Tracking Time

by Leslie Glass

  "Body parts, querida?"

  April gave him her deadpan look. "John Zumech kept body parts in his garage for training the dogs. Brandy and David knew all about it."

  "Okay, I gathered this morning that John had some personal concern about this. And then David told me all about his father's Mercedes. I didn't put the two together."

  "This gives me the creeps." April swiveled angrily. She knew what Mike was thinking. She'd talked to the girl and boy yesterday, let them go. He'd questioned them again today and hadn't been alerted to the danger. Both of them had missed the signals. She was not able to comfort herself with the fact that it happened all the time. It wasn't unusual to come back and question a suspect many times before getting the real story. It wasn't always so easy to nail someone. But in this case, Pee Wee might not have died. And somewhere Maslow might still be out there.

  Mike gave Woody the Owens' number to check the garage. "Find out if David took the car out last night, will you?"

  It was time to move. April touched his arm. "Did you ask David's and Brandy's mothers if there were any firearms in their homes?"

  "Yes, April. I did. Neither family has an interest in guns. In fact, David said he's terrified of them."

  "Well, Brandy is interested."

  "Her mother said they both hated guns. Put on your vest anyway," he ordered.

  "Okay, I'll borrow one for you."

  "I don't need one," he protested.

  "Rules is rules. I'll borrow one for you. You'll wear it."

  He smiled. "It's nice to be together."

  "Yeah, sure. How much backup are you thinking?" "They're just kids," Mike said. "Little crazy rabbits. We'll keep this thing low-key. The fewer people the better. What do you say?"

  April nodded. They could call in for backup if things got hairy. Good thing Iriarte had gone home. One fewer person to worry about.

  At eight-forty-five an astonished Janice Owen opened her front door to April, wearing navy slacks, and a jacket with "POLICE" in big yellow letters across the back.

  "Mrs. Owen, I'm Sergeant Woo," April told her.

  A tall man with blond hair, wearing a well-cut dark suit, appeared in the doorway beside Janice Owen. "What's this all about?" he asked, looking very surprised.

  "Mr. Owen, I'm Sergeant Woo." April introduced herself again. "This is Detective Baum." Woody was standing behind her. He inclined his head but didn't say anything. He, too, was wearing a police jacket. The couple was horrified by them.

  "Yes, yes. Hello. What's going on? Where's David?" He looked panicky.

  "Do you mind if we come in?" April said gently.

  There was a pause in which nobody moved. The couple locked eyes.

  "No, of course not." Mr. Owen was the first to back away from the door. His wife was frozen. He took her arm and moved her back. "Come in. What's the problem?"

  "Thank you." April entered and looked around the large foyer. It was every bit as grand as Mike had described it, but she was no longer intimidated by the trappings of wealth. She felt fortified by the jacket that broadcast her business. On Park Avenue no one was going to shoot her for wearing it. She was in a hurry to talk to the boy. Woody followed her inside. Two uniforms waited out in the elevator foyer. The Owens were in shock.

  "We need to talk to your son, David," April told them.

  "He isn't here. You'll have to come back." Mrs. Owen kept a wary eye on Woody, standing at ease, one hand holding the fingers of the other in front of his partially zipped jacket, as if she thought he might open fire at any moment with the pistol she knew was concealed in there.

  "Where is he?" April was surprised. John had told her the boy was grounded.

  Mrs. Owen raked a hand through her blond hair, talking quickly. "He's on his way home from a doctor's appointment. He called to say he's stuck in traffic."

  "When was that?" April asked, pretty sure he was in the apartment.

  "An hour ago. What is this all about?" Mrs. Owen was trying to stay cool. The hand raised to her throat was trembling.

  They stood in the grand foyer, the two cops and the parents of the missing suspect. For April, having to telling someone a precious loved one was dead or injured was the worst thing in the world. Telling a parent that a loved child had hurt or killed someone else was almost as bad. These parents had no idea what was coming. Mr. Owen put his hand on his wife's shoulder. April could see him signal her to shut up.

