Tracking Time

by Leslie Glass

  "Don't be such a dick."

  "Hey, kids! What-are you blind or something? That's a police line." A big cop swung around suddenly, waving his night stick at Brandy as she casually stepped between two police barriers with a pair of cops at each end.

  "What's the problem?" She stopped immediately, cocked her head to one side, and flashed him one of her bright innocent smiles that always brought male attention down to her chest level.

  "What's the matter with you? Don't you know when you see one of those you don't go there?" The cop sounded angry. He was big and heavy but looked pretty young. Brandy pegged him right away as someone who hated kids. She also noticed that his blue eyes slid down to her chest before turning to David.

  "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

  Brandy piped up. "What's happening? I live up there." She pointed toward her dad's pink building down in the next block. "We saw all the activity and wondered what was going on. Is that a crime?" she smiled some more, clicking her tongue pierce against her teeth. The cop's interest excited her.

  He looked at David and asked the question again. "Where do you think you're going?"

  David shifted his feet, moving closer to Brandy. "If you're looking for someone maybe we can help you," he offered timidly. If she could be daring, he could be daring. He smiled at her to show he had balls.

  "You want to help us?" The tall cop poked the short cop next to him with the nightstick. The two had been talking, watched the crowd. Now they had something to focus on. They grinned.

  "Yeah, maybe we could, like, help out," Brandy said.

  "That's very nice of you. Do you guys hang around here a lot?" The short cop joined the conversation. He seemed nicer than the first one.

  Brandy jutted a hip in his direction. "Uh-huh."

  "No kidding." He smiled in a friendly sort of way.

  "I bet we know everything that goes on here," Brandy bragged, basking in the cop's smile.

  "No kidding." The tall cop aped the short cop.

  "Well, we do." Brandy thought he was mocking her and plunged into motor-mouth mode. "I see a lot from that window. David and I both do. Just like in that old movie, the one my dad likes because the wife gets offed-you know which one I mean. Hitchcock, very noir. The guy sees a murder from the window, and it turns out…"

  "Hitchcock?"

  "He was a filmmaker," Brandy explained. "He really revolutionized the whole suspense thing in moviemaking, but you're from that time so I bet you already know that."

  "Oh yeah, you think I'm that old?" The cop looked over at the pink brick building she indicated, then at the trees in the park, very leafy and green. "Did you see something from your window you'd like to tell us about?"

  David chose this moment to intervene. "We sss-ssaw a tracking dog, and we're good at finding things."

  "Yeah, what are you looking for?" Brandy asked.

  "Nice sweater," the second cop said. He was short, had a crew cut. "What color would you say that sweater is?"

  "Pink," Brandy piped up quickly, pleased that he'd noticed.

  "Pink. It's really nice."

  "Thanks. Pink is really in this season."

  "Why don't you come along with me? There are some people you can talk to-how about that?"

  "Why can't I talk to you right here?" Brandy gave him a big smile. David gave her a little punch. Maybe they were getting too daring.

  "Because, I'm not in charge of the investigation." The big cop was serious now. He wasn't looking at her right. Brandy didn't like that.

  "Whatever," she muttered. "Do I get to see the dog?"

  "Maybe when it's done working."

  Brandy bounced on the soles of her expensive Nike Airs. "Cool," she said. She felt up now, way up, and starved to death from the pot. She didn't care that David was getting anxious, and she had no idea that her eyes gave her away.

  Nineteen

  After the Special Case detectives took off and Slocum left with the dog, April went in search of Woody, who had been busy asking questions and photographing people on the scene with disposable cameras all afternoon. The cameras were a surprising new initiative on his part. She walked north and found him under a tree near Eightieth Street talking to a boy and a girl. The girl, she realized with a jolt, was wearing a pink sweater.

  Right away April pegged the two of them as private school kids. She saw their rank in the way they stood. Even from way off down the path she could tell the girl was holding court, aware of the power of her little body. Her voice carried a long distance.

  "I love dogs. I bet you don't know anything about dogs. I know everything about dogs." She was excited, was bouncing on the balls of her feet. "You should see me work with that dog," she said.

