Stealing Time (22 page)

"Really, thanks. I appreciate it." Nanci hung up. She didn't even know where to look for a photo of Lin, and she knew April was mad at her because she was afraid to follow through. That made her feel worse. Even so, she decided to wait another day before pursuing it further.

CHAPTER 24

T
hursday morning dawned bright and warm. The air was fresh in New York, and April drove into the city, breathing in the promise of a summer like no other. That morning, for the second time in her life, she'd had coffee in bed with a naked man. It happened to be some bitter Mexican brew, but the man was
suave
and
muy espresivo.

Thinking about her travels back and forth from Queens last night ending with an unscheduled return to Mike's apartment for all of two hours before returning to work—instead of going home to sleep as she'd promised herself she would do—made April bold. She was determined to get out of the fog on this case and find the baby today, so she was full of purpose when she strode into the squad room of Midtown North at 7:48
A.M
. The press was still all over the Paul Popescu case, and the squad room looked pretty much the same as when she'd left it late the night before. Three strangers were drinking coffee in the path to April's office. None of them said good morning to her. No one was in her office, however, and Special Agent Gabe Samson was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't her problem, though, and she didn't give his whereabouts another thought.

In her office, she filed her purse in a bottom desk drawer and inspected the pile of complaint forms that had accumulated in the last few hours and now awaited assignment to a detective for investigation. Since becoming a supervisor, she had the power to hand over the shitty cases to guys she didn't like. She tried to avoid succumbing to that temptation, though, because they often did a shitty job in retaliation. Nothing major had come up, just the usual stuff: drunk and disorderly, a couple of muggings, a car theft, break-in. Assault. Now everybody on the squad had the shitty stuff.

Before dealing with the complaints, she spent a half-hour going over what they had so far on the Popescu case. The available paperwork included some preliminary lab reports on the crime scene, Hagedorn's background information on Heather and Anton, notes on the canvass of the comings and goings of people in the building and around the neighborhood that day, notes on as much as was known so far about the twenty-four hours preceding the incident. There were lots of pages but many gaps in every category. Most crucial of all: the baby's arrival in the Popescus' lives had not been dated, nor had his origin been discovered. April glanced up and saw her co-workers starting to straggle into the squad room with their containers of coffee.

"Hey, Sergeant." Baum walked by her door without stopping.

Hagedorn and several of the other detectives didn't bother to make eye contact at all. April wondered what it would take to make friends, wondered if she really wanted to, and knew in the bottom of her heart that she did.

Lieutenant Iriarte called his new gang of five favorite detectives into a meeting in his office at quarter past eight. For the first time since April had arrived in the squad, one of the three chairs had been saved for her. Baum had secured it and was now ignoring the snickers his action elicited. Iriarte raised his eyebrow at the preferential treatment.

"Okay, let's get the little stuff over with first. Tell me about this incident with Thomas," the lieutenant demanded. His face was showing the strain of having a high-profile case and dealing with the extra bodies it brought into his space. He wore a tan spring suit with a green shirt and tie. Canary-yellow handkerchief in his jacket pocket that clashed with his shirt. He was the kind of guy who didn't take his jacket off in his office unless he was alone. He had it on now, very formal. He gave April a little smile that told her he'd dump her first chance he got.

Creaker reported. "Carmen Montero, twenty-two— real good looker—driving a '96 Saturn. Officers Thomas and Crater observed suspicious behavior and told Montero to pull over. Officer Crater walked around the car for a look. Thomas approached the driver and asked for her registration. When she reached under the seat, he pulled his gun on her, cocked it, and ordered her out of the car. He held the gun to her head as Officer Crater patted her down."

"What did she do that was suspicious?" April asked.

"At 0300 she was in the Forty-second Street area, what else?"

"So why did she reach under the seat?" April asked.

"Apparently that's where she keeps her registration."

Six of them crowded in Iriarte's office thought about this poor judgment call. If the woman had been soliciting, she would have been used to being hassled and would not have complained if the officer in question had pointed an AK-47 at her. But Carmen Montero was not a hooker; she was a night nurse for a lawyer recovering from bypass surgery.

"Thomas says he thought she was reaching for a gun and was afraid for his life," Creaker elaborated.

"What does his partner say?"

"Guy's only a month on the job. His partner said he was a little shaky."

"What's ID doing about it?"

"Pulled to an inside job."

"Some people shouldn't be carrying a gun." Iriarte drummed his fingers on his desk. So much for that. In other years the incident might have gone unnoticed. Young woman scared by an officer new to the job, big deal. But now sensitivity toward the public was a big issue. The guy had to go down for shoving his gun in a woman's face. Iriarte quickly went through the other cases they had on the burner. Finally he was ready to discuss the one on all their minds.

"What about you? Anything new on the building canvass?"

Skye had been on that. He shook his head. "The tenants don't know the couple very well. The woman apparently doesn't talk to anyone, and they stick to themselves pretty much. Family members visit. That's about it. I get the feeling somebody on the building staff was out on break a lot longer than he should have been, or else knows more than he's saying. We'll keep at it."

"So, what's going on in the apartment?" Iriarte looked at Creaker.

"Popescu's mother was there last night, his brother Marc. His father; the cousin, Ivan. They all left at 22:07 except the mother, who spent the night. About two dozen crank calls on the phones. Nothing else."

