Tracking Time (6 page)

A
lmost as soon as Jason had finished talking with April, he was sorry about involving the police in the Maslow situation before looking into it a little further himself. As the morning progressed, several explanations occurred to him. Maslow was on staff at Manhattan East, a psychiatric hospital. An emergency there-a suicide, or some other crisis, could easily have kept him busy all night. Maslow might well have been on call last night. Jason forgot to mention that to April, and later felt a little ashamed of himself for using a police detective as his own private investigator.

Jason's anxiety about what he'd done was transmitted to his first three patients. He was supposed to maintain the highest level of interest in the most detailed of accounts of his patients' daily lives. As soon as his attention wavered, and the precious empathic bond was severed, his patients always retaliated. He understood this, but he was human and these comments often got to him despite all he knew.

That morning, between nine and eleven, Jason took three direct hits from nuclear warheads. From his eight o'clock-a young woman who had a great job and many suitors but felt numb and hopeless inside-he learned that he was a cold and selfish man who used to be good-looking and well groomed but was now a depressing slug who would never have the love of anybody worthwhile. Like herself.

"You remind me so much of a man I went out with, Tony Ramero, who was a premature ejaculator," she said.

Jason's eight-forty-five patient, a bazillionaire who kept trying to pay Jason with his Centurion American Express card for the free air miles, was scornful of Jason's tendency to buy four identical blue and red ties for twenty-eight dollars from vendors on the street. "You're some cheap bastard. I bet you never go to a decent restaurant," he charged.

Jason did go to decent restaurants and liked his ties. He didn't reply as he wanted to:
We all have our money
issues.

At quarter to ten Jason called April Woo to tell her about Maslow's hospital job. She wasn't there. The thought that she might be looking for a man who was at work made him feel really guilty. He went next door to say hello to Emma and the other April. He played with his beautiful baby for a few minutes. She gurgled her baby secrets, drooling into his ear, then spit up on his shoulder when he kissed her good-bye. Jason's ten o'clock patient remarked that he smelled of throw-up
again,
then announced that he was sick and tired of Jason's hangovers.

"You look like shit. Circles under your eyes, shirt coming out of your pants. A spot on your shirt. You're a
mess.
You should see somebody about this." This from a guy who made daily cocktails out of every prescription upper and downer known to man and considered a drug-free day one when all he did was smoke pot from morning to night.

April Woo called just when he was on his way out to teach a class on transference to psychiatric residents at the medical school. He was in his office bathroom with the water on, scrubbing the spit-up out of his shirt. After drenching himself trying to get the water off in time to catch the phone, he launched into his apology.

"Thanks for returning my call. I'm really sorry about bothering you with the Atkins thing. I've been thinking about it, and I forgot to tell you he may have been on call last night. If you haven't gotten to it yet-"

"I'm on it now."

April's deadpan voice jolted him. "What's up?"

"It appears that your student, Atkins, went home around seven, changed his clothes, then went out for a jog. The doorman in his building says he met a young girl and they went into the park together. He didn't come back to his apartment last night."

"Hmmm." Jason dabbed at his wet shirt with a towel.

"Did he have a girlfriend, Jason? Maybe he had a change of clothes at her place."

"Ah, I don't know."

"Family?"

"I don't know much about his private life."

"I thought you were his supervisor," she said accusingly.

"I am."

"How do you supervise them if you don't know what their countertransference issues are?"

"Jesus, April, how do you know about that?" Jason was stunned by the insight.

"I'm a supervisor myself, Jason. You think you own psychology?"

"Ah, this is different. Analytic candidates don't talk to their supervisors about their private lives. They talk to their
training analysts
about their private lives. They talk to me about their patients' lives."

"Uh-huh, so this missing candidate of yours has two psychoanalysts, one for himself and one for his patients? Who's in charge of the two of them? Anybody know the whole story?"

"No, it's complicated. His own analyst keeps to strict confidentiality-" Jason broke off, knowing it must sound a little strange.

"So, what did you talk about with this guy, anything useful?" April herself sounded strange.

"Where are you?"

"In the park."

"What are you doing there?"

"It's complicated. What did you talk about with him, Jason? I have to know what was going on in his life. I need the basic facts," April said. "Everything he did in the last twenty-four hours and the rest of his life."