  "Sure." Woody caught April's eye. Relief was evident in his face as she strolled over.

  "Hey, Sergeant, I've got a present for you. A real find. A tracking expert with a sense of style. Nice sweater, huh." He rolled his eyes at April as the girl turned to her.

  "Yes, I'm an expert." The girl bounced some more, the boy couldn't take his eyes off her.

  Woody raked at his crew cut with one hand and introduced the kids with the other. "This is Sergeant Woo." He turned to April. "What we have here is Brandy Fabman. She lives right over there." Woody pointed out the pink brick building, then checked his notes for the exact address. April spoke before he could recite it.

  "Hi, Brandy." She gave the girl a warm smile.

  Woody pointed at the boy. "This is David Owen. He lives on Park Avenue, but he hangs out here a lot. Brandy goes to All Saints, she's a tenth-grader. David's at Madison Prep; he's in the eleventh grade. These two have been going to camp together since they were nine. How about that?" He went on without taking a breath. He took a picture of them. Brandy gave him a big smile. David put a hand in front of his face.

  "Brandy's mom and dad just got divorced, and last Friday her mom had everything done. Everything! It's hard to imagine, isn't it? David's mom is a banker at York Bank, his father's a lawyer at Debevoise Plomptom. They want to help us out," he finished. "Isn't that nice?"

  "Hi, David." April gave him a smile, too, but he didn't return it. She could see the girl was high. She smelled beer, guessed they'd been drinking, maybe smoking pot, too.

  "You're a cop? I bet it's cool to be a cop. Nice outfit," Brandy commented. There was nothing nervous about her.

  "Thanks." April appraised the fuzzy pink sweater. At least two sizes too small. "Yours is hot, too. Angora?"

  "How'd you know that?" Brandy gave her a wide-eyed stare.

  "I'm a cop. I know everything." April smiled again. "What's up with you guys?"

  "Could I see your gun? I've never seen a gun up close." Brandy kept on bouncing. She was wired, no doubt about it.

  "Nope."

  "Okay." Brandy spun around, changing the subject abruptly. "Hey, where'd the dog go? Did it find what you were looking for?"

  "What are we looking for?" April asked.

  "David and I know all about search dogs. I'll bet you're looking for a dead body."

  "We're looking for a man who disappeared last night. Do you know anything about it?"

  The girl spun back to Woody with surprising grace and gave him a hurt look. "Why wouldn't he tell us that?"

  "He must have had his reasons." April glanced at Woody. He shrugged.

  "You cops are spooky," Brandy giggled.

  "Thank you," April said. "How come you know so much about dogs?"

  "That dog that was here was a real dork. I bet I could fake it out easy." Brandy stopped bouncing, moved off the sidewalk, and drew a line in the dirt with her toe, challenging.

  "No kidding. How would you do that?" Woody asked.

  Brandy shrugged.

  "I bet you couldn't. Freda's pretty well trained," April told her.

  "Is that its name? Freda? I had a great-aunt Freda. She looked just like that dog." Brandy laughed. So did David.

  Kids acting out. April was half amused. The other ha
lf thought they should be whipped. "So, how can you help us?" she demanded. "Where were you in the park last night?"

  "In the park? In the park?" Brandy frowned at David. "Didn't it rain? Yeah, it rained last night. Nope, we weren't here. We did our homework and watched a movie."

  "Where did you watch the movie?" Woody asked.

  "My dad's," Brandy said loftily.

  "What was on?"

  Brandy smiled. "Who is this guy that's missing?" She drew another line next to the first one. Both cops watched her.

  "He's a doctor," April told her slowly.

  "What kind of doctor?"

  "A psychiatrist."

  "Eeew. David goes to a shrink. He hates him, don't you David?"

  David's face went red. "I do not."

  She punched his arm. "Yes, you do. You go every Thursday at five. His name is Frog. Frog, right?" Brandy started hopping on one foot. "Your shrink's name is Frog, isn't that crazy?"

  "Clog," David said, looking miserable. "His name is Clog."

