'The deal is we're cooperating. You tell us what you've got, we tell you what we've got, and together we clear the case.'
'Great. What have you got?'
He laughed and wagged a finger at her. 'April, your boss said to be careful of you, you're a pistol.'
'I'm flattered.' April laughed, too. They were having quite a party, but he hadn't answered the question, and she wasn't going to play nice and brief him on the case after Iriarte gave him her office without mentioning it to her and there were a dozen other detectives right outside the door who could brief him just as well as she could. And besides, right now she needed to use the phone. 'Do you mind if I use the phone?' she asked sweetly.
'No, go ahead.' He nodded toward the phone.
'I mean, privately.'
'Oh, sure. How long will you be?' He was a pistol, too.
'Two minutes.'
He checked his watch. 'No problem.'
April was impressed by his efficiency. The man was actually going to time her. She wasted no time dialing Dr. Jason Frank's number. If she was going to consult with anybody outside the precinct, it was going to be Jason, and only Jason. He was a psychiatrist she'd met a while ago, when his actress wife was being stalked. Ever since April had called him whenever she had a head case. He was always busy with patients and rarely answered the phone, so she was astounded when he picked up now.
'Dr. Frank.'
'Jason, it's April.'
'Hey, April, my favorite police officer. What's up? I only have thirty seconds.'
'Head case. I need a consultation.'
'Could you elaborate a little?'
April peered out into the squad room where Gabe stood at the door tapping his finger at his watch. A real nice guy. She was tempted to flip him the bird. 'In twenty seconds?' she asked Jason.
'Well, for you I have two minutes. What's up?'
She turned toward the wall in case Gabe could lip-read. Never underestimate a white shirt. 'Got a creepy case, Jason. Missing baby. Possibly a battered wife. But the baby isn't hers. A lot of people are banking on the kidnap angle, but I'm not completely convinced this woman didn't maybe kill the baby, after all. I could be wrong, but I think this is a head case. Would you see her?'
'What's a head case, April?'
'You know what I mean. Wacko, crazy. By you, certifiable illness.'
'Well, you know my credo on the subject: if they seem crazy, they probably are. Sure, I'll see her. You want to bring her to my office?'
'Sorry, can't do it.'
'Oh, I don't know. I can't come into the station. I'm really socked in here.' 'We'll come and get you. How's Emma?' April played the trump. She and Mike had saved Emma's life, and they both had scars to show for it. Jason owed her, and she would never let him forget it.
'All right, I had time set aside for jogging in an hour. Pick me up then
;
' he said wearily.
'Thanks, I'll pay you back,' she promised cheerfully.
'That won't be necessary, and Emma's fine. Thanks for asking.'
April hung up, and Gabe walked right back in.
'Okay, have a seat. Let's do that debriefing now,' he said.
'Sorry, I can't. Something's come up downtown.'
He looked disappointed. 'How about later?'
'Later's great.' April picked up her purse and bade her office a sad farewell. She didn't plan to come back for a long time.
It was noisy out in the squad room, and chaos still reigned. Ousted squad detectives were trying to do their jobs in impossible circumstances, without their desks and phones. At the moment four of them were squeezed into Iriarte's office, having a conference. When Lieutenant Iriarte saw April through his window, he waved at her to join in the meeting.
'Whatchu got?' he asked, motioning for her to shut the door after her.
When no one jumped up to give her a chair, she leaned against the door frame. 'I like our Feeb; he's a real charmer,' she remarked.
'Oh, Gabe? He's from the New York office. We want to help out all we can, all right?'
'Sure. What's going on?'
Iriarte pointed at Hagedorn. 'Charlie was about to give us some deep background on the Popescu family.'
'What about the baby's mother?'
Charlie gave her a look. 'Nothing on her yet. One thing at a time.'
'Look, Charlie, if this guy Anton has a babe on the side, I want her name and address. When are you getting on it?'
'That was your job,' Iriarte barked. 'Go ahead, Charlie.'
April shut her mouth. Charlie Hagedorn happened to be a first-rate hacker, good enough to go downtown to the Big Building with the big boys. Iriarte wouldn't let this happen as long as he drew breath. He saw computers as policing's future, and Charlie's talent for finding out things as his alone. He nodded for his favorite to begin.
Charlie gave April a smug look and let his chest puff. 'The Popescu family came in from France in the thirties. The grandfather, Paul, and the two sons, Marcus and Peter. Had some money, set up shop on the Lower East Side. Marcus Popescu had one son, Ivan. Peter Popescu had two sons, Marc and Anton. Anton is the younger by twelve years.'
'What kind of shop?' At the mention of the Lower East Side April got interested.
'Sounds like a sweatshop kind of thing. Any of your family in the sewing business?'
She shook her head. Her father was a cook. Her mother—though April found it hard to believe—had been pretty and popular enough to work in the front of a restaurant. A downtown hostess was a person who bossed people around. The job had been perfect for her. Skinny had screamed at waiters and argued with people who had problems with the bill or didn't like their food. The place had been old then. Now it was truly ancient. Thousands of holes-in-the-wall like it had come and gone in the ten years since Skinny Dragon had been lucky enough to stop working, but Doh Wa was still there, surviving the Chinatown trend to white tablecloths and dishes like Grand Marnier shrimp prepared with profoundly un-Chinese ingredients like mayonnaise and orange liqueur.
'But you came up in the Fifth, right?' Hagedorn demanded.
April nodded.
'Born in Chinatown, right?'
April nodded again. 'Born and bred. Any particular reason?'
'The Popescu family's been in the business for quite a while. They've been shut down a number of times over the years. The usual: fire code violations, inadequate wiring for the machines and fans. Building condemned, plumbing didn't meet standards—' He thumbed his notes.
April snorted. Since when did plumbing shut anybody down?
Charlie looked up. 'Problem?'
Only the usual societal complaints about exploitation and poor working conditions. April shook her head.
Charlie went on. 'Illegal aliens. No record of trouble lately. Looks like they've cleaned up their act. Factory's on Allen Street, but it seems most of their work these days is being done in China. Two sons to Peter, as I said, Anton and Marc. Marc is in the business. Anton is a personal-injury lawyer. Marc has been married twice, messy divorces. Has two children by each wife. By the looks of their settlements, the business is doing very well. Marcus's son, Ivan, is also in the business. He's married, has two children, house in Queens, another one farther out on the Island. The father is retired, lives—'
'Okay, okay. That's enough.' Iriarte shut him up.
'They're raking in the money. I gather you don't know them,' Hagedorn kept at it. April ignored him.
