"No. I just didn't think it was he."
"I'm going to ask you one last time. Don't hold back. Do you have any other thoughts on Al Frayme or anything else?"
"Yeah." Jack scratched his stubbly chin. "Am I next?"
"Let's put it this way. How do you feel about taking a little vacation?" April asked.
"You mean you'd like me to get out of here?"
"We would," April said softly. "Let us do what we have to do."
Mike nodded. "Go someplace only you know about."
Jack scratched his chin. "Okay," he said. "I hear you."
Mike and April were finished and got up together. It was time to rock and roll.
Forty-three
The alumni office of York University was housed on the second floor of the main administration building on Fourteenth Street, right next to Admissions. Beyond the small reception area, Albert Delano Frayme had a small cubicle without a window. When April and Mike arrived there at noon and flashed their gold, he was busy strewing his napkin-spread work space with crusty crumbs from a French-bread sandwich.
"Lieutenant Sanchez, Sergeant Woo," Mike said.
He took a moment to chew and swallow. "Oh, excuse me. I didn't have time for breakfast today. I was just taking an early lunch." He put the half-eaten baguette down and flashed an apologetic smile. "Marty isn't in right now. Is there something I can do?"
"We'd like to talk to Albert Frayme," Mike said, eyeing the name plaque on his desk.
"Oh. That would be me. How can I help?" Al smiled again, totally benign and relaxed.
It was a little disconcerting. He did not even remotely look like a killer. He looked like thousands of midlevel employees in companies all over the world. He had a soft voice without any discernible accent, wide shoulders on a slender build, a small head with a round face, a button nose, and an eager-to-please expression. His almost-blond hair was short in the back and long enough in front to dip into pleasant gray eyes. He looked like a very nice man, until he brushed away the crumbs on his desk and showed the flat, callused blades of his big-knuckled hands.
"We're investigating the murder of Lieutenant Bernardino last week." Mike's eyes flickered at the size of the hands, but Al didn't seem aware of their interest.
"What a loss. The lieutenant was a great guy." He shook his head and brushed his palms together.
"How well did you know him?" Mike asked.
"I wish I could offer you both seats." Frayme indicated the one chair in front of his desk. "I don't rate two chairs." He laughed.
"No problem. We can stand," Mike replied.
April didn't say anything. She was standing close to the door, inhaling deeply as if the air itself could tell her this was the man who tried to kill her. The space smelled of newly baked French bread, the citrus aftershave that Jack remembered, and something else, a rotten something.
"What did you want to know?" Al frowned as if he'd forgotten the question. He looked from one to the other with no apparent recognition of April. She would work on that.
"How well did you know Bernardino?" Mike repeated the question.
"Very well. He was an alum, of course. This is the alumni office. It's our job to keep track of them." Al shrugged.
"How do you do that?"
"We send out postcards for them to fill out their news for the alumni magazine. If they don't keep in touch, we go to their parents, ask their classmates. Then, of course, we have a press service. Every time the university name pops up in any kind of article, we get a clipping of it. Same with alums. When their names come up anywhere, we know it. God bless computers, right?"
"How did Bernardino's name come up?"
"Oh, his name has always been on the front burner. He's spoken here many times. He was a local hero, you know. Everybody tried to get him to fix their parking tickets." Al laughed again. "Not that he'd do anything to help," he added quickly. "But he was useful with security issues. He helped us out… and, of course, a few years back when that girl was murdered in Chinatown, we did an article on him in the alumni magazine."
April flashed again to her first big case, the one that had made Bernardino notice her. She'd been the link to the family after the little girl was kidnapped by a neighbor for ransom. She was the only one in the unit who could speak Chinese.
"Then we had a theft here. It wasn't even Bernie's territory, but he helped us out with it. A real nice guy." Al Frayme nodded. "A good cop."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Oh…" Frayme scratched his chin. "Let's see. Hmmmm. I don't know that I saw him. I called him a few times."
"Why?"
He grinned. "His name came up when he won the lottery. He was a big winner. You knew that."
Mike shifted from one foot to the other. "And?"
"Well, it was a natural progression. He's always been a great friend to the university. My job is to make the ask. I knew him the best, so I was the one to make the ask."
"You called him up?"
"Oh, yes, several times."
"Where did you call him?"
"I called him at the precinct before he left. I called with my condolences after his wife died. Let's see." He pursed his lips. "I called a few weeks later to see how he was doing. We were going to have lunch, but-"
"How do you make the ask?" Mike broke in.
"Why do you want to know all this?" He looked bewildered by the interest.
"Two of your donors and personal friends were murdered. Struck with a karate chop." Mike demonstrated.
He laughed some more. "A karate chop? I don't think so."
"Why not?"
He looked at his hands for the first time. "From what I've heard it's not that easy. You might be able to disable somebody for a little while. But kill, no. Maybe a child," he amended.
"You seem to know a lot about it."
"I just use it for balance. Am I a suspect?" he asked, stroking the blade of his left hand.
April guessed he was left-handed. It was time to pin down the ME on which arm the killer had used to yoke Bernie. The death report hadn't come in yet, and not even the preliminary death report was in on Birdie. Gloss was being thorough. He had speculated on the scene that a blunt weapon, maybe the side of a hand, could have made the artifacts on Birdie's neck, but he wasn't sure. He wanted to photograph the bruises and try to make impressions of different possible weapons to see what matched. He hadn't speculated about which-handed the killer was.
"You do karate?" Mike asked.
"I think you know I do. Or you wouldn't be here. It doesn't make me a killer. Lots of people do it."
"True, but probably none of them know both victims." Mike and April did not look at each other as Al laughed comfortably.
"Well, you can rule me out. I love God's creatures. I couldn't kill a cockroach."
"That's good to know. Then you won't mind telling us where you were the last two Wednesday evenings."
"Oh, that's easy. I was right here. This is our big season. Graduation, reunion. I'll be working pretty much twenty hours a day until the end of June. Our office has a big goal this year."
"What kind of goal?"
Al made a face. "Ten million."
"Is that unusual?"
"It sure is. The alumni office does not traditionally go after the big donors. We're on notice, like everyone else."
"Did anyone see you?"
"When?"
"The last two Wednesday nights?"
"Oh, I don't count them, but I'm sure. There are plenty of people around here all the time."
Mike made a note, then changed the subject. "Tell me about making the ask."
Al lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, God. It's an art, and I love it. People don't always know that they need to give back. But they really do. The fun part is opening their eyes to the need. They're so happy when it comes together for them."
"What do you mean, people need to give?" April spoke for the first time. He shifted his eyes to her and gave her an odd smile.
"Have you ever noticed how messed up rich people are?" he asked.