A Clean Kill (11 page)

When she was all dressed, however; she felt sick again. She chided herself for throwing up and taking cocaine with a cop in the other room. What was she thinking? Her stomach still heaved and her head hurt like hell. It felt as if pieces of her skull were about to crack off like the iceberg they'd seen breaking up on that cruise they'd taken to Alaska three summers ago. She hadn't enjoyed the trip very much, but she remembered that ice floe. Maddy was dead, and she couldn't come down just yet; it hurt too much. She took another bump. Just a teeny-tiny nothing of a bump, almost nothing at all, and she felt a little better again. She knew she had to be careful. She didn't want to freak out and trigger old behaviors—too much vomiting, too much coke—just because she was upset.

As she walked back into the gym, the first thing she saw was Derek sitting in one of the hammock chairs by the Fifty-sixth Street window. His habitual jauntiness was gone. She was shocked by his posture of complete dejection. The wide shoulders she'd always so admired were slumping forward, and his big handsome face' was cradled in those gifted hands. As she headed for the elevator to escape, she actually caught the gleam of tears on his fingers and was horrified. The thirty-four-year-old looked crushed, absolutely devastated. His expression of what appeared to be very real grief set off a searing flash of jealous rage in Alison.

Maddy was the chilly blonde, the one who always seemed in control of her emotions. Alison was known as the hot-blooded one. Sometimes she flew off. Right then she was in danger of completely losing it. Maddy was dead, and Derek cared more about himself (and Maddy) than he did about her.

This total selfishness of his tore her apart because she, not Maddy, had bought his equipment, had cosigned his lease, and taken the time to listen to his woes. She was the one who comforted him when things got bad. She could go on and on, but she needed to run. Even though it was June, definitely in the summer zone, she hadn't given up her snakeskin boots with the three-inch heels. She always dressed for attention, and she got it as she dashed to the elevator. The detectives who'd been listening to Derek so attentively suddenly turned to her.
Don't say a word,
she told herself as the female detective got to her before the elevator left the first floor.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"I'm all right. I just swallowed wrong. I have a strong gag reflex," Alison said.

"That's too bad. How about a cup of coffee?"

"No, thanks. Look, I can't talk about Maddy right now." Alison reminded herself that she'd made a vow of silence.

"Don't worry, it won't take long."

Alison felt the acid rise again in her throat. What should she do? She started calculating. If she talked to the cop, could she still be on
Larry King Live?
She had no idea about these things. Did CNN pay? CBS? NBC certainly did. Her mind raced. She could be on
The View.
How much could she get for her story? She could donate it to charity; that would enhance her image. She liked to think she was smart.

"We could go to the station, if you prefer."

"Oh, gee." Alison forgot about the little bag of powder,in her gym bag. She also forgot how much worse she was going to feel in a little while if she didn't get more. She was thinking that she'd never been in a police station, that for once she had the power to help her friends. She had no idea who murdered Maddy, but she was certain that if she put the right spin on their story, Andrew would respect her. Wayne would respect her. Derek would thank her. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

"Okay," she said calmly.

Fourteen

S
ometimes it was hard for a detective to know what to do with somebody. Alison Perkins presented such a problem. If her name had popped up in Derek's conversation as the victim's best friend, April would have put her on the to-see list and tracked her down some time down the road. She would have visited the woman in her home. If Alison had been a suspect she wanted to shake up, she'd have taken her to the task force headquarters, where Minnow would be setting up his detective team.

Instead she'd found Alison with the last person to see Maddy Wilson alive. That knocked her up to the top of the must-see list. But where should they go? April's personal relationship with the precinct commander complicated the use of the Seventeenth Precinct's interview room, and the press would be watching there. April wanted to keep Alison away from the Minnow crowd and the media spotlight. That left Alison's home or Midtown North.' She thought it wouldn't be a good idea to let Alison return to her home, where the telephone would distract her and she could show April the door at any time. In the end April opted for her own shop at Midtown North.

Two separate cars brought her and Alison, Derek and Woody, into the precinct, where no one knew they were coming. April and Alison got there first. During the ride in the unmarked car Alison's mood changed. She clutched her gym bag nervously and fussed with her long, unbrushed hair. Her eyes were red and her pupils seemed larger than before. She talked nonstop.

"Wow, is this where you work?" she asked as they went through the precinct door. "This place needs work."

"Home, sweet home," April said cheerfully, nodding at Lieutenant Lester at the desk. He shot her a look that said
cranked-up hooker.

She shook her head.
Not even close.
"This way," she said, leading the way to the stairs. It was faster than waiting for the elevator.

"Okay, no problem." Alison clattered up the stairs loudly in her high-heeled boots.

At two thirty the squad room was empty except for a grizzled man, dressed in many layers of stained clothing and snoring loudly in the holding cell; Dominica, the secretary; and the new guy, Barry Queue. Barry was a cool-looking African-American with a bit of an attitude, six one, shaved head with a few days' growth coming in. He'd been in Intelligence for a while and was unusually secretive about everything. He was on the phone, talking softly.. When the two women came in, he swung around to stare, then slowly raised his hand in salute.

"Wait here for a second, will you?" April told

Alison, pointing to the visitors' bench near the door.

"Where's Derek?" Alison asked anxiously. "I need to talk to him."

"Soon." April stopped at Dominica's desk. "Where is everybody?" she asked.

