A Clean Kill (32 page)

"Yes, ma'am." He slowed for another fifteen seconds with his hand still on hers. It was kind of a nice touch.

Then thunder struck close by again, and April flashed to their race through Central Park one night long ago, chasing a teenage killer on a night just like this one. They went back a long way, and hadn't crashed yet. She tried to relax.

"I talked with both Remy and Lynn for many hours. They're not telling me everything, and that's troubling," she said after a moment.

"You think they're involved somehow?"

"I think they know things they're afraid to tell. Maybe about Jo Ellen, maybe the two husbands. It's not clear. What worries me is that something else will happen."

"Let's hope not. What about our trip?" He knew his customer, changed the subject, and moved on.

"I'd forgotten about it," she said simply.

"Well, maybe we'll get a break tomorrow," he said, and sped up again on a straight stretch of highway that he knew so well.

He kept on through the driving rain, and when they finally reached home and saw that the lights were. on, April was almost glad her parents were still there. For once there would be hot food waiting for them. Tonight Skinny Dragon was at the door screaming at them before the engine was off. The sound carried through the storm.

"Ayieee. Why so late? Wait so long for dinner," she yelled as if she wanted the whole neighborhood to know her grievance. "What's long with you? Don't know work supposed to be over? Time to go home?" Skinny shrieked out that she'd worried all day. Nobody came to check on them or bring them food. What kind of bad daughter didn't take care of her sick old mother? "Why no call, ni? 'Nother murder?" she demanded at last.

"That's it, Ma."

"Ayiee," Skinny wailed. Another murder meant the ghosts of the dead were too close to her precious daughter again.

April made it through the front door without further assault and was horrified to see that a mirror had been placed in a strategic position by the door, the dreaded colored strings hung from the corners of the living room, and a few things moved around to suit the Dragon's idea of optimum feng shui. It looked as if she was planning an intervention on April's health and intended to stay awhile.

"Ni hao ma.
What's for dinner?" Mike asked with a faint smile. He had learned the Chinese way. He'd become a man who knew when to pick his battles.

"I hope it's not something weird," April muttered.

Forty-four

O
n Wednesday morning at seven thirty a.m. Lily Eng was waiting for April at the Sutton Diner on Fifty-sixth Street and First Avenue. Outside it was still pouring. Mike dropped April off and she dashed for the small patch of sidewalk that was protected by an awning outside the restaurant. She charged it, and a wall of rain sleeted off the edge of the awning onto her head. "Shit."

Inside the door, she immediately caught sight of Lily, who was seated at a table in the window looking dry and chic and every bit the TV reporter. She was wearing a distinctive pastel tweed suit that could well have been Chanel. A pink plastic raincoat was folded over the back of the chair next to her. Compared with her splendor and calm, April felt both poor and frantic. She had not had a good night or morning with Skinny Dragon and was irritated that Lily, who came from highly educated college-professor parents and made a great deal more money than she did, didn't have a lot to worry about.

"Thanks for being on time. I ordered a tea for you," Lily said, pointing to a cup and stainless teapot opposite her.

April sank into a wooden chair by the window and dripped all over the floor. "Shit," she said again. Already nothing was going right in her day.

"What's the matter?" Lily asked.

"Nothing." She was just soaked, and she felt sick again. Her mother had appeared in her house like a deadly mold, giving her food that upset her stomach. No doubt the Dragon was going to have to be forcibly removed before she'd ever feel well again. Mike was being nice about it now, but that wouldn't last forever. The case was at a critical point. Today she was hoping for a COD on Alison and some important break in the nannies' stories. She was poised for heavy action, and hardly in the mood for a tete-a-tete with a TV reporter who didn't have anything else to do but get her nails done and look good on the six o'clock news. When she looked at the beautiful clothes Lily was wearing, she really did think she'd chosen the wrong career path.

"1 hope the rain will give us a break from these murders," she muttered, trying to keep herself on track.

Lily was taken aback. "Are you expecting another one?"

"No, 1 didn't expect the first two. But a storm like this can put off the bad guys." If only it had rained all week, she would have gotten her honeymoon, no problem. Then she was ashamed of herself for thinking of better jobs and better parents and a honeymoon on a cruise ship. She made a frustrated gesture. "Sorry, I think I'm getting the flu. What did you have to tell me?"

"I did a little checking on Remy Banks yesterday and came up with something interesting," Lily said, pulling out a manila envelope.

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"She was placed through the Anderson Agency. I did a feature on the agency a few years back, and I know quite a bit about it."

"Great. What do you know?" April raked her hands through her wet hair, then poured herself some tea, and made a face. It was a generic brand of tea. The water turned the unappetizing color of rust and didn't taste much better. "I'm sorry. I must have missed the program."

Lily laughed. "You miss everything, April. You're always working."

April nodded—the story of her life.

"So how about a trade?" Lily asked.

"No way. I've told you a thousand times I can't say anything," April replied impatiently. "Don't waste my time."

"How about I ask you questions and you give me a yea or nay?"

April shook her head.

"A shake of the head, then." She laughed again. For once she was relaxed, and April was all nerves. "Come on, it's my day off," she wheedled. "Make me happy for once."

"No one makes me happy," April grumbled.

"Bullshit. Didn't I do that great story on you? And you got promoted?" Lily reminded her.

