"Nothing solid yet. Thanks," April said.

"We'll have a full report in a few days," Gloss told her.

Few weeks would probably be more like it, April thought. Poor Pee Wee. She sat brooding at her desk. Now she knew some of the physical evidence they were looking for-the knife that had cut off Pee Wee's finger, black nail polish. Diaries, letters, anything to indicate state of mind. The problem was they had been looking in the wrong places. She peered out the window of her office at the swarm of detectives in the squad room. She knew Brandy Fabman had been one of Pee Wee's attackers. Now she was worried about Maslow, really worried.

She dialed John Zumech to give him the news.

He answered on the first ring.

"Hey, John," April said.

"April, I was just going to call you. What happened to you this morning?" he demanded.

"I had to follow up a lead. Sorry, I didn't mean to run off. Anyway, we have a preliminary death report on James. Gloss says he fell, and the sidewalk hit his head. But he bled for hours and had plenty of time to get into a fight and have his finger cut off before he died."

"Sounds complicated."

"Yes, and I'm bothered by how it all fits together. I'm thinking maybe Pee Wee knew where Maslow is. When I was questioning him, he kept telling me about someone who was taking care of him, paying him off. Maybe he hid Maslow somewhere, then moved him later. Anyway I think he's still in the park." The pressure to get going was killing her, but she didn't want to start with the bad news.

"How can I help?" John asked.

"How well do you know Central Park? Maybe we missed something. What about tunnels or hiding places we don't know about? There must be maps or something that would show everything over and under the ground. Surveys, whatever."

"I don't know anything about maps and plans. Parks Department would have that." Zumech was sounding very cold.

"It was just a thought. It popped into my head." April wondered what was up with him. "You know, I can't help thinking, if Maslow isn't on top of the ground, he may be under the ground. We know Peachy can find a buried man. She's done it before. What do you say we try again?"

"Well, she could if there's a breathing hole for his scent to escape," Zumech said slowly.

"But even if Maslow's scent is gone from, say, the street, I could still show you where Slocum's dog was working and where she got stuck. We could take it from there," April suggested.

"Fine, I'll do it. Do you have a clean scent item?"

"I can get you one."

"You get it, I'll be there in an hour."

"John, I really appreciate this, but I think I'm hearing something in your voice." Now she could tell him the bad news.

"I was going to call you about those soft tissue finds we had this morning. I knew there was something weird about them."

"For sure," April murmured. She could feel him squirm on the phone.

"Well, I think I know where they came from."

"Where did they come from, John?"

"When my wife got home from work a few minutes ago, she thanked me for cleaning up the garage. And the thing is, April, I didn't. I planned to, but I never got around to it. You know how it is."

April chewed on that for a moment. "You had body parts in your garage, John?" she said finally.

"Yeah, for training the dogs. I don't use it anymore. I can get the scent mail order-anything I want, fear, death. Fear is good when you're tracking escaped prisoners. I forgot about it. But my wife was always complaining about the smell. It was gone this morning. April, I'm reeling over this. I can't believe it."

"We'll have to dust your place for prints, John. I hope your wife didn't clean up."

"Well, let's just say I have a good guess who did it. I'm not happy about it, in fact I'm pretty sick. It isn't going to look good for me."

"Your little friends Brandy and David. They may have killed Pee Wee."

"Oh God, that's bad. You pick them up. I'm on my way."

April hung up. John had kept human tissue in his garage. Nobody here was looking good. She decided she'd call Jason and tell him first. David Owen had a shrink. That meant there had to be something major wrong with him, right? Now they had three kids in trouble. Only Dylan had a motive for hurting Maslow. But to April's eye, that sad sack of a girl wasn't looking like much of a suspect now.

Fifty-five

Maslow stripped off his T-shirt and gently put it under Allegra's head. He probed her skull with his fingers. Some lumps and bumps. No tears in her scalp or face that he could feel. Without a wig, her head was much smaller than he'd thought, and her own hair was very short, like a pixie's. This surprised him. He couldn't imagine why she'd worn a wig or what she looked like without it, but none of that mattered. Keeping her alive was his concern right now. Her pulse was strong. She moaned as he struggled with the laces tied around her swollen wrists.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Ahhh."

"Sorry, can't help it." He picked at the knots, ignoring her groans, and finally worked the last one loose.

"Oww. That kills," she sobbed, sucking in her breath as her arms were freed.

"Hang in there. Good girl."

"I'm dying," she whimpered. "I don't care."

"Uh-uh. Don't die. I can't lose you now." He chafed her hands, then gently rubbed her wrists to get the circulation going. She made crying noises.

"Don't."

"You're doing okay," he assured her.

"Oww."

"How's that, better?" He rubbed life back into her arms and hands.

"It kills. My leg!"

"We'll get it out. You'll be fine," he assured her.

But in the dimming light, she didn't look so fine. Her body was curled in an awkward position and her nose was badly smashed to one side. She yelped when he touched the leg caught under the gate.

"Owww."

Hunger gnawed at Maslow, but he was moving now, his body beginning to obey his commands. He felt nauseated and needed water, but knew that Allegra needed it more. She was dehydrated, and he was afraid she was going to go into shock. He was shivering pretty badly himself and had to get them out of there.

Beyond the bushes, the light was fading. He feared their captors got active at night. He didn't want to be there when they came back. He crouched in front of the mouth of the cave. It wasn't very big and now he saw how they were trapped inside. The gate blocking the entrance was about thirty-six inches wide and had bars at four-inch intervals. The smell of rust was strong in the damp air. The gate was clearly very old.

He called, then listened. Nothing. Called again. Then he felt the bars one by one. The sharp, scaling metal cut his fingers. The bottom and sides were still sturdy, but the vertical bars were thinner and he could feel that many of them had rusted nearly all the way through. The gate itself was no higher than three feet, but there were only a few inches of space above it, not enough to climb over it. Inside the cave, sand was still falling from above. More of the ceiling might collapse at any time. Maslow was worried about the circulation in Allegra's ankle. Soon she would lose her foot. He tested the gate. If he could lift it a few inches, he could ease the weight on her ankle. He could move her foot out.

"Oww," she screamed.

"If you can bear just a little more, I think I can get your foot out."

"Stop!"

"Just a little more."

Her voice croaked. "No. I have to tell you something."

"Sure, as soon as we're out."

"No! Now!"

"In five minutes, I'll have you out of here. I promise."

Her voice was angry and tearful. "I'm going to die in here, and you won't listen."

He kept working. "You never listen!"

"Allegra-"