"April, you're scaring me to death," Jason said. "What happened?"

"We had a 911 of trouble in the area last night. We're thinking your friend might have been mugged. We have a vagrant who says he witnessed an assault on a jogger. There was no sign of him last night, though."

"Have you checked the hospitals?"

"We've started checking ERs. Nothing yet."

"You checked his home?"

"First thing. His wallet, telephone and appointment books were there. A big wad of cash. Does he have an office?"

"Yes." Jason was silent for a second, thinking fast. "Is this inebriated person homeless, April?"

"Yes."

"Does he know more than he's saying?" Jason glanced at his watch. Shit, he was going to be late for his class. He wondered if he should cancel.

"It's possible."

"What about the bum being the mugger-?"

"It's a possibility."

Neutral. That damn neutral voice. Jason was really rattled.

"Look, I'm on my way to teach; what can I do to help?"

"This shouldn't be my case, Jason. Know what I mean? So I'm short-handed here, and out of my territory."

"I'm sorry about that." The clocks were ticking. Jason was late. Shit. "What do you need?" he asked.

"Well, you know how shrinks hate to talk to cops about their patients. Maybe you could talk to Maslow's doctor, get me some background on him. Parents, friends, other relatives, habits, sexual preference. State of mind." Her voice started to break up.

"April, are you on a cell phone? April?"

The voice came back. "Yeah."

"People don't just disappear."

"No, of course they don't. So help me out here."

"Of course. What's your next step?"

"I'm calling in the K-9 unit."

"WHAT?" Dogs? Was she nuts?

"You can't be too careful." The voice broke up again.

"Oh, Jesus, April-"

Silence.

"April, talk to me."

"Kkkkkkk."

The phone went dead. Shit! Jason didn't have time to wait for her to call back. He stuck his beeper on his belt and left his office, wondering what Maslow had wanted to tell him about Allegra before he disappeared.

T
he nose of a cop is used to unpleasant things. But it turned out to be quite a chore for Woody to install the vile-smelling John Jasper James, a.k.a. Pee Wee, into the backseat and drive downtown to Midtown North in the close confines of the Buick. Woody opened the front windows all the way and leaned into the wind, but he still kept his right hand clamped over his nostrils. April noted the acute sensitivity without sympathy. She was wondering when Jason would have some information for her, and she was beginning to doubt her judgment about this action. Lieutenant Iriarte was going to freak out.

"When do I get something to eat?" Pee Wee demanded as they cruised down Ninth Avenue.

"As soon as you give us a story we can work with," Woody told him. Woody loved this. He was used to making waves.

Pee Wee snorted.

"You happen to notice how bad this guy needs a bath?" Woody asked conversationally. "He's stinking up the unit something criminal."

"How'm I gonna take a bath, where I live, huh? It's not me, anyway. This outfit wasn't new when I got it."

"Where'd you get it from, a corpse?" Woody turned left on Fifty-fourth Street, passed a parking place close to Ninth, then cursed when there wasn't a space any closer to the station house.

"Stop here. I'm going up. You park and escort John James here upstairs. Thanks." April got out and slammed the door. This door-slamming was an American, not a Chinese, thing to do. Now that she was a sergeant, American self-expression was coming a little easier to her.

She smiled when Woody muttered, "Fuck." Now he had to take the flak when he came into the squad room with the odoriferous bum. She hurried inside.

"Your boss is looking for you," barked Pete Mongers, the lieutenant on the desk.

"Thanks." April took the stairs two at a time. When she opened the squad room door, something was up. Seven extravagantly dressed people-looked like South Americans-were all yelling in Spanish at once. Iriarte was using his smoothest manner to soothe their ruffled feathers. Then he saw April and his placating expression changed.

"Where have you been?" He snapped at her as if she were the one to blame for everything.

A woman with big red hair and a tight yellow suit, who'd been yakking a mile a minute in haughty Spanish, raised her voice even higher and blocked April's advance with her curvy body. She screamed at Iriarte that she needed her matter attended to
pronto!

Even April got it. Iriarte gave the woman a quick formal bow, assuring her that he was attending very seriously. Then he turned to April and jerked his head at his office. April was momentarily blinded by flashes of sparkly light from the boulder-sized diamond rings on the fingers of both the men and the women.

