Judging Time (14 page)

Hagedorn let that item hang in the air for a minute, then turned on his rubber-soled boots and stomped away, leaving April's door open. Out in the squad' room, a male in the holding cell started screaming in Greek.

So, Liberty and his wife had altercations that were so noisy the neighbors called the police on maybe more than one occasion. On the night of the murder Liberty had returned home and made a call to his wife in the restaurant where he knew she was dining with his best friend. But they'd already known he'd gotten home by midnight. Was it enough time for him to jog twelve blocks and wait for the two to come out of the restaurant? Did the chauffeur really go home as he claimed? Did Liberty know the chauffeur had gone home?

Eighty percent of homicides were committed by people who were related to or knew the victim. Only twenty percent were stranger killers. It was probably one of the three of them: Daphne Petersen (to make a fortune), Wally Jefferson (because he was a thief?), Liberty (because he was jealous). In any case there had to be somebody who saw something. It hadn't been snowing at midnight.

She dialed Jason's number. He picked up on the first ring. "I need your input here, Jason. What's your schedule?"

"Morning, April," Jason said. "I'm with someone."

"Thanks for picking up. When can we talk—?"

"I'm with someone right now," Jason repeated. "What about twelve-thirty? I can arrange a meeting then."

"You want me to come there?"

"Yes. See you." He hung up.

April called Dr. Washington to find out what was going on at the medical examiner's office. The phone rang ten times before voice mail picked up. April left a message and hung up the phone. Because it was outside the squad room area, there were two solid doors, a wall, and a hall between her and the Special

Cases office where Mike would return soon or not, depending on
his
mood.

Damn him. April dialed his beeper number. Five minutes later he called her back.

"Yo,
querida,
what's happening?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Where are you?"

"ME's office. We're in the middle of an autopsy here."

"Thanks for letting me know. Anybody I'd be interested in?"

"Yeah, Merrill Liberty, and guess who's with me?"

She sucked in her breath and had her fourth or fifth homicidal moment in the last twenty-four hours. Son of a bitch. For a second she was so mad at Mike she couldn't think of an appropriate reply. Then she said, "Who?"

"Your boss, Iriarte."

"That's great, Mike. That's really great. When are you coming in?" she asked coldly.

"Miss me?" he teased.

"Don't start that. You know I don't like being kept in the dark."

"Lot of things you don't like,
querida.
If
I worried about everything you don't like, we'd never get anywhere."

"We aren't anywhere."

Mike sighed. "
Es verdad.
You took off on me last night. It's just like old times, isn't it.
Ah,
well. I'll be back with a preliminary in an hour."

"I may be gone by then,
chico."

"Oh, come on, April. Don't be petty."

"You could have called."

"So could you," he snapped back. The line crackled with New York static. "Just opening her up. Gotta go."

14

J
ason was disturbed. By the clock on his desk, it was

12:35, but it seemed a lot later. He swiveled back and forth in his desk chair. "I'm not sure what you want me to do, April," he said, scratching at his beard as if he were truly perplexed.

"At the moment we have three possible suspects: Petersen's driver, Daphne Petersen—and your friend Rick Liberty."

"Fine, take the driver first."

"Wally Jefferson. He's a shady kind of guy. Liberty uses him occasionally, too. There's something off about the relationship. I'm not sure what yet. Liberty claims he stole his car. Jefferson says he had permission. Anyway, Liberty's car is missing."

"How is it relevant?"

"That's unclear."

"Okay, go on."

"The driver took Merrill and Petersen to the theater. That we
^k
now. We're not sure about the rest. Jefferson says Petersen told him to go home around 7:45. He claims he took Petersen's car and drove home to New Jersey. His wife swears he was home by ten-thirty and didn't leave her side until the next morning. We're checking with the neighbors to see if anyone noticed the limousine outside. We might find a way to shake the wife's story. . . ." April shrugged. "But so far we don't have a strong motive for Jefferson to kill his boss and Merrill Liberty. He doesn't have either the demeanor or the past history of a killer, not that that proves anything. Number two: Petersen's

widow had a lot to gain and a strong motive. He's worth over two hundred million dollars. I think she'd kill her mother to get it."