  "How do you spell that?" Woody asked.

  "I don't know." The kid was alarmed. "Brandy!" he said. "We gotta go."

  April checked her watch. Smiling, she made a small motion of her head at Woody. Separate these kids. "God, I'm tired. Come on, Brandy, let's sit down for a minute." She headed for an empty bench, talking as she walked.

  The girl followed her at a skip. "Can I see your gun? Please. I won't shoot it or anything."

  Back on the gun. April ignored the request. "You know, I'm thinking about yesterday. It rained in the afternoon. It didn't rain at night. Maybe you went out for a while in the evening and forgot about it. You look like you enjoy a good party, drink some beer, smoke a little pot. What else?" April's tone was neutral.

  "Oh no, no, no. You got the wrong person. My dad doesn't let me out at night." Brandy shook fingers decorated with black nail polish at her. "I don't do anything like that. Don't you know how bad that stuff is for you?"

  "Do you live at your dad's?" April asked.

  Brandy hesitated for a beat. "I live mostly with my mom. She just had surgery, though. She's kind of out of it." Finally, Brandy threw herself down on the bench, keeping a worried eye on David. "What's that guy asking him?"

  "Same thing I'm asking you-what you did and what you saw in the park last night. What you do for entertainment, that kind of thing."

  "Nothing. I told you, we weren't in the park last night, and I don't do drugs. My parents would kill me."

  "Oh come on, everybody does it. I know what it's like."

  Brandy gave her a sharp look and a little shake of the head. "Don't get me in trouble."

  "Why would I get you in trouble? You look like a nice girl to me."

  "Ha," Brandy said, but she was pleased.

  "Anybody with half a brain could guess what a pretty girl like you would be doing in the park with your boyfriend."

  Brandy blushed and swung her legs. "He's not my boyfriend."

  "He looks like he's crazy about you."

  "Doesn't mean he's my boyfriend. And I wasn't in the park," Brandy added.

  "That's not what the officers over there said you told them."

  "Look, we were in my dad's apartment. We saw the SAR dog. We came down because we wanted to play with the dog, that's all. I know how to work with dogs. I could give you some tips."

  "What kind of tips?"

  Brandy shrugged. "I know about dogs, that's all."

  "How do you know about dogs?"

  "I'm a dog trainer."

  "No kidding. Who did you train with?"

  "John Zumech-ever heard of him?"

  April was stunned. She'd not only heard of Zumech, she'd worked with him. She looked at the kid with sudden interest. Maybe Brandy wasn't a complete flake. The girl yawned, and April caught sight of the tongue pierce. Okay, what was she seeing? A girl whose parents were just divorced; her mother was taking care of her own business, having her face lifted. The kid was acting out with alcohol and pot. But a lot of kids did. Right now Brandy looked wistful.

  "Brandy, I can see you've taken something. If I took you into the station and searched you, would I find anything on you I shouldn't?"

  Brandy laughed uneasily. "You're a cop. I bet you like to hurt people. Are you going to arrest me and beat me up? That would be so cool. My mom and dad would have your ass."

  April's face didn't change. "Brandy, I'm with the good guys. I don't hurt people. I help them."

  "Well, if you want to help that guy, you should try another dog. This one doesn't know shit."

  April tended to agree with her. "Okay, it's getting late. I'm going to let you go home now. But I'm going to talk with Sergeant Zumech about your dog-training skills, and also your parents."

  "Wow, do you know Sergeant Zumech?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "You know Peachy?" Brandy was stunned.

  Peachy was Zumech's Doberman. "Yes, I know Peachy," April told her.

  "Wow. My mom calls this kind of coincidence synchronicity."

  "No kidding, your mom must be a smart lady."

  Moodily, Brandy stared at David and Woody. "Not really."

  April smiled in spite of herself. No daughter thought her mother was smart.

  "He took my picture, why?"

  "We're looking for a girl in a pink sweater, fits your description."

  "Wow." Brandy frowned. "I saw a girl in a pink sweater yesterday. I saw her today, too. Real thin, long black hair, is that the one you're looking for?"