"Move." Her boss gestured angrily at her again, but before she could navigate around two gesticulating women in pink and red, Woody marched in with John James. Simultaneously, the agitated Spanish-speakers recoiled from his stench.

The unctuous lieutenant was galvanized into action. He led the Latino crowd into his office himself, came out, and spoke to Hagedorn. Hagedorn's Spanish left something to be desired, but he was the only one in the squad room at the moment other than April who knew how to talk to nice people. Hagedorn went into the office. Iriarte shut the door on them, then advanced on April and her malodorous troublemaker.

"What the hell are you up to? I've been trying to rouse you for two hours."

"I tried to reach you. But something came up."

"I don't give a shit. You know where these people come from? One of them got mugged on Fifty-seventh Street. Who the fuck is this?" he pointed at Pee Wee.

"This is John James. He hangs out in Central Park. I know him from the Two-O."

"Oh yeah, he one of their street crime boys?" Iriarte took time out for a joke. Ha ha.

Woody, who was a little sensitive about his past, looked the other way.

"I help out, don't I, Sergeant?" Pee Wee looked hurt.

"Yeah, sure you do," April told him.

"What do you think you're up to, Woo? I have something important for you to do here." Iriarte's Spanish contingent was keeping his temper in check, but only just.

"You gonna give me something to eat?" Pee Wee whined.

"Later," Woody told him.

"What'd you bring him in here for? Get him out of here," Iriarte growled.

Woody glanced at April. She nodded toward the door and mouthed,
Wait for me.
When the two of them were out of sight, she spoke.

"I know it's unusual, sir, but I need to keep him here for a few minutes. He's a witness in the Atkins case."

Iriarte's fingers traveled nervously to the gray silk square in his jacket pocket. "What are you talking about?"

"Woody and I are following up a 911 from last night."

"What are you talking about?"
His irritation escalated.

"That call for help last night didn't turn up anything, but there's a report of a missing person. I'm checking it out."

Iriarte's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What report?"

"We were covering the area last night, sir."

"What report? I have no report!"

"It's a missing doctor, sir."

"Are you hard of hearing or something? This is not your case."

"I'd just like to clear it up since Woody and I checked out the missing doctor's apartment, made a preliminary search of the area, and requested more help."

"What! Why don't I know about this?" Iriarte started to scream.

"I called in, sir. You weren't available." April lied with a straight face. Now she was floundering, looking for a lifesaver. There wasn't one.

"I don't have any message of this. We have a mugging here. You have no business working out of the area. Who knows about this? Are you crazy, bringing some park bum in here?"

"It wouldn't look bad if we broke the case, sir. And I'd like to find the doc; he's a student of Jason Frank."

Iriarte smacked his forehead. "A fucking head-shrinker case? Is that what this is?
Ay Dios!
That fucking Frank again. What are you, crazy?" He screamed some more.

Shouting erupted from the lieutenant's office. He turned to her. "Get rid of this. I'll give you an hour."

"Thank you, sir."

A few minutes later, April had John James sitting in a room downstairs, tapping his foot and waiting impatiently for a feed.

"Pee Wee, how would you like a nice shower and some clean clothes?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm fine. I can take care of myself," he said, glancing sullenly at Woody.

"Doesn't look to me like you're doing too good a job of it."

"I have new clothes on order," he quipped.

"A comedian," Woody responded.

"Detective Baum is right. We don't have time for a comedy routine. What's going on with you?"

"Like I told you. About a year ago, I got recruited by those Doe people." Pee Wee licked his lips.

"Recruited?" April gave him a surprised look.

"They come around looking for people, you know how it is-"

"That's not the way I hear it. I hear you have to get cleaned up and apply, isn't that what you did?"

"Nah, some lady recruited me. I know what I'm talking about," he insisted.

"Maybe you got in some kind of trouble back then. You want to tell me about that?"

"I didn't do nothing. You know I don't get in no trouble anymore. I'm an old man."

"I can check it out, Pee Wee."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I was part of a
program.
I didn't like it, that's all. Now I have other people take care of me."

"Doesn't look like that to me. Who are these people?"

