Twenty-two

April was in a hurry. She had three things on her to-do list before meeting Mike. She wanted to search Maslow's office, locate his appointment book and list of patients, and listen to the messages on his answering machine. After that she needed to run over to Jason's apartment on Riverside Drive and spend half an hour reviewing everything he knew about the missing man. She also had to question Pee Wee James again now that he'd had time to sober up.

Between worrying about keeping Mike waiting and not being able to clear the case in the next ten minutes, April was feeling a lot of stress. By the time Woody double-parked on the block between Eighty-ninth and Ninetieth streets, a deep ache had traveled down her spine from the base of her head to the space between her shoulder blades and was now gathering momentum, jabbing sharply at her lower back as well. She was feeling so much muscle distress she didn't have the energy to complain about Woody's traffic violation. If he got a summons, he'd have to deal with it. Tough. Before he had a chance to kill the engine, she was already out of the car, trying to stretch her screaming muscles into a semblance of quiet.

Something was wrong with those kids. She couldn't get them out of her mind. Brandy's mugging for Woody's camera, David's being freaked out by it. Both of them stoned, knowing Zumech, and worse, being in the right place at the right time during a police investigation. There were too many matches for comfort, but they didn't seem to have any connection to Maslow. They didn't even know who he was or what was going on. She shrugged them onto the back burner of her thoughts. They were troubled losers. Kids like that made her sad about the state of the world.

Maslow's office was in an ordinary Central Park West building, one of those massive, well-kept, sixteen-story brick structures with rich canopies and doormen in matching uniforms that were inhabited mostly by wealthy, educated Caucasians unlike herself. It was just like the building where he lived and much nicer than anyplace she'd ever resided. The doorman was a good-looking Hispanic in a neat navy uniform. April nodded at him, and he didn't stop her and Woody when he saw where they were headed. She wondered if she looked as if she needed a shrink and smiled at the thought.

The first door on the right just inside the lobby had Maslow's name on it and two others listed above it. A note on the door told Maslow's patients to contact Dr. Jason Frank. Woody went first, checking the door before ringing the bell. They were both surprised when the handle turned and the door opened on a waiting room in the minimalist style-a square room with cracking beige paint, a few shabby chairs, a sofa of indeterminate color, and three coffee tables littered with well-thumbed Life magazines. Most surprising of all was the ultra-thin girl sitting on the sofa, looking forlorn and playing with her long black hair.

The girl glanced up eagerly when the door opened, saw that it was not the person she was anticipating, then looked down and inspected her watch. April copied the action. Woody did the same. All three watches read five-thirty.

"Are you waiting for Dr. Atkins?" April asked.

The girl nodded.

"Didn't you see the note on the door?"

"Yes."

"Did you call Dr. Frank?"

"No, should I?"

"Dr. Atkins isn't coming in today."

"He'll come in for me," she said.

"What makes you think so?"

"He's very late, but I'm sure he's coming. He promised." The girl frowned.

"Is he often late?"

"Late? He's never late. I'm a little worried, but I know he won't let me down. Are you two his next appointment?"

"Any particular reason for worry?" Woody jumped in without any invitation from his boss.

The girl tilted her head to one side. "Oh, you know New York. Elevators get stuck. Cranes fall over. My grandfather was hit by a bus once." She lifted a shoulder. "His whole side was black-and-blue for weeks. He died of a blood clot, though."

Woody looked as if he might pass out with delight over this account. His humor was a little off as always. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Allegra Caldera," she said easily.

April couldn't believe her ears.

"Hi, Allegra, I'm Detective Baum. This is Sergeant Woo," Woody introduced them, clearly smitten again.

"Police?" the girl said excitedly.

"Yes. We're from the police." April showed off her gold shield, guessing this was the girl they were looking for.

"Police?" Allegra said again, puzzled this time, as if the word had a funny taste. April noticed that her fingernails were badly bitten, and her sharp collarbone showed clearly through the thin fabric of her white blouse. She was a schoolgirl, pretty, starving, and not very old. Her eyes showed alarm, but she didn't seem to be afraid of them.

"Yes, we're looking for Dr. Atkins."

"He didn't do anything wrong, did he?" This appeared to be the girl's worry. She jumped off the sofa.

"No, of course not. But he's missing." April noted the flushed face and girl's puzzlement. She, at least, did not appear to be stoned.

"He is?"

"Didn't you see all the activity? This section of Central Park has been closed all afternoon. It made a mess of the whole West Side." This from Woody, suddenly a conversationalist.

Allegra shook her head. "No, I got off the subway at Ninety-sixth Street and walked over."

"Where were you coming from?" Woody's voice was funny. The idiot had the dazed look of someone who'd fallen down a flight of stairs. He was talking, but he wasn't all there. Pretty girls had a devastating effect on him.

Allegra saw it, too. "The Bronx. I live in Riverdale. Why are you asking me these questions?"

"We're tracing Dr. Atkins's actions yesterday to see if we can figure out where he might be."

"Well, he must be here." Allegra ran over to one of the three doors off the waiting room and knocked. "Dr. Atkins," she cried. "Dr. Atkins! Open the door!"

April gave Woody a look as he pulled out his camera. They had a situation. The girl thought Maslow was inside the office, and they hadn't searched here first. Were they both out of their minds? How could they have missed this? If Maslow was inside the office, he was probably dead. Maybe he was a suicide. Maybe he'd had a heart attack. It happened. Sweat rolled down her sides. Or he could have been murdered here. Jesus, if she'd called out the whole city on this, and the man was dead in his office, her entire career, indeed her whole life, was over. She was an idiot, an unbelievable idiot.

The girl was weeping. "Oh God, I'm really sorry."

Another click in April's mind. This was the voice on Maslow's answering machine.

"Listen, Allegra, calm down. Tell me what you know about this," she said.

"I will, I will, but please, check in there first. I'm so scared."

"Sure." Good plan. April snapped her fingers at Woody. Get a grip.

"Boss?" he said blankly.

"Take Allegra out in the hall."

"Are you going to break into his office?" she cried, blocking the door.

"No. I'm just going to open the door."

"That's breaking in. Isn't that against the law?" Allegra demanded.

"We're the law," April told her. "This is what we do. Go out in the hall."

"Oh my God, don't touch anything. He's a doctor. Everything in there is confidential."

The hair rose on April's neck. What was she seeing? What was coming out of this kid? What was going on here? "Sit down," she ordered Allegra. "And don't move."

"Boss?" Woody queried, eager to do the break-in.

"I'll do it." April would have used her precious MasterCard, on which there was a balance due of eight hundred and thirty-two dollars because of two pairs of really pretty shoes, a suit for herself, and the recent colorful shirts and ties she'd bought her lover. But using the card would not have negated the debt.