“Get up, bitch,” he told her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I got a plan. I’m doing you a favor here. I’m taking care of you. You’re not going to die on me. Just get that straight.”
All the time he was talking to her, he was looking her over for injuries, poking at her warm body. It was a little clammy now, not as fragrant as before. This irritated him. He didn’t want her dying and releasing all that body stuff for him to clean up. That was all he needed. For her to die and make a mess before he had the plastic laid out. Before he was ready.
He moved her around carefully. If he bumped her on the edges of things, she’d bruise and the tattoo wouldn’t look good. That was what he liked about her right from the first, the expanses of fresh, well-cared-for flesh. Now he had to clean it up before he even got started.
He examined her all over and got excited again handling her. He wanted to do some stuff to her, but wanted her awake. Shit. He didn’t see anything wrong with her. Except for the bump on the head and a little scratch on her forehead, there wasn’t anything.
He decided the sofa was no good. He had to move her. He picked her up and moved her to the bed in the other room. Laid her back against the pillow so she looked like she was just sleeping. Yeah, that was better. Now he could sleep with her. That was good. He hadn’t thought of that before. If he kept her with him all the time, he could keep her alive. He could touch her whenever he wanted. He started thinking about biting her and shoving it in her and making her scream. It made him desperate to wake her up.
He got some water and poured it down her throat. After a while she started choking.
“Hi, honey,” he said when she finally opened her eyes. “We got a busy day. Don’t do that again.”
57
Sanchez rewound the tape and turned to April. There was a long silence. Already there were eleven people on the case, combing the neighborhood with the photo of Emma Chapman and hastily made sketches of Troland Grebs. The blowup of his photo in the yearbook would take a little longer.
“You know what I don’t understand.” He swiveled around in his chair, facing her and the small tape machine on her desk that was closer to him than her. He was wearing a blue shirt with a darker blue tie, gray trousers of some undefinable fabric, and the sad expression that always made April feel she’d done something really wrong.
She lifted her shoulders a tiny bit to indicate she had no idea.
“I don’t get you,” he said. “One day we’re working a case together, hanging out on a limb a little bit, and I think maybe we’re onto something.”
She frowned. What was he talking about? They weren’t onto anything. As of last night, they didn’t know a thing except that the woman was not where her husband wanted her to be.
“I mean, trust. Working together like a team.” Sanchez looked at her intently, his mustache quivering just enough to show he was agitated.
Her brow furrowed even deeper. Trust was not a word she was comfortable with. She had a lot of trouble in those training sessions where you had to fall down and let somebody catch you. Not so good to let somebody stand behind you, even a cop.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he demanded.
“What?” Her phone rang. She let it ring.
“We go out on something,” he said. “We have something to eat. We’re talking about it, working it over in our minds. Like the two of us, you know? And the next day I come in, you’re already out of here. Not a note, nothing. What am I supposed to feel, huh?”
He looked offended. Angry, too.
She tried to look angry right back and almost immediately had to look down. Angry right back was not something she was good at. “Feel?” She wanted to scold him. You don’t have feelings when you’re a cop. She shook her head. “You have two things mixed up.” She reached for her phone. “Detective Woo,” she said.
“It’s Jason Frank.”
April looked at her watch. It had been only twenty-five minutes since his last call. “Yes, Dr. Frank.”
“Were you able to get those pictures duplicated?” he asked.
“We’re working on it,” she replied.
There was a pause.
“Is there anything new?” he asked.
Sanchez moved restlessly in his chair while she focused on her conversation.
“I know how you’re feeling, Dr. Frank,” she said soothingly. “It’s terrible to have to sit around waiting for news, but I promise I’ll call you as soon as I have anything to report.”
“Listen, I’ve been thinking. Is this something the FBI should be getting involved with?”
“Do you think you’d have better luck with the FBI than the New York City Police Department?” she asked without a trace of a smile.
“I wasn’t questioning your expertise. I was just thinking that kidnapping is a federal offense.”
“Yes, it is. But the FBI doesn’t step in on every missing person case, even if there is a suspected abduction. Have you received a call asking for ransom?” April asked, suddenly.
“No.”
“Then try to give us a little time, Doctor. We have a lot of people working on it.” She looked up at Sanchez. At that second he wasn’t looking at her.
“I can’t. I told you it’s too serious. We don’t have much time,” Jason Frank was saying.
“Believe me, Doctor Frank. We know how serious it is. We’ve brought people in.” A lot of them. Right then the squad room was filled with blue uniforms and detectives, rushing around, coming in and out of the field. Coffee cups everywhere. It was hard to breathe, much less hear anything on the phone. The place had become a war room.
“We have to find her soon,” Dr. Frank pressed. “I’d like to come and help.”
That was the last thing she needed. “You
“I’ll meet with you very soon,” she promised. “But right now you have to let me do my job.”
“One hour?” he said.
“I can’t give you a time. I’ll call you when I have something. That’s all I can promise.”
He had no answer for that. April finally had the space to hang up.
Now Sanchez was looking at her.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded, exasperated.
“We were having a conversation.”
“Mike,” she said, lowering her voice. Right above her head two blue uniforms were distributing the sketches of Troland Grebs to new arrivals. “You got two things all mixed up.”
Sanchez poked the smaller uniform, an earnest-looking female, bulging out of her pants. “Hey, why don’t you do that over there.” He pointed across the room toward the door.
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry, sir.” And moved away.
He turned back to April without skipping a beat. “No, lady, I don’t have two things mixed up. You trust somebody one way, you got to trust them another way. It’s not about anything else. You’re not together with me one minute and then going it alone the next.”
April was silent for a second, thinking it over. “You weren’t here,” she said finally.
“What are you talking about?”
“I went out alone because you weren’t here.”
“Well, I would have been here if you’d let me pick you up.” He poked a finger at the air. Ha, got her.
She narrowed her eyes, furious at him. “Look, don’t confuse things. You listened to the tape. That’s all there is to think about. Finding her. If we find her, then we can talk about trust.”
He shrugged. Okay. “So what angle are you working? You know what that noise is in the background?”