The secretary of the unit was nearly forty now. She was a single mother who knew everybody's backstory and was helpful to the detectives she liked. She'd slept with a bunch of them over the years, took care of things when they were sick or needed cover. Those who weren't her darlings got the shaft.

"Sergeant Gelo and Charlie are looking for strippers from Spirit," she reported.

Gelo and Hagedorn out together? April's brow furrowed. Hagedorn never left. The man had an unnatural relationship with his computer, and since they made a pair of aces, no one wanted it any other way.

"Yeah. That Gelo has him eating from her—"

"No kidding. What else?" April didn't want to know where Eloise had him eating from.

"The senator's son was released from the hospital a little while ago. His mother got him out. Senator Peret was at a submit in the Middle East. He's flying in tonight. The clip has been on "TV about five times. They're not making any statement until tomorrow." She rattled off the names of other detectives on the first tour, where they were. April listened, but she was thinking about Senator Peret, another high-profile humiliated parent with a kid on drugs. It was tough.

"You want tea, boss?" Dominica finished. "I'll get someone on it." Not her job, but she was a nice person.

"Yes, please. And a coffee for the lady out there."

April smiled, then went to check her desk. There was a pile of messages from people she wished she could avoid. A stack of files of ongoing cases that needed to be addressed. Some directives ' from downtown. Five minor complaints had come in since morning and were waiting for assignment. Wanted posters. Personnel schedules. April did not bring civilians in here.

She left her office and went through to the back where the picnic table, the "TV, and the lockers were. A quick glance at the interview room discouraged her from taking Alison in there. The wastebasket was overflowing and some take-out cartons and empty cups were on the floor. The mixed odors of spoiled food and sweat were particularly offensive. Too bad for Woody. He was going to deal with it, get a uniform in to clean up. She wasn't doing it. Then she stopped at Dominica's desk. She couldn't help herself. She was the CO. "The interview room needs a cleanup."

"Don't look at me," Dominica said. "Cleaning that room isn't my job." Then she relented. "I'll ask someone to take care of it."

"Thanks. I'll remember you on your birthday."

"You always say that, Lieutenant. But this time it happens to be Friday."

April grinned. "I knew that. 1 won't forget you."

"See that you don't," Dominica shot back.

Back on the visitors' bench, Alison Perkins was

shaking her foot and beginning to look scared. "You can come in now," April told her. She'd opted for classy and took the woman into her office.

At her desk April set up her tiny tape recorder. "I'm going to tape this," she said, and told the machine who was there, where they were, and what day and time it was. Then she asked Alison her name, address, and phone number.

Hugging her bag, Alison responded, then added, "I have to go in a minute. I don't feel well."

"Okay. Alison, I'm going to ask you some questions about Maddy Wilson."

Alison swiped at her nose. "I think I have the flu."

"Maddy Wilson was a close friend of yours?"

"Yes," Alison said, looking at the machine.

"How well did you know her?"

"Better than her fucking husband did. She was my best friend. We talked every day, usually more than once."

"When was the last time you saw Maddy?"

"Yesterday. We went shopping." Alison glanced at the Wanted posters on the wall and grimaced. She made a little whimpering sound. "I feel bad."

"Where did you go shopping?" April asked.

"Yesterday? Bergdorf's. They're having a great sale." She didn't look too enthusiastic about it.

"Really?" April was surprised. She had no idea that rich women went to sales. "What did you buy?" she asked, curious.

"Jesus, this isn't anything like
Law and Order,"
Alison erupted.

"No, this isn't a TV show," April chided gently. "Now, Alison, you know Maddy really well. What was she was like?"

"Oh, she was great. Didn't you see the pictures of her? Great legs, great hair. Great taste. You saw the house, I'm sure. Maddy was just great."

"Uh-huh. Beyond her looks, though. What kind of person was she?" April had patience—she'd dealt with people like this for years.

Alison thought for a moment. "She was into health and fitness, of course.
Very
into maintenance. She took care of herself really well. We both do. You know how importantmaintenance is."

April smiled. She did indeed.

"Men get distracted easily," Alison said, shaking her foot, pretty distracted herself. "You know, successful, rich, always making a new deal. The older they get, the younger they like their women."

"Did Wayne like them young?"

Alison frowned. "And she was
funny!
She could do Donald Duck at the drop of a hat. It always cracked the kids up so much." She looked up at the ceiling, stuck the bag behind her in the chair, then leaned against it, covering it with her body.

It was clear she realized that she had something in common with the men on those Wanted posters. April made the decision not to nail her with the substance abuse right off the bat. "What about Wayne? Did he fool around?" she asked again.

"Oh, sure."

"Did Maddy know?"

"She worried about it practically constantly."

"Was he sleeping with Remy?"

"Oh, of course. Maddy told me many times that

Remy was trying to take over. 1 told her what to do." Alison scratched her neck somewhere behind her ear. "I wouldn't put up with that kind of shit in my house."

"Did Maddy take your advice?"

"She called me early this morning very upset. She left a message for me to call back at nine. 1 called her back but she didn't pick up. Now that 1 think of it, she might have been on the line with Jo Ellen."

"Who is Jo Ellen?"

"Oh, Jo Ellen places people." Alison reached for the bag, then thought better of it and shoved it back behind her butt. "Aw, shit. This is horrible. Do you have a bathroom here?"

April ignored the question. "What agency does she work for?"

"Anderson. Jo Ellen Anderson. It's her own."