whites where the first officers at the scene were not having a lot of luck securing the area. They'd taped off a hundred or so feet. of sidewalk on either side of Liberty's Restaurant, but already a half a dozen people were inside the tapes tramping around.
Right away April started having a bad feeling about this. But that was not so unusual. Every time she went to a scene her skin tingled, almost as if she developed a whole new layer of antennae around her body to take in as much information through as many channels as possible. Sometimes, no matter how much evidence was collected by the Crime Scene Unit, or how many witnesses and suspects told their false stories about what happened, it was April's first impressions that led her through the maze to the true story.
This was the time of yin in a new case, the time when the door to a puzzle of huge dimension—something new and altogether unknown—opened to a vast space of churning, primal chaos. And she had to enter it. Yin was the time of discovery, before the forceful action of yang must be taken. Hagedorn cut the motor. April felt anxious. Despite all the people around who were supposed to be on her side supporting her actions and authority, she knew she was alone. From the number of cars and the attitude of the people standing around, it looked as if this was going to be the Big One every detective both wanted and feared. She shivered, afraid of messing up.
From the car she couldn't see the bodies. They appeared to be on a lower level, down two steps in a tiny yard enclosed by a row of dwarf conifers that twinkled merrily with dozens of white Christmas lights. A number of uniforms hung over the outside railing in a clot, stamping their feet and blowing steam as they looked down. Opening the car door, April was hit with a blast of killing winter air that felt even more penetrating than it had only a few minutes earlier. A single snowflake smacked at her cheek. Great, it was beginning to snow.
In the street, ice was crusting over the slush. On the sidewalk, snow powdered between patches of ice. These were the worst possible conditions for a crime scene. The temperature was dropping. And with a dozen people walking the area since the murders, it might well be impossible to determine if the perp had left anything of himself behind.
The sight of the thickly padded uniforms brushing the snow off the railing and stamping the sidewalk to warm their feet gave April a flash to the mirror in the Bed-Sty precinct that had been her first house. The mirror had been inside a closet, was dappled with ancient grime, and had a jagged piece broken out of one corner. All the patrol officers had been complaining about her—the skinny Chink, probably a dike, talked so soft no one could hear her.
Steve Zapora had been her supervisor at the time. About six foot four, red-faced, the size of a minivan. Every day in roll call this red-faced giant yelled at her that her hair was too long, had to be higher than her collar. Insisted that she shave her neck and personally checked to make sure it was done. And every day he took her downstairs. He made her stand in front of the stupid filthy mirror and he made her growl like a dog, made her raise her voice saying, 'Hey you, there on the stairs, stop. Hey you in the red jacket, stop. Hey you, stop over and over until she could say
Then Zapora got the biggest guy in the house and told her to take him down. April took the guy' down so fast he was on the floor before he was aware she'd made a move. Then, like a complete idiot, she'd put her hand to her mouth and said, 'Gosh, I'm sorry.' Things changed for her in the house after that, though.
April got out of the car. Her breath made great clouds of steam. Right in front of her two guys with black knit caps were busy rigging spotlights out of a van. 'What are they doing here?' she demanded.
Hagedorn shrugged. 'TV crew. They must have picked up the call. I know these guys. They hang out around here.' Five networks had studios in the area. Hagedorn's baleful eyes were full of scorn that his new supervisor didn't know that.
'I know what they are,' April snapped. 'Get them out of here.'
'Huh?' He looked shocked at her change of tone.
'Now.' She ducked under the tape, hating him for making her have to act like one of them. The clot of uniforms turned around to stare. One said, 'Lady, you can't come in here.'
Then they caught sight of Hagedorn, who jerked his head at her. 'Sergeant Woo,' he explained.
April nodded brusquely to them. 'Anybody ever tell you what the procedures are for protecting a crime scene? Would you like me to tell you now?'
