doper. The usual.
A pause, then Dean made a suggestion. 'April, why don't you come down and have dinner with me?'
'Ab,' April hesitated. She didn't want to say her evening was already booked, that she had an assignment to drive around Harlem in a car for four or five hours. With Sanchez most likely at the wheel.
'This is your night off,' Kiang said.
How did Dean Kiang know when her days off were? 'Well, not tonight, Dean. I'm working off the chart,' April replied.
'I have to be in court tomorrow, but we could have a quick one. How about it?'
April watched the loyal troops wave as Iriarte departed with a flourish. 'Gotta go, Dean, my boss calls. Sorry about' dinner.'
April hung up, dejected.
'Ready?' Mike stuck his head in the door. He'd done some washing up, had combed his hair and mustache. It was clear
'Give me a minute.' April dialed Jason's home number. No one answered. She checked her watch. Of course. It was late. Emma had probably already left for the theater. She dialed information for the number of the theater and explained who she was and what she wanted to three different people before the phone finally rang in Emma's dressing room.
'Hi, it's April,' April said when Emma picked up and said hello.
'Oh, God, did you find Rick?' was Emma's quick reply.
'No, not yet. I'm sorry to bother you, Emma, but I have some important questions for you.'
'Okay, but I've got to get dressed in a second.'
'Okay. One, did Merrill knit?'
'Huh? Knit?'
'Yeah, knit, quilt, do needlepoint? Anything like that?'
'Uh-uh, she thought it was boring. Merrill was a big reader. And she liked to cook. Why do you ask?'
'Oh, I'll explain it to you later.'
'The other question,' Emma prompted.
'Oh, yeah, did you ever show an interest in owning Merrill's mink coat?'
'God, no. I always told her I wouldn't be caught dead in such a display. You know how many animals have to die to make a coat like that?'
'More than two. Well, thanks, Emma, break a leg.'
'No problem. Call me anytime,' Emma told her.
April went to the bathroom to wash her face.
An hour later she and Mike were seated in a small Mexican restaurant around the corner from the Two-0, where the owner didn't like Mike to pay, but Mike always paid anyway. April gathered that Mike's father had worked there when he first came to New York thirty years ago and had remained friends with the owner until his death. April didn't know all this for sure because Mike and the owner and the chef always spoke in Spanish, and her Spanish was limited, to say the least.
Two tables away from them a yuppie-looking couple with blond hair were groping each other and sloshing down the sangria as if they'd never have to be alert again. April eyed them enviously.
'What are you trying to accomplish, irritating everybody like this? You trying to suicide or something?' Mike demanded.
April didn't think that was a question that required an answer, so she made a face at him. His response was to give her a deep look complete with sultry smile that caused her cheeks to burn.
Then he said, 'Relax,' and reached over to cover her hand with one of his.
The contact was limited to a small site, yet traveled through April everywhere in a way she hadn't experienced with a simple touch before. Oh, shit, she didn't need this. She made another face. This was the line she wasn't crossing. Okay, so they weren't working together in the same house. But they were still working together! And he still wasn't Chinese!! Mike's hand continued to stroke hers, squeezing lightly. She felt weak from the touch and confused because she was crossing the line and her heart didn't stop her. Her tongue started to protest another issue.
'I've been up since five, and now I have to drive around all night, looking for someone who's about as likely to be hanging out on the streets waiting for us as I am to fly to the moon ....' April fell silent. Under Mike's, her hand turned over so their two palms met. Their fingers laced.
April didn't mention the E-mail Liberty had sent to Jason asking Jason to remove Merrill's mink coat from his apartment, and how they might find him through cyberspace. She was feeling overheated and excited. She'd forgotten it.
'Look on the bright side, at least we're together.'
'Uh-huh. '
A waiter arrived with their food, and Mike removed his hand, the better to communicate his appreciation.
'Well, this looks almost as good as Chinese,' April murmured.
Mike's father had been a chef in a Mexican restaurant. April's father still was a chef in a Chinese restaurant. Mike always said this commonality of the occupations of their fathers made a special bond between them. Now he smiled as he expertly rolled two slices of chicken
April looked at her plate of four skewered and grilled shrimps the size of lobster tails, covered with a green sauce, decorated with chilies that couldn't be eaten, and arranged on a plate of squid-ink-flavored rice. She'd had it before and was so impressed by the idea of black rice she'd told her father Ja Fa Woo to try it in the well-known midtown Chinese restaurant where he worked. She thought it might be an exotic addition to his repertoire.
'April—' Mike had finished his fajita and was staring at her with that expression men get when they're full of a positive emotion beyond the reach of their vocabulary.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was afraid he could hear it. No, she wasn't going there. 'Ah . . . you asked me why I'm bugging everybody. Well, I'm trying to get at the truth.' She shrugged. 'You know.'
The moment passed and Mike laughed. 'You really got Iriarte with the bit about the hair on the sink. What did you do with it?'
'I told you I gave it to Duke, what else? I also told him Jason's story about the coat hanger and the pericardial tamponade, whatever that is. Duke was most interested. He really thinks Rosa messed up and Petersen was murdered.'
'Too bad we can't take another look at the body.'
'The way I see it, with Petersen's death ruled a natural the field for suspects in the Merrill Liberty killing is really limited to her husband.'
Mike nodded.
'But with Petersen's death ruled a homicide, we could open it all the way up. We'd have a ton of suspects.'
'Has it occurred to you that Rosa might have been influenced to make a quick and positive determination that the hole in Petersen's heart was caused by a heart attack?' Mike asked.
'Yes, it has. There's a huge amount of money involved here. Rosa Washington was on the scene practically the moment the homicide call came in. Why would an ME come out of a party or an evening out, all dressed up, to show up at a crime scene when MEs aren't doing that anymore? Think about it.'
'I'm impressed, April, but Rosa's obviously very passionate about her work. ... I came out that night, and I didn't have to, either. I didn't even know you were there, and I came out.'
Mike called for the bill, provoking the usual altercation. The owner didn't want him to pay. Mike insisted on paying. They argued in Spanish. April picked up her purse and retreated to the front door, where she discreetly studied a poster of a matador waving a red blanket at a bull. This was one occasion where her interference would not be appreciated by either party. Finally Mike showed up and took her arm. 'Thanks for dinner,' he said.