Jason whistled. "Emma told me he was about to divorce her."

"At eight-thirty this morning, she was all dressed up for a TV interview in her living room. Tonight she'll break the exclusive story of Merrill Liberty's ten-year love affair with her husband. It makes you wonder where he got her."

"Lot of buying and selling of love going around."

"Do you think Emma was holding a little something back about Merrill yesterday?"

Jason frowned. "What do you mean?"

April flipped back the pages of her notes and read. "She said Merrill and Petersen were just friends, and Rick wasn't the jealous type."

"I remember." Jason didn't comment further.

"Daphne Petersen has a different story about them. She says Rick was extremely jealous and that he beat Merrill frequently."

Jason shook his head. "April, if the woman's a suspect, she would say that."

"Maybe."

"Anyway, it's hearsay."

"Not if there are witnesses to Liberty's abuse."

"Come on, April. This is garbage. You know that. Emma would have told me if she had seen evidence of abuse. And Merrill wouldn't have put up with it."

"What if she was fearful and ashamed?"

"No.' '

"We have a record of a 911 call about a domestic disturbance at the Liberty apartment," April went on unperturbed.

Jason's stomach growled. It had been a long morning. And this was news he didn't want to hear. He didn't want to believe this of Liberty. "You hungry, April? I have about forty-five minutes. You want to get something to eat and talk about this some more?"

April shook her head. "Sorry, I can't." She let him stew for a moment. "Jason, I need your help."

He heaved a deep sigh. "April, April, what am I going to do with you?"

"You're going to help me."

He shook his head. He knew whatever he indicated, his no meant yes, and she knew it, too.

She argued anyway. "Don't you want to find the killer?"

"I'm not a cop."

"That's never bothered you before."

"Well, it bothers me now."

"Look, all I want is for you to talk to Liberty, explore his violent fantasies a little, his true feelings about women, especially his wife. Find out if he could get mad enough to kill. You can uncover that."

Jason smiled. "I know how to do an evaluation, April."

"I know you do."

"Why don't you just give him a lie-detector test? That should do it."

"If it turned out he had opportunity, I'm going to need a psychiatric evaluation. Come on, Jason, you're talking to him anyway." April had her notebook in her lap. Her booted foot was vibrating with impatience. Jason stared at it. April was wearing a different kind of outfit than he'd seen on her before. Suddenly he realized that she was a different person now. She was all dressed up and a department big shot.

"He's still in denial, April," he murmured.

"Oh, yeah, what's he denying?"

"He can't believe they're dead yet."

"Could he look like a woman getting out of a cab?"

Jason laughed. "I think Emma would have known if she'd seen Rick that night. Have you searched his place?' '

April shook her head. "We don't have a warrant yet."

"What makes you think the person whose cab Emma took was the killer? Didn't she leave sometime before it happened?" "The killer could have been waiting for them to come out."

"Have you worked out your time frame for Rick's arrival and everything?"

"Working on it."

"Is a search warrant for his place forthcoming?"

"It's possible. Will you talk to him?"

"If you want a formal evaluation, my fee is a thousand dollars." Jason said it deadpan, but his eyes twinkled at April's shock.

"Jason . . . I'm not authorized to spend that kind of money."

"And you wouldn't anyway," Jason laughed.

"No, I wouldn't anyway. Why let money ruin a great friendship like ours?"

Jason smiled. A cop was telling him they had a great relationship. "What about my friendship with Liberty?" he pointed out.

"I'm not asking you to be an informer. This is not a formal thing. You probably wouldn't have to testify in court or anything."

"You're putting me in a difficult position here. I could get subpoenaed to appear in court."

"Look, it's getting late. I have to go.
If
you don't want to do it, just say so." April slammed the notebook into her purse. "It's not a big deal."

