her denial. 'We'll start on the shape of his head and his body type then, okay?'
April closed her eyes, trying to conjure an impression of size from a blocked memory. Why were they bothering with this? They knew she'd gotten hit on the head in her fall. For how many seconds she'd lost consciousness she didn't know. What she did know was that lost consciousness also often meant a loss of memory of precipitating events as well. Sometimes it was a merciful thing that those minutes of actual violence disappeared forever, but it was not good for law enforcement.
What April remembered was her annoyance at Bernardino for leaving without saying good-bye, the wet blanket of fog on the street when she left the restaurant to follow him. She remembered hearing the sound of the metal leash. A man had been walking his dog, some kind of big dog. She didn't remember now what kind. The two had passed her. Now that she thought about it, it seemed odd. How could they have missed Bernardino when she had almost tripped over his body?
As she waited for her tea, she puzzled over this. Somehow she had gotten into Washington Square. She'd been barefoot. She didn't remember either of those things. When she first regained consciousness, Mike had been holding her head, talking to her. She remembered that. She'd assumed that Mike was the one who'd had saved her. But later in the hospital Mike told her a man with a chocolate lab had intervened. If it was the same man and dog, how could they have avoided Bernardino's body?
Dogs were very sensitive to human states: injury, sickness, fear, anger, death. Even if the man hadn't seen Bernardino, the dog would have known. Something was wrong about the story. She had to talk to that guy. That hero who'd saved her. She made a mental note and checked her watch. How long would it take for them to catch on to the fact that she was not going to be any help in identifying the killer? One hour, two? Seventy-two?
Mike came back with a fresh cup of tea. April sipped at hot water that was just beginning to streak with the brown of a tea bag. She read
She drew breath and coughed experimentally, aware of how investigators felt about this kind of thing. For once the shoe was on the other foot. Usually she was the one trying to help a witness remember. She was the one who felt frustrated because so often they seemed to be holding something back. She drank some tea to warm her throat. It didn't help.
'What about his size, the shape of his body, April?' Greg fiddled with his shapes as if April didn't know the difference between a wiry build, a medium build, and a heavy build.
'There you are!' Bill Bernardino opened the door and pushed into the small space. His suit was a rumpled mess and his face was flushed an angry red. He looked as if he'd been crying. 'What the hell happened?' he demanded as if he hadn't spoken to Mike several times last night.
'Bill!' Mike jumped out of his desk chair, offering his hands for condolence.
Bill put his own hands up to reject the gesture. 'He was fine when I left. Jesus!' he spit out angrily, as if it were their fault his father was gone, as if it were brand-new news to him.
April's eyes welled up. 'Oh, Bill.' The words didn't come out loud enough to qualify as a whisper.
He glared at her. A few days before the party April had called him personally. Prosecutors were very busy, and she knew from past experience that Bill would need a reminder to make it to his father's party. She also wanted to be sure that his wife, Becky, knew she had an invitation and that Bernardino wanted her there. Becky hadn't come, and Bill had kept his appearance short. From long habit, April kept her face stripped of her feelings. But her heart hammered out her anger so loudly she was afraid he could hear it across the room. Skinny Dragon Mother would be very vocal indeed about a son like Bill.
A busy son? A careless son? No, a bad son. Skinny would say Bill Bernardino was a no-good son.
'I'm sorry for your loss.' Now Greg Spence was on his feet. 'I'll catch you guys later,' he murmured to Mike and April. Then he was gone, right out the door as fast as he could get away.
A real prosecutor, Bill raised his hand a few inches to acknowledge his triumph in getting the floor. Then he went right to the point. 'What the hell was going on there, April?' he demanded, singling her out as the focus of his rage even though they'd met only a few times over the years. And he'd heard what happened already!
She blinked back the tears in her eyes, put off by the way he was behaving. No respect. Her tears dried out of her eyes as quickly as they had flooded them. She understood that he was upset. They were all upset. But this was no way to talk to his father's old friend.
'For Christ's sake. The least you can do is talk to me, tell me what you guys were up to. Or are you going to cover this up like everything else?' he went on bitterly.
Oh, that was it. April and Mike locked eyes, and Mike intervened. 'Hey, take it easy, Bill.'
'Take it easy! My dad is murdered at a Department party where the top brass was skunk drunk, and you expect me to take it easy. How do I know one of them didn't do this? Huh?'
'Oh, no, no, no, no. Don't talk crazy,' Mike said softly. 'You know that's not right.' He glanced quickly at April a second time. She knew he wanted to move to her side of the table to protect her. An almost imperceptible shake of her head told him she was fine.
'I know that she's responsible for this.' Bill pointed an angry finger at her. 'She was there on the scene. She let this happen! You'd better believe I'm not taking it easy. I'm not letting it go. Someone's going to pay.'
'Okay, sure. Fair enough. Why don't you sit down now? You need a cup of coffee, something to eat.' Despite her warning, Mike instinctively reached out to April.
She was wondering how Bill knew who was on the scene.
'Don't give me that cop shit! I don't want coffee. My dad is dead. I want some answers.' His face was almost purple with rage. April figured he'd had enough time to start feeling guilty and almost felt sorry for him.
But even if she could have found her voice, she would have remained silent throughout the tirade. Bill was threatening them, and it was a little scary. She knew how these things could be tilted and turned around. Police investigations came up with all kinds of explanations and skewed answers to cover up mistakes. It wasn't good, but it happened. Bill was a prosecutor and she could see where he was going.
There had been incidents in the past of cops partying just before they went on duty, then having fatal car crashes as they sped to work. Each time drinking was implicated as a factor in a tragedy involving cops, a lot of people went down. Supervisors were transferred, demoted, or lost their jobs. Now the possibility of scandal because a bunch of high-ranking cops had been drinking at the retirement party of a distinguished lieutenant who was murdered on the way home was not beyond possibility.
Dozens of friends only a few feet away and all too drunk to do anything to save him. Oh, it was so clear where Bill was headed.
'Sit down, Bill. I was there and you weren't. So you listen to me for a minute before you get yourself and everybody else in a flap. Okay?' Mike pointed at the chair. April could see how angry he was but knew that Bill could not.
Bill hesitated.
'I said, 'sit down.' Let's be civilized here,' he said softly. 'I'm not going to bite you.'
'Fine. She was there, too; why doesn't she tell me what happened?' Bill took the chair Greg had vacated and looked to April.
April was not feeling so good. But her hair covered the lump on her head, and her turtleneck hid the bruises on her shoulder and neck. Maybe he didn't know what had happened to her.
'She can't,' Mike said, real steel coming through in his voice for the first time. 'She went after the guy. The bastard almost killed her. The man who killed your father is some kind of martial-arts expert.'
Bill's mouth opened. 'A what?' He stared at April, stunned. This bit of news hit a nerve.
Stony-eyed, she stared right back. She remembered that Bill happened to be a judo expert himself. Then her eyes went furry on her, and she took a little nap.
Nine