  "He took your car out last night," she said, starting with an easy one.

  "Is there a problem with that? Borrowing the family car is not against the law. All kids do it." He looked at his wife. The kid took the car out. He hadn't known that.

  April gave him a neutral face. "He's doesn't have a driver's license."

  "So what?" The lawyer began to bluster like the wind kicking up in a storm.

  Then the wife joined in. "A detective was here this afternoon, and we've had three other calls from the police this evening. Why are you harassing our son? He hasn't done anything."

  April nodded at Woody. He escalated quickly.

  "We're investigating a homicide, ma'am," he said.

  "A homicide?" Mrs. Owen was astounded. "What could David know about a homicide?" She grabbed her husband's arm.

  "What homicide, where-?" he responded to her alarm.

  "We're not at liberty to talk about it at this time," Woody said, looking at his boss.

  "Look, I can't let you talk to him until I know what this is all about. You can make an appointment and can talk to him with a lawyer present." Mr. Owen moved to open the door. The kid wasn't there. He wanted them to go. But it didn't work like that. He was just another parent who didn't know what was going on with his child and couldn't do anything to help him.

  April felt a little sorry for them. "In ordinary circumstances that would be fine. But that won't be possible tonight. One man is dead, another is missing. David may be the only one who can help us find him."

  "Oh God." His mother swooned.

  "I'd like to see his room."

  Janice Owen made a small cry, as if her whole world were coming to an end.

  "I need to consult a lawyer about that," Mr. Owen said.

  "For Christ's sake, you are a lawyer."

  "Not a criminal lawyer, Janice."

  "I'm not going to take anything at this time. But we have to secure the room," April interjected.

  The two began to argue between themselves. Now was the time for blaming. Later would come the time for defending. April knew the whole story before they did. Her only interest was locating and talking to the boy. She found his room. He wasn't in it. It had a strong and not appealing boy smell that almost made her change her mind about taking something. But she did take something. She bagged the pillowcase on his unmade bed. Then she called in Officer Hays, who'd been waiting outside the apartment. He taped up the door of David's room with police tape and stayed behind to make sure no one went in and touched anything before they got a search warrant. April and Woody were out of there.

  A few blocks uptown when Mike and several officers searched the apartment for Brandy, the completely hysterical Cheryl Fabman carried on a tirade against her missing daughter and the entire world. Neither mother could raise her child on the cell phone both had purchased to keep in constant touch.

  Fifty-nine

  When April and Woody entered the park at Seventy-seventh Street, John Zumech's red Cherokee and Mike's red Camaro were already parked side by side on the grass. The two men were talking quietly, waiting for them. Peachy sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep with her muzzle resting on the partly opened window. There was no repeat of the morning's frenzy in the dog now. But four people were off their radar screens, and the officers were pumping adrenaline.

  Woody stopped the car next to the other two and killed the engine. They had BOLOS (be on the lookout) for Brandy, David, Dylan, and Maslow. Nothing yet.

  April took a deep breath, made a quick prayer, and got out. This was where Maslow had disap
peared and she and Woody had started on this case forty-eight hours ago. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees to the low sixties, and the humidity was high. Conditions were almost the same as then. She felt a little chilled in the evening air and was glad she'd changed into the long pants and sneakers in her locker.

  Tonight a deepening cloud cover obscured the sky and threatened more rain. The park lights were on, glowing eerily in another steamy Indian summer evening.

  John raised his hand, and the two men approached. "Have you got your maps, April?" Now he was wearing the Search and Rescue orange jumpsuit with bulging pockets. A water bottle hung on his belt. He had raccoon eyes and his jaw was clenched, emphasizing the scar beside his mouth. He held the flat leash in his hand.

  "How are you doing, John?" April greeted him.

  "Pissed. I've been thinking about what happened last night. Peachy and I must have been out running when David came. She would never have let anyone near the house. Not even someone she knows." He shook his head angrily. "This is hard to believe. I don't know what happened to them. They were solid kids."

