Tracking Time

by Leslie Glass

  Big sigh. "Yes, Brandy. I remember Peachy found you covered with cow manure in Montauk."

  "Yes, yes." Brandy bounced in her chair. "In a nursery greenhouse. Anyway, it was so cool. These cops were asking everybody questions, you know, looking for this guy. And because of the tracking dog there, I told them all about John. I told them John's dog was much smarter than their dog. And you know what? You won't believe this, Mom. This Chinese cop, she knew John. She actually knew him. So, like, we have this great conversation, and I go, 'Call John and have him look for the guy.'

  "And you know what? She did call John. Today Peachy was out there and he found the guy. Isn't that just amazing? I solved the case. I'm a celebrity. Maybe I should be a cop, Mom. She had this big gun. She told me I could shoot it and everything."

  Another big sigh. "Brandy, why didn't you tell me all this yesterday?"

  "I didn't know they'd find him."

  "About the dog and the cops and all that. You didn't mention any of it. In fact, I don't remember seeing you last night. We didn't have dinner together, did we?"

  "You're not going crazy like Dad said, are you, Mom?" Brandy took another French fry, dipped it in catsup, stuck out her tongue at David, showing off her tongue pierce that just drove him nuts.

  "I'm not crazy," Cheryl screamed. "He just says that to get back at me."

  "For what, Mom?"

  "Don't change the subject. Where the hell were you last night? That's the question."

  "Don't you remember? You were in this horrible mood because Aston didn't call you after your surgery. Do you think Aston won't marry you when he sees your fat lip?"

  "Brandy, I don't want you talking about that."

  "Okay, Mom. But you were in a stinking mood. You didn't want to order in or anything."

  "Brandy, I've had a hard week. I hope you're not lying to me about this."

  "How could I be lying?"

  "I don't know, sweetheart." A third big sigh. "I'm just trying to heal, you know, from a truly abusive relationship. And I can't imagine your getting mixed up with police or awful people in the park. You know what I mean? People get killed in there, and I don't want you to get killed. I want you to be a healthy girl."

  "I am a healthy girl. I'm going to gym, aren't I?"

  "Look, this cop is coming at quarter to three on the dot. He was going to pick you up at school, but I talked him out of it. I swear to God if I didn't feel so fucking terrible I'd come and get you right now."

  "Thanks Mom, I love you."

  "And don't call your father about this. It's none of his business."

  Brandy hung up, laughing. "She is such a flake. I swear to God."

  David finished the waffle fries and ordered a brownie hot fudge sundae. "I don't feel so hot."

  "Did you take your Ritalin? You know how that tears your stomach up."

  "I feel funny."

  "You always feel funny."

  "Maybe I should call my mother."

  "Yeah, go ahead."

  David reached for his phone but it rang before he could dial her number.

  "Mom!"

  "David, I've just been pulled out of the third meeting today because of you. Why didn't you go to school this morning? Why humiliate me like this?"

  "I'm really sorry. I just felt so sick. I couldn't hold my head up."

  Her tone changed immediately. "What's the matter?"

  "My stomach hurts. I don't know. My head hurts. I just can't concentrate when it hurts this much. I didn't want to bother you with it."

  "The school called."

  "I'm really sorry. I didn't want to bother you."

  "You're supposed to go to the nurse when you feel bad. That's what the nurse is for."

  "I know. I didn't want to make a big deal of it."

  "Well, David. I hope you learned your lesson. I don't want a repeat of last year. You have to stay in communication. I thought we had an understanding about that."

  "We do."

  "Well, I called you about a dozen times and you didn't pick up."

  "I was sleeping."

  "And that wasn't the only call I got."

  "I bet I can guess. Was it a cop?"

  "Yes! How did you know?"

  "I talked to a cop yesterday. They were taking everybody's name and number. It's no big deal."

  "He's coming over to the house. I'll be there in a half an hour. I'm leaving early. I'm going to call your father, too. If the police get there before I do, I don't want you to say anything until I get there."

  "What did he tell you?"

  "He wanted to know where you were last night."

  David licked his lips. "I was at home."

  "I know, sweetheart. I'll see you in a few minutes."

  David raised his hand for the bill. "I gotta go. He's coming to my house first."

  Fifty-one

  Mike stood waiting outside the red-painted door of the Owens' Park Avenue apartment for a full ten minutes. He kept checking his watch and thinking of Grace Rodriguez begging them to find Dylan but not to tell anyone that she was Maslow's half-sister. First go-round with these kids was his. He was meeting April afterward. She was still trying to get the story on Dylan Rodriguez from her mother.

  Finally Mrs. Owen opened the door. "Oh, I didn't hear the bell," she said, admitting him with a little flurry but no apology.

