not had a good night or morning with Skinny Dragon and was irritated that Lily, who came from highly educated college-professor parents and made a great deal more money than she did, didn't have a lot to worry about.

  "Thanks for being on time. I ordered a tea for you," Lily said, pointing to a cup and stainless teapot opposite her.

  April sank into a wooden chair by the window and dripped all over the floor. "Shit," she said again. Already nothing was going right in her day.

  "What's the matter?" Lily asked.

  "Nothing." She was just soaked, and she felt sick again. Her mother had appeared in her house like a deadly mold, giving her food that upset her stomach. No doubt the Dragon was going to have to be forcibly removed before she'd ever feel well again. Mike was being nice about it now, but that wouldn't last forever. The case was at a critical point. Today she was hoping for a COD on Alison and some important break in the nannies' stories. She was poised for heavy action, and hardly in the mood for a tete-a-tete with a TV reporter who didn't have anything else to do but get her nails done and look good on the six o'clock news. When she looked at the beautiful clothes Lily was wearing, she really did think she'd chosen the wrong career path.

  "1 hope the rain will give us a break from these murders," she muttered, trying to keep herself on track.

  Lily was taken aback. "Are you expecting another one?"

  "No, 1 didn't expect the first two. But a storm like this can put off the bad guys." If only it had rained all week, she would have gotten her honeymoon, no problem. Then she was ashamed of herself for thinking of better jobs and better parents and a honeymoon on a cruise ship. She made a frustrated gesture. "Sorry, I think I'm getting the flu. What did you have to tell me?"

  "I did a little checking on Remy Banks yesterday and came up with something interesting," Lily said, pulling out a manila envelope.

  "Oh, yeah? What?"

  "She was placed through the Anderson Agency. I did a feature on the agency a few years back, and I know quite a bit about it."

  "Great. What do you know?" April raked her hands through her wet hair, then poured herself some tea, and made a face. It was a generic brand of tea. The water turned the unappetizing color of rust and didn't taste much better. "I'm sorry. I must have missed the program."

  Lily laughed. "You miss everything, April. You're always working."

  April nodded—the story of her life.

  "So how about a trade?" Lily asked.

  "No way. I've told you a thousand times I can't say anything," April replied impatiently. "Don't waste my time."

  "How about I ask you questions and you give me a yea or nay?"

  April shook her head.

  "A shake of the head, then." She laughed again. For once she was relaxed, and April was all nerves. "Come on, it's my day off," she wheedled. "Make me happy for once."

  "No one makes me happy," April grumbled.

  "Bullshit. Didn't I do that great story on you? And you got promoted?" Lily reminded her.

  April didn't want to tell her that she'd done the interview under orders from a superior, but another correction was in order. The interview had nothing to do with the promotion. "I took a test for the promotion," she said.

  "Still, the story didn't hurt."

  April smiled. "All right, I'll let you break the story when we're ready to make an arrest, okay?" That was a big concession. "But you'll have to keep your mouth shut about your source."

  "Serious? How soon will that be?" Lily bounced in her chair.

  "I have no idea. We're following leads. What was your take on Anderson?"

  "Oh, it's the oldest domestic employment agency in the country still run by a family member. I did the piece as a human-interest service story just after 9/11 when thousands of people lost their jobs in the city and were looking for any kind of work, kind of like the Depression," she reminisced.

  "I mean the owner," April prompted.

  "Well, actually she did the interview with me because she wanted my help to write a book about her service to the rich and famous."

  "No kidding." April woke up.

  "I didn't have time to use what she gave me because the slant was the high-end field of domestic workers. But what she had was dynamite. She claims to have the inside dope on three generations of high-profile, wealthy clients. You should see her home. It's filled with memorabilia and photos of herself with megastars. She showed me gifts from movie stars and politicos, princes and presidents. Frank Sinatra, mob bosses. You wouldn't believe the people she knew. It's like a museum."

  "What about her? What's she like?"

  "This is the part that I thought would inter
est you. She kept files on everybody—the people she worked for, the staff members she placed, their friends. She made a point of knowing everything about everybody. Get this—she called it good business. She bragged to me about having their complete trust. She went into their places to water their plants when they were out of town. 1 thought it was kind of creepy. It seemed to me that if you had her or one of her people in your house, you were kind of harboring a spy."

  April had already been alerted to that possibility. "That's very interesting," she said. "What happened to the book?"

  "Oh, 1 referred her to some agents I know. She needed a writer, of course. And that got her all paranoid. She was afraid someone would steal her material."

  "So nothing came of the book?"

  "No. What do you want to eat?"

  April glanced at the menu, then checked her watch. Five minutes to Woody time. "I'm really sorry. I have a long day, and 1 have to get cracking. "

  Lily looked disappointed. "This was my day off," she grumbled.

  "We'll do a long lunch soon, okay?"

  "Right."

  "One more thing. Where is Miss Anderson's home?"

  "Beekman Place. She has a town house on Fiftieth."

  "Fiftieth Street?" April's head jerked up.

  Lily nodded. "I wouldn't forget something like that. It's a real freaky place, been in her family for a long time. Didn't you know?"

  "Oh, the home address was on my list for today,"

  April said slowly. Jo Ellen had been on her list for the day.

  "It's close, right?"

  "Yeah." April touched her hair. It was drying off now, absolutely flat on her head. It reminded her of another question she needed to ask. "By the way, what color hair does she have?"

  "Jo Ellen? Gray."

  "No kidding. She doesn't color it?"

  "She didn't when I talked with her."

  April started gathering up her things. "You've turned out to be a doll," she said. "I'm really grateful for your time."