Eleven

The nose of a cop is used to unpleasant things. But it turned out to be quite a chore for Woody to install the vile-smelling John Jasper James, a.k.a. Pee Wee, into the backseat and drive downtown to Midtown North in the close confines of the Buick. Woody opened the front windows all the way and leaned into the wind, but he still kept his right hand clamped over his nostrils. April noted the acute sensitivity without sympathy. She was wondering when Jason would have some information for her, and she was beginning to doubt her judgment about this action. Lieutenant Iriarte was going to freak out.

"When do I get something to eat?" Pee Wee demanded as they cruised down Ninth Avenue.

"As soon as you give us a story we can work with," Woody told him. Woody loved this. He was used to making waves.

Pee Wee snorted.

"You happen to notice how bad this guy needs a bath?" Woody asked conversationally. "He's stinking up the unit something criminal."

"How'm I gonna take a bath, where I live, huh? It's not me, anyway. This outfit wasn't new when I got it."

"Where'd you get it from, a corpse?" Woody turned left on Fifty-fourth Street, passed a parking place close to Ninth, then cursed when there wasn't a space any closer to the station house.

"Stop here. I'm going up. You park and escort John James here upstairs. Thanks." April got out and slammed the door. This door-slamming was an American, not a Chinese, thing to do. Now that she was a sergeant, American self-expression was coming a little easier to her.

She smiled when Woody muttered, "Fuck." Now he had to take the flak when he came into the squad room with the odoriferous bum. She hurried inside.

"Your boss is looking for you," barked Pete Mongers, the lieutenant on the desk.

"Thanks." April took the stairs two at a time. When she opened the squad room door, something was up. Seven extravagantly dressed people-looked like South Americans-were all yelling in Spanish at once. Iriarte was using his smoothest manner to soothe their ruffled feathers. Then he saw April and his placating expression changed.

"Where have you been?" He snapped at her as if she were the one to blame for everything.

A woman with big red hair and a tight yellow suit, who'd been yakking a mile a minute in haughty Spanish, raised her voice even higher and blocked April's advance with her curvy body. She screamed at Iriarte that she needed her matter attended to pronto!

Even April got it. Iriarte gave the woman a quick formal bow, assuring her that he was attending very seriously. Then he turned to April and jerked his head at his office. April was momentarily blinded by flashes of sparkly light from the boulder-sized diamond rings on the fingers of both the men and the women.

"Move." Her boss gestured angrily at her again, but before she could navigate around two gesticulating women in pink and red, Woody marched in with John James. Simultaneously, the agitated Spanish-speakers recoiled from his stench.

The unctuous lieutenant was galvanized into action. He led the Latino crowd into his office himself, came out, and spoke to Hagedorn. Hagedorn's Spanish left something to be desired, but he was the only one in the squad room at the moment other than April who knew how to talk to nice people. Hagedorn went into the office. Iriarte shut the door on them, then advanced on April and her malodorous troublemaker.

"What the hell are you up to? I've been trying to rouse you for two hours."

"I tried to reach you. But something came up."

"I don't give a shit. You know where these people come from? One of them got mugged on Fifty-seventh Street. Who the fuck is this?" he pointed at Pee Wee.

"This is John James. He hangs out in Central Park. I know him from the Two-O."

"Oh yeah, he one of their street crime boys?" Iriarte took time out for a joke. Ha ha.

Woody, who was a little sensitive about his past, looked the other way.

"I help out, don't I, Sergeant?" Pee Wee looked hurt.

"Yeah, sure you do," April told him.

"What do you think you're up to, Woo? I have something important for you to do here." Iriarte's Spanish contingent was keeping his temper in check, but only just.

"You gonna give me something to eat?" Pee Wee whined.

"Later," Woody told him.

"What'd you bring him in here for? Get him out of here," Iriarte growled.

Woody glanced at April. She nodded toward the door and mouthed, Wait for me. When the two of them were out of sight, she spoke.

"I know it's unusual, sir, but I need to keep him here for a few minutes. He's a witness in the Atkins case."

Iriarte's fingers traveled nervously to the gray silk square in his jacket pocket. "What are you talking about?"

"Woody and I are following up a 911 from last night."

"What are you talking about?" His irritation escalated.

"That call for help last night didn't turn up anything, but there's a report of a missing person. I'm checking it out."

Iriarte's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What report?"

"We were covering the area last night, sir."

"What report? I have no report!"

"It's a missing doctor, sir."

"Are you hard of hearing or something? This is not your case."

"I'd just like to clear it up since Woody and I checked out the missing doctor's apartment, made a preliminary search of the area, and requested more help."

"What! Why don't I know about this?" Iriarte started to scream.

"I called in, sir. You weren't available." April lied with a straight face. Now she was floundering, looking for a lifesaver. There wasn't one.

"I don't have any message of this. We have a mugging here. You have no business working out of the area. Who knows about this? Are you crazy, bringing some park bum in here?"

"It wouldn't look bad if we broke the case, sir. And I'd like to find the doc; he's a student of Jason Frank."

Iriarte smacked his forehead. "A fucking head-shrinker case? Is that what this is? Ay Dios! That fucking Frank again. What are you, crazy?" He screamed some more.

Shouting erupted from the lieutenant's office. He turned to her. "Get rid of this. I'll give you an hour."

"Thank you, sir."

A few minutes later, April had John James sitting in a room downstairs, tapping his foot and waiting impatiently for a feed.

"Pee Wee, how would you like a nice shower and some clean clothes?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm fine. I can take care of myself," he said, glancing sullenly at Woody.

"Doesn't look to me like you're doing too good a job of it."

"I have new clothes on order," he quipped.

"A comedian," Woody responded.

"Detective Baum is right. We don't have time for a comedy routine. What's going on with you?"

"Like I told you. About a year ago, I got recruited by those Doe people." Pee Wee licked his lips.

"Recruited?" April gave him a surprised look.

"They come around looking for people, you know how it is-"

"That's not the way I hear it. I hear you have to get cleaned up and apply, isn't that what you did?"

"Nah, some lady recruited me. I know what I'm talking about," he insisted.

"Maybe you got in some kind of trouble back then. You want to tell me about that?"

"I didn't do nothing. You know I don't get in no trouble anymore. I'm an old man."

"I can check it out, Pee Wee."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I was part of a program. I didn't like it, that's all. Now I have other people take care of me."

"Doesn't look like that to me. Who are these people?"

"I'm down good," he insisted.

April shook her head. "Okay, says you. We'll get back to that. Tell me about last night. Did you make that 911 call?"

"Yeah, right." Woody interjected.