  "They're dopers, and they're out here somewhere," April said grimly..

  "The bastards made a fool of me for trusting them. They violated everything sacred about this profession- and when it gets out I had those jars in my garage-shit, the press is going to go nuts."

  Not to mention the people a little closer to him, like his employer, the PD, and maybe the health department. April glanced at Mike. He tapped his watch.

  "Are we waiting for anyone?" she asked.

  "Everyone at CP knows we're here. About a dozen officers are en route," Mike said.

  "Woody checked out the Owens' garage. The Mercedes is there now, but David took it last night. The garage attendant doesn't punch the time cards for cars with regular spaces, but he was certain David returned the car before they closed their gate at midnight. After that, the customers have to ring for entry."

  Woody with the sensitive nose put his two cents in. "The garage guy told me the car stank so bad when it came in, he had to spray it with air freshener before he would get in."

  Zumech swore. "I'll kill the little snot."

  In the Jeep, Peachy whined. The trainer changed his tone to warm honey. "Good girl. You good, good girl. You ready to get started, sweetheart? That's great. Just a minute and we're going to work." He signaled the dog, and Peachy became silent.

  John was over the top. His jaw was working so hard April could hear his mandibles pop.

  "John, are you okay?"

  "Let's get going. I want to nail him."

  "Do you think Peachy can find him?" April asked.

  "My guess is that David has been out here a lot. He knows the park well, and murderers do often return to the scene of the crime. We know he was here yesterday afternoon. We know he was here last night when he attacked your victim. If he's here now, Peachy can find him."

  "What about the Fabman apartment?" April asked.

  "I called Fabman at home. He told me he's been in frequent touch with his ex-wife. Neither of them knows where their daughter is," Mike said.

  A little whine from Peachy. These humans were sure taking their time.

  "Hey, Peachy, Peachy, Peachy. We're coming, sweetheart."

  "I have a present for you." April jerked her head at the car. Woody retrieved the scent bag and held it up.

  "That's David?" Now John was really excited. "I have one, too, but mine is real old." He produced an old Path-mark shopping bag, tied at the top and sealed with masking tape.

  April handed John the scent bag with the pillowcase from David's unmade bed. Triumphantly, John took it to the Jeep.

  "Look, follow me at a distance, will you? You still stink." He directed this over his shoulder at Mike. "And by the way, this is going to be a wild ride. David's been all over the place in the last two days. If he's been where Maslow is and we're real lucky, Peachy could lead us there. But she may just pick up David's scent and take us a bunch of other places. Don't panic if she takes us all the way back to his apartment on the East Side. Peachy is a genius, but doesn't know from time frames. All she knows is where the scent particles pooled."

  John stopped by the car and gestured for the three cops to step back while he opened the car door, snapped on Peachy's leash, and talked to the dog. He gave her a biscuit, crooned softly to her in tones women dream of hearing from their lovers. Then he opened the scent bag for Peachy to smell. The dog took her time with the bag, licked at the pillowcase as if it were food, tried to jump in.

  April, Mike, and Woody stood off to one side. A few people watched them from a distance. They were used to being stared at.

  "Go find," John said finally.

  Peachy lifted her head to air scent, forgot the earlier command for silence, gave a little yip of joy, and took off, dragging her master and the three police officers after her.

  Sixty

  David and Brandy walked west on Sixtieth. David was trying to think things out. A detective had been to his house. By now his dad would know that. His mother and father never agreed about anything, but they would agree about this. If they found out he'd skipped his shrink, they'd punish him big time. If they found out about the car, they'd freak out completely. He didn't want to get in trouble, but he didn't care anymore. By now he and Brandy had long ago missed the six o'clock news on TV. He needed a drink or a joint, something to chill so he wouldn't worry so much. They hit Park Avenue. David's stomach stabbed him with killing force. His ulcer was killing him. He could almost feel it begin to seep blood. The pressure to do something really bad on his own was tremendous. Something without Brandy nagging at him and getting in the way. He felt like killing the girl in the cave his own way. That should be his job alone. He could do it the way he wanted. Then he could tell Brandy about it later. That was the best way. Two of them together never got the job done right. She'd forgotten the finger. That was pretty irresponsible. He wouldn't have done that.

