She put her arms around him. "I'm afraid," she admitted.
"Well, you're safe," he told her. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
"It's not myself I'm worried about," she said softly as he left.
When Jason got back to his office, his patient—a young psychiatric resident who didn't know Jason lived next door—was sitting in the waiting room, tapping his foot impatiently. The man stared at the wet spots on Jason's shirt, and then his face, clearly trying to figure out where Jason had been in the dead of winter, and what he'd been doing, without his jacket or coat. Jason excused himself for a moment to go into his office and try April again. She still wasn't in.
9
Rosa Washington heard the phone ring in the suit e where her office was located. She ran down the hall to get it before the secretary picked up and whined to whoever was on the line that no one was there. No one at all. Everyone was sick or dead, and the place was falling apart. The woman was a bit of a loon even for the morgue. Rosa thought they must have gotten her from Bellevue's psych bin down the street.
"I'm here," Rosa called as she jogged into the suite, her white coat flapping around a fresh scrub suit. "Is it him?"
"He." Elinor Dunn corrected her boss's grammar with a shake of her graying head.
Rosa scowled at the thin, wispy woman, nearly twice her age, whose disapproving face always gave Rosa the feeling that she herself was a fake, always on the brink of making some ghastly social or grammatical faux pas.
The nasty woman punched a button and held the receiver away from her ear as if it had lice. "It's a Mrs. Petersen. She sounds English," she hissed. "And you have company." She jerked her head at two detectives standing inside the door of Rosa's office.
Rosa gave them a small smile and removed her cap.
"Himself did call twice, since you asked." Elinor made a point of checking her notes as to what Himself had said. "He said to hold off on Petersen and the Liberty woman. He's coming in tomorrow for sure."
Rosa didn't let her face show her disappointment as she turned away. Her two prizes had been on ice since four this morning. Already it had been a twelve-hour wait to open them up. There was no excuse for this. None at all. They didn't have a full house at the moment, and there was certainly nobody who couldn't wait. These two babies were hers. By anybody's rights they were hers. She'd been arguing this to herself all day. Hadn't she been there and seen them in situ? Hadn't she, in fact, been practically the first one on the scene? You couldn't get more conscicntious than that. In her mink coat, no less. She was proud of thc mink coat. It could take anything.
"Hi, guys, what's up?" She smiled at the two cops, covcring every negative feeling she had. She tossed thc cap on the desk and pointed at April. '''You're April Woo, right?"
As far as Rosa knew, there wasn't another female Chink detective. She turned to the Hispanic. "Who's this? Oh, yeah." She smacked her forehead. "I couldn't mistake that bit of facial foliage, now could I? You're Sanchez, Two-O, right?"
"Wow, I'm impressed at the good memory, Doc. But I'm in Homicide now."
"Well, good for you, we'll be meeting more often, then. What brings you two over here?"
"What's the schedule on Petersen and Liberty?" April said. "We're under some pressure here."
"Well, have a seat and relax." Rose threw herself in her chair and swiveled back and forth. "You know I can't believe this. I've got those two babies down there waiting for me. And I ean't open them up."
"What's the problem?" Mike asked.
"You haven't heard? Dr. Abraham is home sick."
"Oh, yeah?" Mike said. "And?"
"And, he doesn't want the cameras on anybody else."
"Too bad," Mike sympathized.
"Was I not there first?" Rosa demanded of April. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."
"Yeah, you were there first. In your mink coat. Nice coat."
"You like it?" Rosa beamed.
"Who wouldn't? How did you get the call? Someone beep you?"
"No, I was off last night." She laughed. "But who of us is ever really off? No, I like to know what's coming down. I have a beef about these non-MD inspectors going to the scene. You know how much training they have? Believe me, it may seem cheaper in the short term. But the public is going to suffer in the long run. These guys miss a lot, that's for sure. No, I pick up what's on the scanner. If I'm in the neighborhood, I'll hop over."
The pretty Chinese woman had a closed face. She sat on the end of her chair. She wasn't relaxed. Rosa wished she'd lighten up. "And I thought I got lucky last night. No way these two babies aren't mine. Am I right?" she asked April.
"Sure. So, what's going to happen now? We need a death report."
"Blinky's out sick, too," Rosa went on.
"Who's Blinky?" April asked.
"Blinky's the other deputy. He's got a drooping eyelid, so we call him Blinky."
"You mean George?" Mike asked.
"Yeah, Blinky."
"Is that why he's out sick? The eyelid?" The Chink was still deadpan. Not exactly a barrel of laughs, that one.
Rosa laughed anyway. "Oh no, he's out because one of his babies infected him with hepatitis A. I'd call that pretty careless, wouldn't you?"
Mike nodded. "It kind of gives you the willies about playing with other people's blood, doesn't it?"
"You have any leads yet?" Rosa got serious and tapped her desk with a pencil.
"Early days," Mike said. "Give us a call tomorrow. I'd like to be present."
"Fine, I'll let you know." She stood up to show she was done with them, then changed her mind and took them to the door. Then she walked down the hall with them to the elevator. But after all that they still didn't tell her anything worth knowing.
10
Yes, sir, he told me to go straight home from the theater." Until this point in the interview Wallace Jefferson, Jr., had held Mike's eye without wavering. Now he looked down at his big-knuckled hands, clenching the natty cap he held in his lap. "I'm sorry I did. If I'd been there to pick them up, that fine gentleman and lady would still be alive."
And how could they be sure of that? April was feeling less than patient with this one. Her exhaustion was returning after a second wind that had lasted most of the day. Now it was nearly six, and she was in a hurry to get out of there and meet with Jason and Emma, who'd left a message saying she could come to their apartment at six-thirty.
Okay, there it was. A patch of white showing in Jefferson's apparently downcast eyes, as if he was actually trying to look up at her and Mike from his half-closed lids to gauge their reaction without the appearance of doing so.
"They were fine people. I will miss them," he intoned, speaking like a worshiper in church and not a suspect in a grubby precinct interview room.
"Did your boss often send you home to fend for himself in the middle of snowstorms?" Mike asked.
"He was a thoughtful man. I live in New Jersey."
"Doesn't it seem contrary to the point of having a chauffeur, though?" Mike mused.
"Sir?"
"Isn't the point of a chauffeur to have him around in the worst weather?"
Jefferson's eyes came alive at this. "I do—did— whatever Mr. Petersen asked me to do. Whenever he sent me home he had his own reasons."
"What reason do you think he had last night?"
"What reason?"
Wally Jefferson seemed acutely respectable with his dark suit and dark driver's cap, his manner of almost exaggerated gentleness, and his voice that was soft, reverent, and well spoken. To April he seemed old-style African-American in the same way her mother was old-style Chinese. Everything hidden behind a predetermined formula for expression that could be altered neither by flattery nor torture.