  "Might be. If you see her again, will you give me a call?"

  "Sure, I will, sure. I love to help."

  April and Brandy exchanged phone numbers.

  Then she met up with Woody.

  "Anything?" she asked.

  "They're high, but I don't think they know anything. Want to bust them?"

  "It's an option for later. Right now I want to check Maslow's office," April told him. "It's up on Eight-nine and CPW. Let's go."

  They hurried out of the park. The show was over. Central Park West was moving. The barricades were down, the media circus had moved somewhere else, and the park was open to the public again.

  Twenty

  As the light faded to black, Maslow moved his arm for the first time and realized that he was not bound. Where he was lying, flat on his back, was damp and rocky, but the puddles he'd felt around him before were gone now. His mouth was dry and he was starving. He inhaled deeply, trying to get control of the weakness, the dizziness and pain in his head. He was like the old man with a brain tumor he'd seen in the hospital just a few days ago. Every exchange, every moment had taken ages. Ten minutes to raise his arm, to pick up a foot, answer a question. "Give me a minute," he'd say. Maslow was like that now.

  He told himself in a few minutes he would explore his prison. When he was ready. Now he would try to think. He could trace the events of his last day. He remembered waking up and worrying about the date he'd had with Vivian last week, how much he'd liked her. He remembered how upset he'd been that they'd argued. He'd been worrying about it for a week, obsessing about whether he should call her back. After a week, he wondered if it was too late to call her. Would she be insulted that it had taken him so long? He wasn't sure he liked her anymore. But then, she called him and left a message. The message was she'd left her pen somewhere. It was a blue pen, a gift from her mother. She asked if he remembered it, if he'd seen it. He hadn't seen it, didn't remember it. He wondered if the call was just an excuse to talk to him. For two days he'd played the message over and over trying to figure it out. Did she like him, did he like her? What should he do about it in either case?

  That day he'd had classes, had lunch, saw two psychiatric patients, and had his session with Allegra in his office-the one that upset her so much. He'd called Jason, gone home, and changed for jogging. He remembered the rain. It had been raining all afternoon. When he came out of his building, he'd seen Allegra. She was sitting on a bench outside the park. In that moment when she came up to
him and didn't let him pass her by, he knew she really had been following him for some time.

  That was all he remembered. Nothing after that. He'd been with Allegra and now he was here. He had an ache in his throat, as if he'd been punched there and lost his voice. His chest hurt, and it was hard to breathe. Maybe a collapsed lung, maybe cracked ribs. He couldn't tell. He realized he was shivering. He knew he had to get moving, drink, and eat something. He put his hand out and felt a crumbling surface, like the beach at low tide, inches from his face. At his sides the space widened a little, but only a little. Even if he were able to sit up, there was no room to do it.

  Panicked, he felt for his chest and stomach. It was then that he realized the fanny pack he'd taken with him when he left home was still on him. Lying on his back, moaning with terror, he groped around in it for his cell phone. With the phone he could call someone and get out of there. He found the phone, felt the talk button, pushed it, and heard a beep. He moved it up his chest and raised it to his face. There was no flashing light to indicate how much life the battery had left. That's how he knew he'd been in his grave longer than eighteen hours. He didn't know how much longer he could last.

  Twenty-one

  Jason debated bypassing the hierarchy at the Institute and just calling Miss Vialo in the education office for Allegra's chart. In the end, he knew there would be nothing but trouble and accepted the fact that before calling Allegra, he had to go through Ted Tushy, the chairman of the Educational Committee, to explain the reason for such an unorthodox action. He left a message for Ted in his office, and Ted called him back less than an hour later. All day Jason had been screening his calls, which made his patients entirely paranoid and nuts. It was exhausting dealing with their edginess along with everything else.

  When Ted called him back, Jason was with a patient, but finally they connected. "What's the crisis?" Ted asked.

  "Maslow Atkins is missing. It's possible he's been treating a psychopath. I need to reach her."

  "We can't have a violation of patient confidentiality." Ted was as dogmatic on the subject as Bernie had been. A colleague's life was at stake. They didn't get it.