"Charlie, what have you got?"

Hagedorn took out his notes. "A few interesting things. Anton Popescu lives a very regular life. In the morning he goes to his office. He has a temper, annoys his coworkers all day. He's a litigator, so he goes to court. He makes it a point to get home early in the evenings. He and his wife have most of their meals at home. They go out for dinner
maybe
once a week. This guy has no diversions—no golf, no clubbing, no drinks with his partners, no gym. When he travels, it's strictly business. Apparently, he's a devoted husband and did not like to leave his wife overnight. Associates said that on some cases he commuted back and forth daily to Philadelphia or Washington or Boston for weeks at a time to avoid spending a night away from her. He was lying about having a girlfriend. This guy didn't have time for a ten-minute Pop-Tart."

Iriarte glanced at April. "How about a surrogate mother?"

"Surrogate mother, on the sly? I don't think so. The guy's a lawyer. In a surrogate situation, wouldn't he be sure of securing papers?" April mused. "His wife would know."

"Yes, he'd want it down on paper. He'd have a birth certificate."

"Whatever," Hagedorn said. "The baby was born. There has to be a record of it somewhere."

April nodded. "Did any of the hotshots out there check on missing babies in other jurisdictions?"

"Meaning?" Hagedorn demanded.

"They could have bought it, could have stolen it. who knows? This was no spur-of-the-moment thing. Heather's mother thought she was pregnant."

"Maybe someone they knew had a baby she couldn't keep. That's an angle to look at." Iriarte pointed at Hagedorn.

"Friends with babies." He made a note.

"Okay, say they acquired a baby from an acquaintance, and the woman changed her mind about wanting to set rid of it. That would explain the birth certificate question, but not the beating and not the 911 call," April said doubtfully. "And say they'd done something illegal getting this baby. Why would Anton bring all this attention on them?"

"Yeah, but remember this guy loved her. He might go nuts if someone beat her up."

"He beat her up." Baum downed the last of his coffee.

"I like the surrogate-mother or pregnant-friend angle," April said.

"This guy has connections. I'd put my money on some illegal adoption maybe from out of the country . . . China?" He raised his eyebrow at April. "They have ties to China, right?"

"It's not so easy to adopt from China these days," she murmured. This had come up before.

"We're talking illegally."

"It's a big bureaucracy both directions, getting them out, getting them in. You couldn't do it without people knowing. Baby's only a few weeks old. More likely it was born here."

"Someone knows." Iriarte drummed his fingers.

April thought of the baby picture. "You know what puzzles me about this? The baby looks like them."

Iriarte heaved a sigh. "A mix, you mean. Not a pure Asian."

"That's what I'm thinking."

Creaker rolled his eyes. "How much can you tell from the snapshot of a three-week-old?"

"Something about the eyes." April shrugged. "It's just a feeling."

"So, bottom line. What do you think? Is this kid alive or dead?" Iriarte directed this at April.

She was busy studying the minute hand of her watch, didn't want to go there. "I'm not the betting type, sir. Just want to get it done today."

"Okay, do it."

April turned to Hagedorn. "Birth certificates three, four weeks ago. Charlie, that's you. You know what you're looking for. Get the list for the metro area, and we'll winnow it down from there. Names and addresses."

"What are you going to do?" Hagedorn demanded.

April shot him a smile. "I'm going to see a shrink about a head case."

Iriarte's scowl was transformed into a radiant smile as his door opened and Special Agent Samson barged in.

"Morning, Gabe," April said. "Let's go. Woody."

CHAPTER 25

A
t the time of April's meeting in her boss's office, Jason Frank was again sitting by Heather Rose Popescu's bed. Her face was still badly swollen, but despite the early hour, both eyes were open now, and she seemed aware of what was going on around her.

"Hi. I'm sorry to get you up so early," he told her. "I have patients all day. This is the only chance I had to talk to you until this evening."

"You didn't wake me up," Heather said softly.

"How are you doing?"

"The doctor told me I'll live." She swallowed hard.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I was thinking about it when you came in. I remember the doorbell ringing. I went to open it. That's all. My mother came last night. She told me the police think I killed the baby. She's very angry."

"She and your father have been here all night. I spoke to them a minute ago. They're not angry at you."

"Are you a policeman?"

"No, I'm a doctor. A psychiatrist."

She looked up at the ceiling. "I'm crazy," she said softly. "I must be crazy." The fingers of one hand moved toward the scars on her arm.

"Some kinds of crazy aren't so bad," Jason said smoothly. "The baby is missing. You want to tell me about that?"

"Everybody in the whole world thinks I killed my own baby." She turned her devastated face to him. "My mother told me."

"No one knows where he is, that's all. We have to find him and clear it up," Jason said.

"He's not my baby."

"I know."

"I lied to her and said it was. Now she's mad because she has no grandson. To her it's the same as killing him."

"Where is he?"

Heather ignored the question. "She was so mad at me when I married Anton. How could I tell her the baby wasn't mine?" Her eyes teared.

"Where is he?" Jason asked again.

Heather's head and magnificent hair moved on the pillow, but she didn't answer.

"Did you give him to his mother?"

"Didn't anyone tell you?"

"I don't think your husband knows where he is. Did he beat you up?"

"We couldn't keep him. It's my fault." The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks.