April gave him a warm smile. "Never underestimate, Detective. John James here used to be one of our best people. Always knew what was happening in the area. If there was trouble, he'd be the one to make a call, isn't that right, Pee Wee?"

"Used to be a lotta trouble. Those gay boys and the wildings-they were bad. Once those monsters from uptown set a friend of mine on fire. Behind the museum…" Pee Wee's dirty hands trembled. "You got a cigarette for Pee Wee?"

April shook her head. "You'll have to wait. Detective Baum here has asthma."

Woody blew air out of his nose. Yeah, right.

"So what happened last night? You make that call or what?"

"No. There were two faggots out there. One of them must have made the call. Had to be a cell phone, didn't it? The nearest call box is practically in the Bronx," he muttered.

Not true. There was one close by, on a tree. "Come on, Pee Wee, I haven't got time for this. What happened?" April demanded.

"I don't know. Two faggots were doing each other in the bushes beside the lake. I fucking hate that. I told them to get away from my place, but they were too into it, didn't give a damn. Live and let live, I say. So I took off for a while. When I came back one of them was laying there. Looked dead to me." Pee Wee rattled his foot. The soles of his old sneakers flapped. He had no socks, and his feet were black. April didn't believe a word he was saying.

"How did you know he was dead?" she asked.

"I seen a lotta dead people in my time."

"You see a girl in a pink sweater?" Woody asked.

Pee Wee shook his head. "A girl? I didn't see no girl. Just the two faggots. Then the body. I turned away for two seconds and then there warn't no body."

"This is a hell of a story. You're drunk, Pee Wee." April glanced at Woody.

Woody got the idea. "Maybe he rolled the guy himself. What do you think, boss?"

"Sounds very plausible to me. You have a little accident and mug somebody, Pee Wee?"

"No way," he protested. "I don't do that. I'm an old man."

"Okay, what do you say I give you a nice reward then? You tell me what really happened out there-where our missing p is-and I'll get you new clothes, food-"

"And lodging for the rest of my life. I know where this is going, but I ain't taking no fall." Pee Wee lost his cool. "I ain't done nothing. I just saw the two faggots, that's all. Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe the guy was just taking a rest. Maybe he got up and walked away."

"Jeeesus fucking Christ!" Woody muttered.

"See what happens when you try to tell the truth?" Pee Wee complained.

A quick knock. The door opened and a uniform stuck her head in. "Here's that sandwich, Sergeant," she said. "And Officer Slocum from K-9 is up on Seven-seven and wants to know if you're coming up."

"Tell him I'll be there in ten minutes." April was already on her feet. She turned back to John James. "What's the matter?"

"You got me all upset. I pissed my pants."

Disgusted, Woody removed himself from the area. April was already at the door. Young Officer Marcie was going to have to deal with this. Amazing how the people who didn't freak out over the human frailties were usually the females.

"Look, you sober up, have a sandwich and some coffee. Officer Marcie here will set you up with some clothes. You're going to get yourself showered and we're going to talk again later when you're sober, okay?"

"I'll help you out, but I ain't staying here. I know my rights." Pee Wee didn't look in the least ashamed about his accident.

"You listen to me, Pee Wee. Together, we're going to get this story right, that's the only right you need to think about, got it?" April left the room and beckoned to the uniform. They conferred outside.

"Marcie, I want you to bag and label every article of his clothes. Get him cleaned up-and run a warrant check on him for me-oh, and hold him down here, will you?" she added.

"Yes, ma'am." Officer Marcie had no problem with the command.

April wanted to point that out to the squeamish Woody Baum, but what was the point? She shouldered her heavy purse and headed out. "Come on, Woody, you lucky devil, we're going to the dogs."

She stopped at the precinct door. Jason Frank had taught her that one of the perks of being a high-class woman was having men open doors for her. She turned her flat-affect face to Woody and waited to see what he would do.

Thrilled to escape the housekeeping duties, Woody opened the door for her with a little bow. "After you, boss."

For a moment she almost liked him.

Twelve

April traveled to the Park Precinct, a hundred-year-old renovated stable on the Eighty-fifth Street transverse, to inform the CO there that within the hour, a K-9 unit would be doing a search for a missing person around the area of the rowboat lake. Luckily Captain Reginald, whom April didn't know, was out in the field when she arrived. So was Sergeant Mackle, CO of the detective unit. Because neither of them was there, she didn't have to embellish her story with any lies about what she was doing on the case. She ended up speaking with the second whip, Captain Rains, a tall, heavyset man with a lush crew cut who looked unhappy with the news that a man had gone missing in the park last night. This would make big trouble for the park, the jewel in the New York City crown, and hence for the precinct dedicated to maintaining its security.

"I'll inform Captain Reginald immediately," Captain Rains told her.

"Thank you, sir."

Ten minutes later, April and Woody met up with Officer Sidney Slocum outside Maslow's building not far away on Eighty-second Street. Slocum was the opposite of Mackle; short, skinny, freckled, entirely bald, with a ginger-colored mustache so extravagant it made Mike's merely luxuriant one look puny. He was wearing an orange Search and Rescue jumpsuit, and if he was lucky, he weighed a hundred and twenty after a big meal. His dog was a huge German shepherd with a flat collar and leather leash that looked as if it weighed as much as its trainer. The two had come in a blue-and-white, and two other patrol cars were parked nearby. So far so good. No shouts from Iriarte. No challenges to her authority yet. April was still hopeful that she'd be able to pull off the operation without a hitch. She was dreaming.

She got out of the gray Buick, which still smelled pretty bad from Pee Wee, and approached the dog trainer.

"I'm Sid Slocum. Sergeant Woo, I presume. You in charge here?" he asked.

April nodded. Instantly, the dog growled and lunged at her, setting the tone for their relationship. April jumped back and assumed a kick-boxing stance.

"Don't worry about Freda-she's a sweetheart," Slocum assured her, hiding a smile under his mustache.

April didn't think it was so funny. "Yeah, well tell her I'm carrying. This is Detective Woody Baum." April jerked her chin at Woody, who approached with caution.

The dog, however, seemed to like him. She strained at the leash for the chance to shed all over Woody's navy jacket and lap at his hand. "Hi, guy." Woody wiped the slime on the shepherd's head and looked pleased by the exchange. April thought the drooling, growling hulk wasn't even a close second to Dim Sum-the six pounds of adorable, smart-as-a whip apricot poodle that was the Woo family pet. She didn't have much judgment if she preferred Woody to her. She had her doubts about the dog finding Maslow. So much time had passed that it was probably too late for this kind of hunt.

"Is this all the backup you have?" she asked to cover her anxiety.

"Yep. Four uniforms, the three of us, and Freda. It's a pretty small area. We're not talking about the Jersey Wetlands here. If your man is here, we'll find him." Another smile. Slocum was full of confidence. Then his expression changed when an ABC news van cruised by and the driver stuck his head out of the driver's window.