  Janice Owen was a tall, big-framed, pale-faced woman in an expensive-looking gray suit and red blouse. Her fingernails were a matching fire engine red and her fine straight hair of many golden hues was more than just air- or blow-dried. She wore a gold necklace of large chain links with a silver dollar-sized antique coin in the middle. A matching bracelet peeked out of one suit sleeve and a gold Rolex out of the other. Her wedding ring was a plain gold band, and her blue eyes made it clear that she was not happy to see him.

  "Yes, come in. I'm Janice Owen, David's mother. I'm sorry the place is such a mess. The maid didn't come in today. I just got back from the office. I'm Vice President at York Bank," she said as if she were the only one.

  "It's crazy right now. We're going through a merger, another one. You know how that is, Officer-?"

  "Lieutenant Sanchez," Mike told her. She didn't offer her hand so he didn't offer his. As for mergers, his own little company of forty thousand had merged Transit, Traffic, and Housing police not too long ago. It had caused a major shakeup among the bosses so he did know how it was. He noticed that the apartment was immaculate even without benefit of maid.

  She went on, "David's father, my husband, is a corporate partner at Debevoise Plompton. That's the Wall Street law firm. What can we do for you?" She was very self-assured.

  The foyer, painted as red as the front door and its owner's nails, was as large as Mike's living room. The four doors leading off it were all closed. Like a tugboat leading a garbage scow, Mrs. Owen brought Mike into a wood-paneled library with a huge TV, surround sound in its bookcases, a burgundy leather sofa, two black-and-white-and-red tweed armchairs, a large coffee table covered with ostrich eggs and balls made of woven twigs that had a strong pine smell. A bar in the corner featured many wine bottles, crystal glasses in various shapes, and colored liquors in fancy decanters. It was a grand place, a fantasy place. April would like it because red was a lucky color. But it was not Mike's kind of thing at all.

  Janice watched his face for a reaction.

  "Beautiful room," he said dutifully.

  "Thank you. Please sit down." Mrs. Owen took a chair and crossed her legs.

  Since the chair opposite her was about three blocks away, Mike sat on the sofa. "As I told you on the phone, Mrs. Owen, I'm here to talk with your son, David."

  "Well, let's get this over with as quickly as possible. He's under a lot of stress. He's a junior in high school, and I don't want to upset him. You know how important junior year is for college. He has his heart set on Amherst, his father's alma mater, and that's about the hardest school to get into." She seemed to take it for granted that Mike would be interes
ted in this.

  "I will try not to upset him. Where is he?"

  "Oh, we're always in touch. I know where he is every moment. I called him on his cell phone. He's on his way home from the doctor." Janice Owen was a woman who had cultivated the appearance of composure and ease. She gave Mike a comfortable smile that showed just how uncomfortable she was. "He should be here any second."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "Oh, he's had the flu for the last few days, nothing serious." Janice tapped her fingers on her knees. "It's terrible to start the school year sick. It puts them at such a disadvantage, and he has to struggle as it is. Documented learning disability." She shook her head. "We've never been visited by the police. David is a good boy. We've never had any trouble with him at all." She finally ventured to ask the question on her mind. "What is this about?"

  "Does David miss school a lot?" Mike kept on the flu story.

  "Oh no, no. He doesn't miss school at all. He's a very serious boy. No, this week he's been terribly sick. He couldn't get out of bed for days. Even last weekend he was extremely droopy. Sometimes it happens at the beginning of the year. You know how it is, hundreds of kids, all those germs getting passed around. Would you like something to drink? I have something soft if you'd like. How about a cookie?"

  "No thanks."

  Mrs. Owen glanced at her Rolex. "What do you want to talk to David about?"

  "His name came up. We're just checking on a few things."

  "Do they always send lieutenants to question schoolboys?" She gave him an ingratiating smile.

  "Oh sure. It's no big deal." Mike pulled on his mustache in a self-deprecating way, then took out his notebook. He started jotting down his impressions. This irritated Mrs. Owen enormously.

  "Is there anything I can tell you?" she asked coldly. "I'd love to clear this up for you. I know my son very well."

  "Not really, not at this time."

  The front door opened and closed. "Oh, there he is, thank God!" She quit the chair in a single motion and hurried into the hall, closing the door after her.

  Mike heard her voice, and the muffled sound of a boy's reply, but none of the words that passed between them. The two of them came into the library together, Janice Owen clutching her son's arm. The boy was big, very big, rumpled but well dressed. He had a sullen expression, but no worse than most of the kids his age, and he was doing just fine on his own. He didn't need his mother to prop him up.

  Mike got to his feet.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, sir," David said politely. He glanced quickly at his mother, then back at Mike. He tried, but was not able to repossess his arm.

  "This is Lieutenant Sanchez," she told him, holding on for dear life.

  "You're not the guy we talked to yesterday," David remarked suspiciously.