"I'm down good," he insisted.

April shook her head. "Okay, says you. We'll get back to that. Tell me about last night. Did you make that 911 call?"

"Yeah, right." Woody interjected.

April gave him a warm smile. "Never underestimate, Detective. John James here used to be one of our best people. Always knew what was happening in the area. If there was trouble, he'd be the one to make a call, isn't that right, Pee Wee?"

"Used to be a lotta trouble. Those gay boys and the wildings-they were bad. Once those monsters from uptown set a friend of mine on fire. Behind the museum…" Pee Wee's dirty hands trembled. "You got a cigarette for Pee Wee?"

April shook her head. "You'll have to wait. Detective Baum here has asthma."

Woody blew air out of his nose.
Yeah, right.

"So what happened last night? You make that call or what?"

"No. There were two faggots out there. One of them must have made the call. Had to be a cell phone, didn't it? The nearest call box is practically in the Bronx," he muttered.

Not true. There was one close by, on a tree. "Come on, Pee Wee, I haven't got time for this. What happened?" April demanded.

"I don't know. Two faggots were doing each other in the bushes beside the lake. I fucking hate that. I told them to get away from my place, but they were too into it, didn't give a damn. Live and let live, I say. So I took off for a while. When I came back one of them was laying there. Looked dead to me." Pee Wee rattled his foot. The soles of his old sneakers flapped. He had no socks, and his feet were black. April didn't believe a word he was saying.

"How did you know he was dead?" she asked.

"I seen a lotta dead people in my time."

"You see a girl in a pink sweater?" Woody asked.

Pee Wee shook his head. "A girl? I didn't see no girl. Just the two faggots. Then the body. I turned away for two seconds and then there warn't no body."

"This is a hell of a story. You're drunk, Pee Wee." April glanced at Woody.

Woody got the idea. "Maybe he rolled the guy himself. What do you think, boss?"

"Sounds very plausible to me. You have a little accident and mug somebody, Pee Wee?"

"No way," he protested. "I don't do that. I'm an old man."

"Okay, what do you say I give you a nice reward then? You tell me what really happened out there-where our missing p is-and I'll get you new clothes, food-"

"And lodging for the rest of my life. I know where this is going, but I ain't taking no fall." Pee Wee lost his cool. "I ain't
done
nothing. I just saw the two faggots, that's all. Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe the guy was just taking a rest. Maybe he got up and walked away."

"Jeeesus fucking Christ!" Woody muttered.

"See what happens when you try to tell the truth?" Pee Wee complained.

A quick knock. The door opened and a uniform stuck her head in. "Here's that sandwich, Sergeant," she said. "And Officer Slocum from K-9 is up on Seven-seven and wants to know if you're coming up."

"Tell him I'll be there in ten minutes." April was already on her feet. She turned back to John James. "What's the matter?"

"You got me all upset. I pissed my pants."

Disgusted, Woody removed himself from the area. April was already at the door. Young Officer Marcie was going to have to deal with this. Amazing how the people who didn't freak out over the human frailties were usually the females.

"Look, you sober up, have a sandwich and some coffee. Officer Marcie here will set you up with some clothes. You're going to get yourself showered and we're going to talk again later when you're sober, okay?"

"I'll help you out, but I ain't staying here. I know my rights." Pee Wee didn't look in the least ashamed about his accident.

"You listen to me, Pee Wee. Together, we're going to get this story right, that's the only right you need to think about, got it?" April left the room and beckoned to the uniform. They conferred outside.

"Marcie, I want you to bag and label every article of his clothes. Get him cleaned up-and run a warrant check on him for me-oh, and hold him down here, will you?" she added.

"Yes, ma'am." Officer Marcie had no problem with the command.

April wanted to point that out to the squeamish Woody Baum, but what was the point? She shouldered her heavy purse and headed out. "Come on, Woody, you lucky devil, we're going to the dogs."

She stopped at the precinct door. Jason Frank had taught her that one of the perks of being a high-class woman was having men open doors for her. She turned her flat-affect face to Woody and waited to see what he would do.

Thrilled to escape the housekeeping duties, Woody opened the door for her with a little bow. "After you, boss."

For a moment she almost liked him.