Tracking Time

the back burner of her thoughts. They were troubled losers. Kids like that made her sad about the state of the world.

Maslow's office was in an ordinary Central Park West building, one of those massive, well-kept, sixteen-story brick structures with rich canopies and doormen in matching uniforms that were inhabited mostly by wealthy, educated Caucasians unlike herself. It was just like the building where he lived and much nicer than anyplace she'd ever resided. The doorman was a good-looking Hispanic in a neat navy uniform. April nodded at him, and he didn't stop her and Woody when he saw where they were headed. She wondered if she looked as if she needed a shrink and smiled at the thought.

The first door on the right just inside the lobby had Maslow's name on it and two others listed above it. A note on the door told Maslow's patients to contact Dr. Jason Frank. Woody went first, checking the door before ringing the bell. They were both surprised when the handle turned and the door opened on a waiting room in the minimalist style-a square room with cracking beige paint, a few shabby chairs, a sofa of indeterminate color, and three coffee tables littered with well-thumbed Life magazines. Most surprising of all was the ultra-thin girl sitting on the sofa, looking forlorn and playing with her long black hair.

The girl glanced up eagerly when the door opened, saw that it was not the person she was anticipating, then looked down and inspected her watch. April copied the action. Woody did the same. All three watches read five- thirty.

'Are you waiting for Dr. Atkins?' April asked.

The girl nodded.

'Didn't you see the note on the door?'

'Yes.'

'Did you call Dr. Frank?'

'No, should I?'

'Dr. Atkins isn't coming in today.'

'He'll come in for me,' she said.

'What makes you think so?'

'He's very late, but I'm sure he's coming. He promised.' The girl frowned.

'Is he often late?'

'Late? He's never late. I'm a little worried, but I know he won't let me down. Are you two his next appointment?'

'Any particular reason for worry?' Woody jumped in without any invitation from his boss.

The girl tilted her head to one side. 'Oh, you know New York. Elevators get stuck. Cranes fall over. My grandfather was hit by a bus once.' She lifted a shoulder. 'His whole side was black-and-blue for weeks. He died of a blood clot, though.'

Woody looked as if he might pass out with delight over this account. His humor was a little off as always. 'What's your name?' he asked.

'Allegra Caldera,' she said easily.

April couldn't believe her ears.

'Hi, Allegra, I'm Detective Baum. This is Sergeant Woo,' Woody introduced them, clearly smitten again.

'Police?' the girl said excitedly.

'Yes. We're from the police.' April showed off her gold shield, guessing this was the girl they were looking for.

'Police?' Allegra said again, puzzled this time, as if the word had a funny taste. April noticed that her fingernails were badly bitten, and her sharp collarbone showed clearly through the thin fabric of her white blouse. She was a schoolgirl, pretty, starving, and not very old. Her eyes showed alarm, but she didn't seem to be afraid of them.

'Yes, we're looking for Dr. Atkins.'

'He didn't do anything wrong, did he?' This appeared to be the girl's worry. She jumped off the sofa.

'No, of course not. But he's missing.' April noted the flushed face and girl's puzzlement. She, at least, did not appear to be stoned.

'He is?'

'Didn't you see all the activity? This section of Central Park has been closed all afternoon. It made a mess of the whole West Side.' This from Woody, suddenly a conversationalist.

Allegra shook her head. 'No, I got off the subway at Ninety-sixth Street and walked over.'

'Where were you coming from?' Woody's voice was funny. The idiot had the dazed look of someone who'd fallen down a flight of stairs. He was talking, but he wasn't all there. Pretty girls had a devastating effect on him.

Allegra saw it, too. 'The Bronx. I live in Riverdale. Why are you asking me these questions?'

'We're tracing Dr. Atkins's actions yesterday to see if we can figure out where he might be.'

'Well, he must be here.' Allegra ran over to one of the three doors off the waiting room and knocked. 'Dr. Atkins,' she cried. 'Dr. Atkins! Open the door!'

April gave Woody a look as he pulled out his camera. They had a situation. The girl thought Maslow was inside the office, and they hadn't searched here first. Were they both out of their minds? How could they have missed this? If Maslow was inside the office, he was probably dead. Maybe he was a suicide. Maybe he'd had a heart attack. It happened. Sweat rolled down her sides. Or he could have been murdered here. Jesus, if she'd called out the whole city on this, and the man was dead in his office, her entire career, indeed her whole life, was over. She was an idiot, an unbelievable idiot.

The girl was weeping. 'Oh God, I'm really sorry.'

Another click in April's mind. This was the voice on Maslow's answering machine.

'Listen, Allegra, calm down. Tell me what you know about this,' she said.

'I will, I will, but please, check in there first. I'm so scared.'

'Sure.' Good plan. April snapped her fingers at Woody. Get a grip.

'Boss?' he said blankly.

'Take Allegra out in the hall.'

'Are you going to break into his office?' she cried, blocking the door.

'No. I'm just going to open the door.'

'That's breaking in. Isn't that against the law?' Allegra demanded.

'We're the law,' April told her. 'This is what we do. Go out in the hall.'

'Oh my God, don't touch anything. He's a doctor. Everything in there is confidential.'

The hair rose on April's neck. What was she seeing? What was coming out of this kid? What was going on here? 'Sit down,' she ordered Allegra. 'And don't move.'

'Boss?' Woody queried, eager to do the break-in.

'I'll do it.' April would have used her precious MasterCard, on which there was a balance due of eight hundred and thirty-two dollars because of two pairs of really pretty shoes, a suit for herself, and the recent colorful shirts and ties she'd bought her lover. But using the card would not have negated the debt.

Instead, from her purse she pulled the thin, flexible strip locksmiths use when people lock themselves out. It was one of the necessities she kept with her at all times.

Both Woody and the girl watched as she slid the strip between the door and the lock and popped the door open. They all held their breath as April went into the still, empty room. Then her phone rang and she answered it.

Twenty-three

Lieutenant Mike Sanchez was having a bad day. He had a hangover and the guilts on two fronts about the love of his life, April Woo. First thing was April had messed up big time on this Maslow Atkins case and wasn't backing off to save her ass as she should. Out of kindness and concern for her future, he felt he had to be straight with her.

On another front, he wasn't looking so good himself. He'd made his own little blunder and had to confess,