  They stopped on the corner. Brandy looked up. The wind was kicking up, and the sky had completely clouded over. He used that as an excuse.

  "It's going to rain, maybe you better go home," he said.

  "I don't want to. I want to stay with you." She took his arm.

  He pulled away from her. "Look, Brandy, it would be better if I handled this myself." He started walking faster. He'd made up his mind.

  Brandy followed him a few steps. "David, don't you love me?"

  "Sure, I love you."

  "If you love me, why didn't you buy me a gift?"

  "What are you talking about?" He wasn't in the mood for this.

  "You didn't buy me a gift. You're supposed to do that," she complained.

  "Jesus, Brandy, I've got stuff to do. How about I bring you a gift? A human sacrifice. Would that do it?"

  "Maybe. But I want a Prada bag, too."

  He snorted. Prada bag. "Go home, Brandy."

  She skipped to catch up. "Maybe I don't want to."

  "It's not yours to choose. I'm the boss here. That's the way it has to be."

  "Who says so?" Defiantly, she put her hand on his arm.

  He took her fingers and bent them back until she squealed. "Ow, that hurts. Let go."

  "Who's the master?"

  "You are, now let go."

  He let go and backed away.

  "You hurt me," she said with tears in her eyes.

  "I did not. You forced me to do it. Now go home and behave yourself."

  She rubbed her wrist. "Will you meet me later?"

  "Yeah, sure." He was thinking about the girl in the cave and what he could do to her.

  "Call me on my cell?"

  "Sure."

  "Will you buy me a Prada bag?"

  "Whatever. You're my girlfriend, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, I need taxi money."

  He gave her a twenty and hailed a cab going north on Park.

  "You love me, don't you?" she said as she got in.

  "I said you're my girlfrien
d." He slammed the car door and walked west. He hit Madison, then Fifth. He was wearing his Nike Airs and felt good to be alone. He crossed Fifth Avenue and saw the horse and buggies lined up across from the Plaza Hotel, where his parents used to take him for lunch at the Palm Court on Sundays when he was a little boy. He paused for a moment to take two Maalox. He saw two cops standing around outside the hotel. They didn't look his way. He crossed Fifth Avenue and entered the park on Fifty-ninth Street. He started walking northwest with his hands in his pockets, glad Brandy was gone. The evening was cool and damp, and for a few precious moments he was free of everyone.

  As he stumped along, it occurred to him that he could double back and come out at Sixty-fifth Street, or Seventy-second, then walk home and the game would be over. But the unfinished business gnawed at him. He wanted to get on top of that girl and squeeze the life out of her with his bare hands. He kept to the same course toward Sheep Meadow and the West Side. When he was deeper in the park, he started jogging. He never saw any cops in police jackets or Zumech in his orange SAR suit. He was coming from the opposite direction and missed their operation a mile away.

  He slowed his pace when he reached the lake. At nine-thirty people were still walking on the paths. He crossed the little bridge over the reeds where there used to be water and dove into the brush on the Central Park West Side. The path ended at the bridge, and the wild foliage and the grass took over. He plunged through the grass and found the gravel of the old lake bed. Here the grass was at its end-of-the-year highest, way over his head. Just as he hit the lake bed, it started to rain.

  Sixty-one

  Maslow was dripping with sweat. He had been working for hours without a break, hoping to dig and pry his way out before all the light was gone and he could see no more. A rock on the outside wedged the heavy gate in place. When he could not open it from the inside, he tried to lift it high enough to move Dylan's foot from under it. But there was not enough room above. He could lift the bottom only a little before the top edge struck against the roof.