It was a big deal. Jason owed her. And so did Emma. He sighed again. Yesterday Emma had the night off because the theaters were dark on Mondays. Tonight she'd have to go back to work. He didn't like either of their positions. He and Emma were going to have to betray the secrets of a friendship to save a friend and repay a debt to a cop.

"You have the autopsy reports yet?" Jason asked.

"They're in the middle of Merrill's right now."

"Will you call me with the results?"

April looked surprised. "Anything particular you want to know?"

Jason pulled on his ear. "Cause of death, bruises, old injuries, condition of female organs—tox results."

April jumped up, excited. "Thank you, Jason." She grabbed her coat. Jason got up and came around his desk to help her put it on.

"Okay," he said. "I'll talk to Liberty. But I can't give you my results without his permission."

He was gratified by her many expressions of gratitude.

Still, he didn't rush to make the call. It took a few hours for Jason to dial Rick's number. When he did, the phone rang ten times before Rick's machine finally picked up.

"This is 555-8830. No one is available to take your call. Please leave your message after the beep." Beep.

"Rick, this is Jason Frank. If you're there, please pick up." Jason waited for a few seconds, then spoke again.

"Rick, this is Jason. It's four-thirteen in the afternoon. I'm between patients right now. How are you doing? Let's keep in touch. I want to talk with you about what's going on. Do you want to have some dinner with me later? If you're busy with your family, I could drop by for a few moments. How's your head? Let me know. I'll be screening my calls. . . ."

Finally Rick replied. "Yeah, Jason, what's up?"

"Ah good, Rick, You're there."

"I'm here."

"Thanks for picking up. How are you doing?"

"A lot of people are asking me that dumb question. I don't have an answer for it."

"Well, try. I can translate."

"I'm going crazy."

"Oh, yeah. What's happening?"

"I pace around and can't feel anything. It's nuts. I don't know what to do. I keep turning to Merrill and she isn't here."

"How's the head?"

"I have a hundred clients. Every single one has called me. They're hearing things about me and Merrill. There are these bulletins on TV. Every hour.

They're saying I'm suicidal. They're speculating about Merrill and Tor being lovers. It's crazy. She didn't even like him. He was my friend—"

Jason said, "Look, I'm going to have to go in a minute. Can I call you in an hour?"

"What are the police saying? What was the cause of death? Do they know what happened? Do they have any leads on who killed them? I can't stand this. I have to know!"

"I may have some news later. Do you want to meet?"

"Yes, but I can't get out of here. There are—" "—Yeah, I know, press everywhere. They don't know me. I'll come there." Jason told him he'd be over around seven and hung up. For the next few hours he tried to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

14

A
pril always tried to learn from other people's and her own mistakes. On the evening of the murders, she had been dressed in her usual uniform: a turtle-neck sweater, jacket, slacks. Functional, not classy. The next day she had worn the same outfit most of the day until she had the chance to change into the wrinkled pants and jacket she kept in her locker for emergencies. Sometime during the night in a random dream about the ADA on this case, she suddenly felt that it was time to improve her image. She knew lawyers thought themselves many steps up from cops. She knew they thought cops were uneducated bullies who beat people up on the street, then lied about what their victims had done to deserve it. To appeal to a man like Dean Kiang, she knew she had to make herself look better than a cop.

Her former supervisor, Sergeant Joyce, had always worn suits with skirts to work. At six that morning, April decided it was time for her to wear suits with skirts to work. She prepared for class warfare with a slim, calf-length burgundy skirt with a slit to the knee, a powder blue turtleneck sweater (that looked like but was not cashmere) with a long silk scarf that incorporated both colors, and a short burgundy jacket that was just loose enough to disguise the gun bulge at her waist. She wore boots that did not hide the small size of her feet or slimness of her ankles. She wore makeup and small jade studs in her ears for good luck in all ventures, but especially in love. She knew from the way he smiled that Jason Frank had noticed.