The hombre whined. 'I didn't have to tell you nothing. I was nice, tole you who made the hit.'
'Okay, if the football guy made the hit, then you have nothing to worry about, right?'
'I don't need no trouble.'
'Tell it to the detectives.'
'Oh, man, I'm bleeding,' he complained.
'You bleed on my car, you're a dead man,' Mike snapped. He called into the 30th to say they were coming in, then hit the hammer and the accelerator at the same time. The car's tires spun, then lurched forward. Six minutes later they unloaded their cargo at the 30th.
'Oh, yeah, Sanchez. You're the one that called.' The name plate on the desk officer's chest read LIEUTENANT TIMOTHY BRAMWELL.
'We need someone who speaks Spanish for this honey,' Mike told him.
Bramwell took a look at him. 'Oh, it's Julio Don't-Speak-Ingles. Julio, don't you know it's not healthy for you to come back here?'
'Good, you know him, we're out of here.' Mike turned to April, who was swabbing blood off her sleeve with some tissues from her bag.
'He bled all over the car, too,' she muttered. 'Hope he's not HIV.'
'I was just visiting a friend,' Julio whined. 'I got out of my car. This football guy shot someone. I just happened to see it, that's all. Then he run over and smash me with the gun. Jeeeeze.'
'What the hell you talkin' about?' The desk sergeant rolled blue eyes, beckoned to a uniform to come and take the guy.
'Better send someone out to look for the gun.' April gave the location of the garbage cans.
'Got anything on the shooting?' Mike asked.
'Yeah, the victim's still alive. We don't have an ID on him yet. Any chance this guy is on the level and Liberty was involved?'
'We'll go check it out.'
'Hey,' Bramwell barked. 'Sanchez, you can't just come in here, dump your garbage, and walk out without making a report. You picked him up. You make a report. Forms are right here.'
'Oh, yeah, and here's the arsenal he was carrying.' April deposited the knives on the desk.
Bramwell looked them over, asking. Then the phone rang, and they lost his attention. It was forty-five minutes before April and Mike were on the road again. By then April's boots had dried and stiffened with the salt the city used all over the streets, the snow had stopped, and any chance they might have had of catching Liberty anywhere near the scene of the shooting was long gone.
41
On Saturday morning the phone rang in April's bedroom before seven. April rolled over, groaned, squinted at the clock, couldn't make out the numbers, closed her eyes again. Hadn't she just gotten into bed? She kept her eyes closed as she listened for rain, pelting the roof above her. When she didn't hear any telltale rat-tat-tatting, she rolled over to the wall, away from the phone. It rang again. This time she let her eyes slide along the wall to the window where the gray around the edges of her white curtains told her the dawn hadn't come. It wasn't day yet. She decided not to answer the phone.
Then she realized she was awake and started thinking. Skinny Dragon expected a ride into Manhattan and the Chinatown funeral parlor where Uncle Dai was lying in state prior to his funeral tomorrow. Her mother wanted to bring offerings of paper money and fruit for Dai's journey through the afterlife. Sai wanted to light joss sticks, one after another, until there was enough incense to tease Dai's soul into repose. And Sai wanted to sit there with Dai's body for as many hours as it took for a good show of respect. After the 'for show' appearance at Dai's coffin side, she wanted to kick up her heels in Chinatown and go shopping—accompanied by worm daughter to pay for her purchases with credit card and to carry her packages. Skinny Dragon had it all planned. The phone rang a third time.
April ignored it. No matter what, she was not going to deny her mother the day's pleasures Skinny had planned. She and Mike had not located Liberty last night. It was out of her hands now. They'd failed in their task. There was no way she was going to clear this case before Sunday, so why not sleep while she could. She'd decided absolutely. She was taking the day off, wasn't answering any phones. Through the fourth and fifth rings she held her ground. But the answering machine didn't pick up. On the sixth ring, April answered the phone.
'There was a shooting in Harlem last night.'
'Good morning, Dean. And how are you?'
'You know who was shot?' Kiang demanded.
'No, 1 don't. Are you in the office?'
'I hear you and your buddy picked someone up for questioning.'
'Dean, you know, you have big ears for a Chinese. Don't you ever go home?'
'For a Chinese, April, you don't have much loyalty.'
'What's that supposed to mean?' '
'I thought you were my pipeline on this case. 1 thought we had a deal to stick together on this.'
'Hey, I'm a veritable pot sticker in the loyalty department. What's your problem?'
'Jefferson was shot last night. He was the one who was shot. Didn't you know that?'
April's mind raced. What did that mean? 'Is he dead?'
'Yes, he's dead. You were up there. You were on the scene. You picked up a suspect. Did you call me? No, you did not call me. I'm going up there to question him now. I'll see you in my office tonight at seven. We'll review the case then.'
He hung up before she had a chance to tell him she probably couldn't make it.
So another day off was lost. At eight-thirty April checked the squad room before pausing to hang her coat up on the wooden coatrack in the corner of her office that wasn't her office today because it was supposed to be her day off. Everyone, including her opposite number, was in the field. In the squad room, the holding cell and all the desks were empty. She did not peek into Iriarte's office to see if the lieutenant was there. It was now more imperative than ever to find Liberty. Now she understood Iriarte's disgusting respect for the chubby, colorless Charlie Hagedorn.
Iriarte believed technology was the future, and Hagedorn happened to be a computer whiz. Hagedorn could hack into anything. He'd be able to find Liberty's location by Liberty's E-mail activity. They had no choice about locating him now. April returned to the squad room and showed herself outside Iriarte's window. He beckoned her into his office, where the mood was not a happy one. Mike, Hagedorn, and Iriarte sat gloomily in the only chairs in the room. Mike got up and offered her his chair.
'What's the story on Wally Jefferson?' She took the chair Mike offered. 'Thanks.'
Warte scowled and jerked his chin at Mike to tell her.
'Story on Jefferson is they found a Glock on the sidewalk a block and a half west of the shooting,' Mike said. 'They think it might be the murder weapon. Ballistics is going over it.' He sighed. 'Looks like some kind of fuckup.'
'What kind?'
Mike glanced at the scowling lieutenant, then back at April. 'Seems when they raided a club last night someone had time to run in and warn the customers. The door was barricaded. Jefferson was inside. Apparently he had a date to meet someone there. There's a door to the basement of the building next door. When the raid started, Jefferson went out that way. Our guess is that the shooter was waiting for him. When he came out on the street, the shooter wiped him out.'
'Was the hit man our little golden-toothed Julio?'
Iriarte made a disgusted noise. He and Hagedorn exchanged glances too. A lot was going on in the room. April had no idea what subjects the three of them had covered before she got there. She dug around in her purse for Liberty's E-mail of the day before, hoping that when Hagedorn successfully hacked into it, he'd get a boost and be transferred into somebody else's computer room. She smiled at her- boss. He looked surprised.
'It's not clear yet.' Mike answered her question about Julio. 'Jefferson was his mule. He could have been