No one said anything. The uniforms just edged away to let her take over, as if they were glad there was someone else to take command of the situation. April moved into the other space in her mind, began to concentrate on al the things she would have to remember when she was back in her office and had only photos to remind her of what she'd seen. Her former boss, Sergeant Joyce, had not always bothered with a notebook. She'd relied on other people's notes; but old habits were dying hard with April. She pulled out her regulation steno pad that the DAs always called Rosarios and began taking everything down. Who was there when she got there, what they had done so far, what they were doing now. She would follow the sequence for the rest of the night, noting the times from that moment through the Crime Scene Unit's work, the investigator from the ME's office pronouncing the deaths, right up to the end when the bodies were bagged and everybody went home for what was left of the night.
She leaned over the railing, her fingers already so stiff from the cold she could hardly hold her pen. The front yard of the brownstone that housed Liberty's Restaurant was about twelve feet square. Partially camouflaged by the twinkling hedge on the side closest to the steps, as if they had been caught while leaving, a man and a woman lay, eyes open, on their backs. The man's muddy hands were palms up on either side of his blond head. He looked puzzled, as if he had raised them with a query and then died before he had a chance to frame the question. His camel-colored coat and black sport jacket were flung open on a nubbly gray turtleneck sweater. Like his hands, his face and hair were scum-streaked, but there appeared to be no blood on him, no sign of an injury that might have killed him. Could be something under the hair, April thought.
The violence done to the woman was an unnerving contrast. In the twilight of a thousand tiny shimmering lights, inky-looking blood streaked her hands, her face, her long blond hair, the front of the tan sweater dress she wore, and the cuffs that peeked out beneath her fur-lined, black suede coat sleeves. All April could see was one small hole piercing her throat. Unless there were other stab wounds she couldn't see, somebody had known just where to strike. April studied the shocking sight from above, not wanting to add her own footprints to the mess below. Her teeth began to chatter.
Sometimes she could tell right away what happened. She could see in the arrangement of the scene how the preceding events must have played out. A mugging gone wrong, guy got scared and used his knife, used his gun. Over in a second. Sometimes he got away with a few dollars. Sometimes he didn't get away with anything. Or a guy killing his woman. There were always precipitating events. You could find out what they were. But this was ambiguous-looking, hard to tell what had happened. It was creepy. Two well-dressed people dead in front of an expensive restaurant where plenty of people must have been passing by, even late on a freezing January night. Except for the hole in the woman's throat, they didn't look as if they'd been interfered with. The woman's clutch bag was closed, wedged under her right foot. The scene didn't feel right. For what reason would someone have taken such a chance in such a public place?
A warm animated voice made April turned around. 'Well, this looks like my first double of the year. Know who they are?'
The black woman peering over April's shoulder was taller than she, probably over six feet with the three-inch heels she wore, heedless of the snow. Only a wisp of the woman's hair had escaped her severe French twist that showed off her perfect jawline, the white even teeth behind her magnetic smile, her nose more Caucasian like than April's, and eyes both curious and bold. Large gold earrings glittered with major red stones in her ears, a black mink coat draped her body, and a frothy cut-velvet-and-silk scarf swathed her shoulders. More than just stunning and dramatic, she had presence. Even in the treacherous snow, April could feel the strut in her walk. She had seen the woman before and thought at first she was one of the famous models that appeared on the covers of magazines. Until the woman introduced herself.
'I'm Dr. Washington. Are you in charge here?”
'Yes. I'm—Sergeant April Woo.' It took April a few seconds to remember she wasn't just a detective anymore.
'I've heard of you,' Dr. Washington said.
April had heard of her, too, and was surprised to see her there. It wasn't common anymore for the deputy medical examiner to come to crime scenes. They'd changed things in New York. Now most of the time an investigator from the ME's office who wasn't even an MD came to the scene. Dr. Washington cocked her head inquisitively at the two corpses, then at the black sky overhead now whitening with snow. 'If CSU doesn't get here
