'Lieutenant Woo Sanchez.' Sometimes she called herself Woo and sometimes Woo Sanchez to distinguish herself from her husband, the former Lieutenant Sanchez.
'Just heading up the West Side Drive,
'I want you to take a look at a body,' he said quietly, then gave her the address.
She heard the name. It was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Didn't matter. Someone was murdered. That always changed everything. 'I'm on my way,' she told him.
Five
Homicides always caused a peculiar vibration in April's body. She could feel it start as the car changed direction and they headed east to look at the victim, instead of uptown to deal with drug-dealing strippers. April had been planning to put Sergeant Gelo, who'd fit right into the club scene, on the Justin Peret case. In the old days she used to drop her vacation plans and take care of everything herself, shut down whoever needed to be shut down. But now she had to get used to being a boss, and was trying to learn to delegate responsibility. She couldn't personally take on every single problem that came her way. Still, it didn't matter whose problem rogue strippers should be; when Avise told her to jump, she asked how high. She was a loyal officer, who always did what she was told. Almost always.
Murder was the ultimate crime that pushed everything else onto the back burner. Each time it happened April was jolted into high gear. The harmony of life was shattered, and she wanted to jump out of the car, race after the perpetrator, and catch him quickly before he had a chance to escape. Or she did—whoever it was. Each time she was overwhelmed by rage at the wrong that had been done and felt an urgency to correct it. But this wasn't her case. She shouldn't be thinking about this. She didn't want to be involved. She just wanted the world to be safe for once so she could go on her honeymoon.
And something else bothered her. She and Mike hadn't worked a homicide together in almost a year, not since she and her parents had been attacked by a murder suspect in their home in Astoria, Queens. After that case, they'd moved on in separate jobs; and they had an unspoken rule to keep it that way. Mike's call both surprised'her and made her anxious. She had other plans. She had to get Sergeant Gelo on track. Then they were taking a plane to paradise. She didn't want anything to interfere with that. Even as she was thinking this, she knew her feelings were entirely selfish and felt bad about them.
'What's up, boss?' Woody tried to make conversation, but she wasn't in the mood.
Her mood darkened even more when they got there. Two Hispanic male uniforms manned the blue barricade that partially blocked Fifty-second Street on the east side of First Avenue. As Woody drove across the street, the taller one tried to wave them north. Woody kept going until the uniform could see the ID clipped to April's new purple spring jacket.
'All right. You can put it there.' He pointed to the last open slot in a long line of blue-and whites and unmarked Department vehicles that reached down practically to the river.
Woody pulled into the spot, and April was out of the car before he'd even killed the engine. 'Boss?' he called after her.
He didn't have to say it, and neither did she. Like old partners who'd been through it all dozens of times, they communicated in shorthand. She patted the air over her shoulder as she walked away.
'Whatever you say, boss.' The preppy-looking cop who didn't always get things right had his uses.
She hurried down the tree-lined street past the clots of dog-walkers and gawkers. Like an old beat cop, she found herself sniffing the air. After another long frigid winter, the sun had finally returned to warm the city. Trees dressed in lush new leaves lined both sides of the street. Greening ivy trailed out of the square tree plots, which were enclosed by little iron fences with spokes to keep the dogs out. Details like this made the difference in a neighborhood.
This wasn't a commercial area like Midtown North. This was a high-priced residential East Side neighborhood where order was required. When violence shattered that order, the status of the residents alone demanded something be done about it. April didn't want to get entangled in the kind of politics she knew would be involved in a case like this. Mike was not asking her to take a look, then walk out like the other brass, who left the job of investigation to others. She'd never been able to do it anyway. Like a reporter or a first responder to a catastrophic event, once she showed up at the party she had to stay to the end. She was thinking,
She saw two reporters talking earnestly into video cams outside the yellow police lines that roped off the sidewalk. They were on opposite sides of the street, and their mouths were moving before they even had a story. She crossed the street, praying for a reprieve.
'Captain Sanchez,' she told the sandy-haired officer at the door. He glanced down at April's ID. LT. APRIL WOO SANCHEZ.
'Yes, ma'am. He's waiting for you in the kitchen, first left.'
'Thanks.'
She went in and started mapping the place immediately. An old habit. The place was an elegant brick house, four windows wide across the front. The foyer was all marble with a circular staircase hugging the wall around it, except in the middle where it made a bridge into the sleek modern living room behind it. The living room was decorated in shimmering silver and black. And behind that, all the way through, the back wall was a bank of French doors that opened on a garden. A blond girl wearing jeans and a sweatshirt leaned against a huge grand piano, talking with a detective April immediately recognized from Mike's description of the CO of his bureau. The detective was called Sergeant Ed Minnow, and everyone called him Fish. As directed, she turned left at the first door and went in. Oops.
A surprised Chief Avise broke off a conversation to stare at her.
She shook her head. He'd given her an assignment less than an hour ago and didn't expect to see her again so soon. But news of homicide traveled fast, and April had a long history of serving on homicide task forces outside her own precinct. He shouldn't be surprised that Mike would call her in for a look-see.
As he turned away, she was distracted by the splendor of the kitchen. The place had more stainless steel appliances and sinks than she'd ever seen outside a restaurant kitchen. Three sinks, three dishwashers, a huge restaurant stove, a wine refrigerator, two other refrigerators—wow. Pots, pans, and bunches of dried herbs hung from beams in the ceiling. What kind of private home was this? A large glass dining table was surrounded by modern tub chairs. And there was a high chair. She stared at the high chair with dismay. Children always changed the story.
And then she was aware of Chief Avise moving purposefully in her direction and braced herself for a chewing out.
'She's with me.' Mike said, cutting him off before the tirade began.
Saved by the cavalry. Her lips curved in a tiny smile. She couldn't help being impressed by her . husband in uniform. No longer the swaggering detective with the flashy mustache and slicked-back hair who'd worn cowboy boots and cologne stronger than any tart's perfume, Mike Sanchez had cleaned up amazingly well. His black hair was short now, his mustache clipped, his aftershave subtle. He'd always been a handsome man, but in uniform he ruled. Next to him, the chief of detectives with his large belly and wrinkled brown suit looked downright sloppy and peevish.
'Don't push, Mike,' the chief threatened, making it clear that April was his detective, not Mike's, so he was the one who decided where she worked.
'You want a quick resolution to a homicide, you know where to go,' Mike replied. He smiled at his gorgeous wife, and she knew he was appreciating her new short haircut and stylish spring suit. She was a willowy five feet five, had delicate features in a classic oval face. Mike's smile told her that she was caught in the political web again,