April didn't want to tell her that she'd done the interview under orders from a superior, but another correction was in order. The interview had nothing to do with the promotion. "I took a test for the promotion," she said.

"Still, the story didn't hurt."

April smiled. "All right, I'll let you break the story when we're ready to make an arrest, okay?" That was a big concession. "But you'll have to keep your mouth shut about your source."

"Serious? How soon will that be?" Lily bounced in her chair.

"I have no idea. We're following leads. What was your take on Anderson?"

"Oh, it's the oldest domestic employment agency in the country still run by a family member. I did the piece as a human-interest service story just after 9/11 when thousands of people lost their jobs in the city and were looking for any kind of work, kind of like the Depression," she reminisced.

"I mean the owner," April prompted.

"Well, actually she did the interview with me because she wanted my help to write a book about her service to the rich and famous."

"No kidding." April woke up.

"I didn't have time to use what she gave me because the slant was the high-end field of domestic workers. But what she had was dynamite. She claims to have the inside dope on three generations of high-profile, wealthy clients. You should see her home. It's filled with memorabilia and photos of herself with megastars. She showed me gifts from movie stars and politicos, princes and presidents. Frank Sinatra, mob bosses. You wouldn't believe the people she knew. It's like a museum."

"What about her? What's she like?"

"This is the part that I thought would interest you. She kept files on everybody—the people she worked for, the staff members she placed, their friends. She made a point of knowing everything about everybody. Get this—she called it good business. She bragged to me about having their complete trust. She went into their places to water their plants when they were out of town. 1 thought it was kind of creepy. It seemed to me that if you had her or one of her people in your house, you were kind of harboring a spy."

April had already been alerted to that possibility. "That's very interesting," she said. "What happened to the book?"

"Oh, 1 referred her to some agents I know. She needed a writer, of course. And that got her all paranoid. She was afraid someone would steal her material."

"So nothing came of the book?"

"No. What do you want to eat?"

April glanced at the menu, then checked her watch. Five minutes to Woody time. "I'm really sorry. I have a long day, and 1 have to get cracking. "

Lily looked disappointed. "This was my day off," she grumbled.

"We'll do a long lunch soon, okay?"

"Right."

"One more thing. Where is Miss Anderson's home?"

"Beekman Place. She has a town house on Fiftieth."

"Fiftieth Street?" April's head jerked up.

Lily nodded. "I wouldn't forget something like that. It's a real freaky place, been in her family for a long time. Didn't you know?"

"Oh, the home address was on my list for today,"

April said slowly. Jo Ellen had been on her list for the day.

"It's close, right?"

"Yeah." April touched her hair. It was drying off now, absolutely flat on her head. It reminded her of another question she needed to ask. "By the way, what color hair does she have?"

"Jo Ellen? Gray."

"No kidding. She doesn't color it?"

"She didn't when I talked with her."

April started gathering up her things. "You've turned out to be a doll," she said. "I'm really grateful for your time."

"Was I useful?"

"Very useful. Where are you- going? Do you want a ride? I'll take you anywhere between here and Midtown North."

Lily laughed. It was almost a straight line west. "No, thanks," she said. "And good luck."

April nodded. She needed it.

Forty-five

W
oody was right on time, waiting double-parked outside when April emerged from the restaurant at five past eight. The wind had picked up in the last half hour, and sleeting rain pounded the pavement.

"Morning, Boss. Was that Lily Eng?" Woody said as she scrambled into the car.

"Yes."

He knew better than to ask what they were meeting about. "The shop?"

"Yes. How are you doing, Woody?" She knew he hated to be left out.

"Me? I'm fine. It's quiet," he told her, as if crime was all that really mattered to him. He pulled the car out, angling across First Avenue through the traffic to make the turn west onto Fifty-seventh Street. For once, he did it without hitting the siren, and for that, she was grateful. At the red light on First Avenue they watched pedestrians fight the gusting rain as they crossed the street. The sky had darkened almost to night. As Mike would say.
"Esta feo, feo."
It was ugly weather. Woody whistled through his teeth.

"Turn up the box," she said anxiously. If something happened this morning, she didn't want to be the last to know.

For a few minutes only static blew in. Then the dispatcher's voice came on with business as usual. Woody stopped whistling before April told him to, and she was thankful for that, as well. The slightest positive thing helped on a bad day. She was feeling bloated and queasy from another of Skinny Dragon Mother's sticky breakfasts and the diner's rusty-nail tea. She hadn't drunk very much of it, only enough to know it wasn't going to be a health aid. "Anything new?" she asked after a pause.

"Looked like Charlie worked all night, and he's wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Maybe he didn't go home. I didn't see the sergeant," Woody reported.

"Anything else?"

"Barry was hinting around. He wants in."

Barry Queue was their former intelligence officer, the one who was so secretive and didn't try to make friends.

"What did you tell him?" It could be that Queue was someone's spy and she had to watch out for him. Or else he was coming around. She hoped it was the latter. She preferred team players.

"Didn't say nothing, just that I'd let you know."

"Thanks for the heads-up." She had more questions about a few other people but not the energy to pursue them right then. It occurred to her that as Iriarte had done before her and every other boss did, she was always gathering information on the whereabouts, activities, and personal habits of the people who worked for her. Part of it was simply chain of command. To run an efficient unit and