  "No, I'm not," Mike said.

  "What's going on?"

  Mike smiled at him and spoke in his nice-guy voice. "That's what I'm here to ask you. Your mother tells me you've missed a couple of days of school."

  David hung his head. "Yes. I'm sorry. I should have gone to the nurse."

  "Why don't you tell me about it," Mike suggested and sat down again.

  David stood where he was and spoke, mostly to his supreme authority, his mom. "I just went to a friend's house," he told her. "No big deal." He didn't seem a bit afraid of Mike.

  "Would you rather talk about this at the station?" Mike asked.

  "No, no!" Janice said. "That won't be necessary. He'll come clean," she said, now joking a little. "Go ahead, David, tell the officer everything and get it over with." David stood in front of Mike as if he were on the carpet and Mike were the headmaster of his school. He lowered his chin to his chest and mumbled, "I didn't feel well. I cut school. I hung out with a friend. I'm sorry, Mom. I know I should have told you."

  "The friend's name?" Mike asked.

  "Brandy Fabman."

  "Jesus," Janice exploded. "That girl!"

  Mike turned to her. "I'd love that glass of water you offered."

  She blushed as she caught herself opening her big mouth with an editorial comment. There was no water source in the room. She couldn't send her son or her secretary from the office, or her maid, to the kitchen to get water. She had to leave the room and wait on a cop herself.

  David acknowledged Mike with a respectful smile for pulling off the maneuver.

  "And what did you and Brandy do?" Mike asked when she was gone.

  "Today? We went out for breakfast. We walked on Madison Avenue. We went to her place. We watched videos." He blushed and scratched his head. "That's about it."

  Mike picked up the blush and knew what they'd been doing. "How about yesterday?"

  "Pretty much the same thing. We go to the Plaza Diner on Madison. They'll tell you we were there. It was, like, a one-time thing. Brandy was upset. Her mom had this surgery and wanted her to stay home. I was just keeping her company. I hate school."

  "Oh, David." Mrs. Owen came back into the room with a glass of water in her hand, shaking her head angrily. "How could you say such a thing? You love school. Without school, you'll never get ahead in life." She handed the glass of water to Mike. "Here you go."

  "Thanks." Mike felt kind of sorry for the kid. Maybe he didn't want to get ahead in life. "Tell me about the dogs," he said.

  "What dogs?" Now Janice Owen was really taken aback.

  Forty-five minutes later, with a clear picture of David's situation at home, Mike was in the elevator on his way up to Brandy Fabman's apartment. What he'd seen was a kid involved with a girl. He was playing hooky and felt bad about lying to his mother, but didn't seem to have anything else on his conscience. A lot of kids were like that. David had a lovely home, prominent family, concerned mother. Not an uncommon picture for this, or any other part of town. The father was on his way home but didn't make it before Mike left. Mike did not think it was the right moment to bring up the pot-smoking issue. He wanted to get David alone in the station house feeling safe before he really questioned him about his comings and goings in Central Park-with the tape recorder going and another detective at his side. Maybe a woman. He had no particular female in mind, of course. They'd make a video of his statement. He'd been in the park. He wasn't clean, and none of it was part of the fiction he told his mom.

  He also thought that the story about John and the dog sounded pretty odd, but kids loved animals. Mike had always wanted a dog himself. He didn't get the feeling the boy was involved in the Maslow case. David had never even heard of Maslow, had no connection to him, or motive for hurting him. But Mike was a detective and would not rule anything out. What he thought he saw was a kid seeking attention to please a girl. But there was a lot more going on than he was willing to tell in front of his mother.

  At the Fabman home, Brandy opened the door before he rang the bell. She was a small girl, all excited by the visit. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She looked like any kid still in the baby fat stage.

  "Hi, I'm Brandy," she said. "Were you the cop terrorizing David?"

  Mike nodded. "He's a lot shorter now. I'm Lieutenant Sanchez."

  "You're cute," Brandy said.

  Under his mustache, Mike smiled. Then her mother wiped it off his face. Cheryl Fabman appeared and immediately took center stage. A real stunner, Brandy's mother had the looks that Janice Owen could only dream about. Slender body in a green cashmere T-shirt and matching green silk toreador pants. High heels made her legs look two miles long. She, too, had red nails and heavy gold jewelry. Maybe the nails and jewelry were symptoms of a disease called the Park Avenue Syndrome.

  "Hi, I'm Cheryl, Brandy's mom. Please speak freely," she instructed him, as if she were the one doing the interview. Then she grabbed his hand and held on to it for a while.

  Brandy smiled at him and showed off her tongue pierce. Cheryl turned her head, caught sight of it, and almost fell down in a dead faint. Apparently she hadn't known it was there.

  Fifty-two

  After the p
oliceman 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.