'One of them.'
'So you know everything about it?'
'There was another homicide in Washington Square last week, a retired police lieutenant, my old supervisor, in fact. This is the second one,' she said slowly.
'What does it mean?'
'I don't know. At the very least it means there's a sick person out there who kills rich people with his bare hands.'
'Rich people. I thought you said your supervisor was a cop.'
'Bernardino was a cop with fifteen million dollars in his pocket. Thanks for the tip, Jason. I'll get back to you.' Jason hung up the phone more distressed than he'd been before.
Thirty-seven
When April hung up with Jason, the sun was out and the city was heating up. It had gone from rain to shine without her noticing, and she felt she'd missed something, missed a lot.
'What's going on, boss?' Woody Baum was heading uptown in the unmarked unit, away from the mob scene at the crazed Sixth Precinct. He was driving with one hand, playing tag with civilian cars, running red lights, all his usual antics to keep things interesting.
Woody had been in a rough-and-tumble anticrime unit for three years, driving around with a bunch of tough guys on the third tour in the earliest hours of the morning, looking for bottom feeders to lock up before they got impatient and shot someone. There had been a lot of shootings among the dealers back when Guiliani was cleaning up the city block by block. Since then Woody had hung up his spurs, cleaned up, and cut his hair real short. He was a good-looking, almost preppy kind of guy now, trying to be a nice, quiet detective. It wasn't so easy for him. His life on the streets had made him somewhat unpredictable. April thought of him kind of like Dim Sum-a bad dog with some training that didn't always stick. The poodle squatted in the kitchen when she was thwarted. And Woody kept testing his limits, too.
Right now April was too preoccupied to chastise him or answer his question. Jason's call had caught her off guard. Cops rarely made friends with people whose lives they'd saved. They didn't like to be reminded of their traumas. But Emma and Jason had been different. They trusted April, had even named their daughter after her. It always made April laugh to think that a little blond angel was carrying her name. But she was proud of the child and secretly wanted to return the favor. A dark-haired Emma, or maybe a Jason. Why not?
She'd consulted Jason on many cases. In return, Jason seemed to feel that April and Mike were his own private police force he could call on whenever something was off in his world, which was too often for comfort. He treated many different kinds of people and was no stranger to the dark side of human nature. Woody finally got her attention when he ran a light on Forty-second Street while a bunch of car horns blared in protest.
'Hey, slow down, Woody!' April closed her eyes as a bus hurtled toward them.
'No problem.' Woody chuckled as they made it across the street unharmed.
April turned her attention to her cell phone and called Mike. 'Yo. Sorry to bother you,' she said when he answered.
'What's up?' He sounded stressed.
'Jason Frank knew Birdie Bassett's husband. He was a donor at the institute. The funny thing is, Jason was supposed to meet her today.'
'Jesus. Okay, thanks for the heads-up,' Mike said hurriedly.
'She thought her husband was murdered. She wanted Jason to look into it.'
'No kidding.' Now he was interested.
'And I got a hold of Brenda and Burton Bassett. Guess where they are?'
'Their father and Birdie's apartment.'
'Yes, in one. It looks like they'd planned to raid the place before the IRS could get there. Can you get up here?'
'Give me an hour. I'll try.'
'Right.' She hung up as Woody plowed up the Park Avenue ramp to circle the Hyatt Hotel and Grand Central Station. Her cell rang again before they got to the top. 'Sergeant Woo.'
'It's Kathy. What about that second homicide in Washington Square last night?' She sounded stressed, too.
'Oh, you heard,' April said a little guiltily.
'Of course I heard, but not from you. Why didn't you call me last night? You promised.' Kathy was peeved.
'Sorry. I tried you yesterday afternoon.' But then April's plate got full, and she forgot.
'Who's the vic?' Kathy asked.
'She's the widow of a richie, a big philanthropist. You can look him up. Max Bassett. Two Sams, two Toms. Birdie was attending a dinner at York U. Seems she was an alum there. A donor.' April paused at Kathy's sharp inhalation of breath.
'York U?' Kathy said.
'Yeah, does that mean something to you?'
'Well, yeah. Dad went there,' Kathy said slowly.
Bingo, a third connection. 'Your father attended York University?' April said excitedly.
'Yes, ma'am, he got his BS there. He went at night when I was little. I think he got most of the credits he needed for a master's degree, too. I don't know why he didn't finish.' She paused for breath. 'York U. Humph.'
'That's good, Kathy. Thanks.' April was elated and wondered why it hadn't come out before.
'April, do you still think my brother is involved in Dad's murder?' Kathy's voice was cool.
'Kathy, I'm going to be honest with you. Bill wasn't forthcoming about a number of things. Right off the bat he made himself suspicious. He left the party early. It seemed odd, you know. Other things, too. I don't want to go into it. But we have to eliminate the family first in every case; you know that. And he's looking clean now.'
'I know,' Kathy said softly, but her voice was still icy.
April let it pass for the moment. 'Look, we gave Bill every opportunity to help us out. He came downtown a few times. He invited a search of his house, and some detectives went over it and his car pretty carefully. I'm sure you know he was present at the time of the search. This was on the advice of his lawyer; you know what I'm saying?'
'I know what you're saying. I don't know anything about a search. When did you do it?'
'Tuesday.'
'What did they find?' Kathy asked.
'Look, your brother is a prosecutor. He knows as well as you and I do how to hide an elephant.'
'Are you saying you didn't find anything?' Kathy was still on the search.
'You know I can't answer that. All I can tell you is that Bill knows how to handle himself. And his team is on his side.'
Suddenly April felt very tired. She couldn't talk about Tiger Liniment or missing millions or anything else with Kathy. For a second she let her thoughts wander to last night, when she'd taken her turn at examining Birdie Bassett's body. The staggering thing about this murder was that the killer had choked his victim-there were bruises on her neck-but that wasn't the cause of death, and he hadn't yoked her as he had Bernie. It was clear to her what he'd done because she knew the move. He killed Birdie with a karate technique few black belts had the deadly strength to execute. One punch, one kill. This time he signed a clear signature. Now she was sorry she hadn't asked Gloss whether Bernardino's killer was left-handed or right-handed. As soon as they knew that, they'd know if there was one killer on the loose, or two.
She shook her head. One punch, one kill. The move everyone practiced, and that looked so great on TV, came with the caveat of 'Don't try this,' along with a bunch of other moves it was stupid to attempt when a mugger held a knife to your throat or a gun to your head. The truth was, karate only worked to give a potential victim a second or two. Ninety-nine out of a hundred amateurs could not gain enough time to get away from an opponent with a gun or a knife.
