Stealing Time

Praise for the novels of Leslie Glass

"This series [is] a winner!" —
Mystery News

"Detective Woo is the next generation descended from Ed McBain's 87th precinct."

—Hartford Courant

"I'll drop what I'm doing to read Leslie Glass anytime." —Nevada Barr

"Fast-paced, gritty . . . [April Woo] joins Kin-sey Millhone and Kay Scarpetta in the ranks of female crime fighters." —
Library Journal

Continued

More Praise for Leslie Glass

"PSYCHOLOGICALLY RICH . . . builds to an explosive climax as unpredictable and surprising as April Woo herself. A fresh, engrossing read."

—New York Times
bestselling author Perri O'Shaughnessy

"An intense thriller. . . . Glass provides several surprises, characters motivated by a lively cast of inner demons and, above all, a world where much is not as it initially seems."

—Publishers Weekly

"Deft plotting and strong characterization will leave readers eager for further installments."

—Library Journal

"Glass not only draws the reader into the crazed and gruesome world of the killer, but also cleverly develops the character of Woo . . . and her growing attraction for partner Sanchez."

—Orlando Sentinel

More ...

"Sharp as a scalpel. . . . Scary as hell. Leslie Glass is Lady McBain."

—New York Times
bestselling author Michael Palmer

"If you're a Thomas Harris fan . . . looking for a new thriller to devour, you'll find it in
Burning Time." —Ft. Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel

"A suspenseful story in which those who appear to be sane may actually harbor the darkest secrets of all." —
Mostly Murder

"The plot is clever . . . and the ending is a genuine surprise. Woo is so appealing a protagonist that Leslie Glass can keep her going for a long time." —
Newark Star-Ledger

A
LSO BY
L
ESLIE
G
LASS

Judging Time

STEALING

TIME

LESLIE GLASS

©

A SIGNET BOOK

SIGNET

Published by New American Library, a division of

Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

New York, New York 10014, U.SA.

Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,

London W8 5TZ, England

Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,

Victoria, Australia

Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

Published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc. Previously published in a Dutton edition.

First Signet Printing, February 2000 10 9 8 7 6 5

Copyright © Leslie Glass, 1999 All rights reserved

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

Printed in the United States of America

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN PUTNAM INC., 375 HUDSON STREET. NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

For my brother, Stephen, and for Hallie, Lacy, Marilee, Sara, and Tessa

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to all the psychologists in my ken, particularly everyone associated with the Glass Institute who contributes so much to the field and to my own life and work. I partake of your books and articles and wisdom daily, borrow your ideas with complete abandon, enjoy your company, and relish your every triumph. To my friends at the Middle States Commission of Higher Education I owe a debt of gratitude for enrichment of many kinds.

As always, special thanks to the thousands of New York City police officers who walk, pedal, ride, fly, swim, and cruise their particular beats, man the special units, supervise the uniforms, train and work the dogs and horses, crunch the numbers, and face the terrors of Comstat Wednesday and Friday mornings—everyone who works so hard to make New York City a safer and more enjoyable place to live and visit. I use bits and pieces of this enormous department, writing entirely as a novelist. I relocate important New York City landmarks and other geography, changing the names of streets and restaurants and even police policy and procedure at will. The errors I make may be intentional, or unintentional, or both, but they are entirely my own. Any resemblances to living persons working at any of the precincts I mention are pure coincidence. Thanks to the staff and trustees of the Police Foundation for all the good work they do, and to New York University Law School, especially the Criminal Justice Department, for a never-ending deluge of information and stimulation.

Special thanks to my agent, Nancy Yost, and editor, Audrey LaFehr, for believing in me (and for much more), and to all the people at Dutton/NAL in production, promotion, marketing and sales who work so hard to make the magic happen. And to Alex and Lindsey, my anchor, inspiration, and joie de vivre, three cheers!

Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action; and, till action, lust Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight; Past reason hunted, and no sooner had, Past reason hated as a swallowed bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad: Mad in pursuit, and in possession so: Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme: A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knows well. To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

—William Shakespeare Sonnet 129

CHAPTER 1

T
he morning Heather Rose Popescu finally resolved to set her life in order, she lost her baby, ended up in the hospital, and became the subject of an intense police inquiry. This result was no less than she expected because of the remedy she'd used to purge her troubled soul. And by noon, like a person condemned, she was already preparing for the end of her life as she knew it. In a state of terrified purpose, she set about her domestic tasks. For beauty, she put an arrangement of magnificent pink peonies on the table in the living room. For taste, she was preparing her husband's favorite dinner, roast duck. In her panic, she remembered the duck in the freezer and seized on it at the last moment as a possible appeasement.

She was well aware of the basic things that were certain to infuriate Anton, but there were also those other little things that she couldn't predict. She never knew what was going to set her husband off; and frequently, in the afternoons, she cast about helplessly for something to please or divert him so he wouldn't get started on her. Today, she knew the duck was a hopeless gesture, but it was defrosting in the kitchen sink, anyway.

The catastrophic event was triggered at half past two, earlier than she expected. She hadn't finished her preparations. She wasn't ready. When the doorbell rang, Heather Rose had just taken a broom from the closet to sweep the kitchen floor. She jumped at the deceptively innocent sound, terrified of what would happen when she opened the door. But, as with everything else in her life, she had no choice. She had to open the door. The difference this time was that, after years of the deepest suffering, she was finally doing what she thought was right.

The day had started just like hundreds of others in Heather Rose's marriage. She had awakened with the intense desire to atone, to address her shortcomings, and to finally receive the understanding and forgiveness she craved. Above all, she wanted Anton to be kind, to accept and love her.

"How can I love you when you're constantly hurting my feelings, putting me down?" was his angry response. Daily, he told her that the punishments she received came as a result of her own failings. No matter what she tried, she just couldn't get anything right.

For many years it had been Heather Rose's deeply held secret that one day she would somehow correct all the wrongs that Anton had done to her in the name of his hurt feelings, and somehow she would become whole again. Since he was more powerful and dangerous, however, she did not know how she could possibly accomplish such a thing. And every morning, the will to exorcise the demons from her existence melted away with the four teaspoons of sugar she added to his breakfast coffee.

Like many people trapped in destructive relationships, Heather Rose had become convinced by her partner that she was a bad person. Anton had an endless catalogue of her faults that he recited often. And the worst fault of all, the one that dogged her daily, resulted in the most painful disciplines, and shamed her most deeply, was that she did not love him as much as she should. In her wedding vows, she had promised that she would love him no matter what. Anton reminded her of it continually and made her pledge her allegiance over and over.

This pretense of unconditional love turned out to be a greater ordeal than any she could have imagined. He tricked her again and again, and the lies at the center of their marriage were the poison that made the burden of keeping her promise an impossible task, a war she fought with herself daily but could not ever hope to win. Often she had longed for a release from life altogether.

At the sound of the doorbell, she glanced at the clock. Two-thirty. Anton always rang the bell. Whatever time he arrived home he expected her to be there for him, to open the door and greet him with a drink and a pleasant smile. But he rarely came home this early.

Oh God, now it begins,
was her first thought. Anton had a sharp eye. She hadn't changed her clothes; she hadn't cleaned the last dirty diaper out of the pail. What would he criticize first? She wanted to get the diaper out of the apartment. But then the bell rang a second time, and it hit home that today none of the little things mattered. Trembling, she moved to open the door.