Leslie Glass - A Killing Gift

April guessed he was left-handed. It was time to pin down the ME on which arm the killer had used to yoke Bernie. The death report hadn't come in yet, and not even the preliminary death report was in on Birdie. Gloss was being thorough. He had speculated on the scene that a blunt weapon, maybe the side of a hand, could have made the artifacts on Birdie's neck, but he wasn't sure. He wanted to photograph the bruises and try to make impressions of different possible weapons to see what matched. He hadn't speculated about which-handed the killer was.

"You do karate?" Mike asked.

"I think you know I do. Or you wouldn't be here. It doesn't make me a killer. Lots of people do it."

"True, but probably none of them know both victims." Mike and April did not look at each other as Al laughed comfortably.

"Well, you can rule me out. I love God's creatures. I couldn't kill a cockroach."

"That's good to know. Then you won't mind telling us where you were the last two Wednesday evenings."

"Oh, that's easy. I was right here. This is our big season. Graduation, reunion. I'll be working pretty much twenty hours a day until the end of June. Our office has a big goal this year."

"What kind of goal?"

Al made a face. "Ten million."

"Is that unusual?"

"It sure is. The alumni office does not traditionally go after the big donors. We're on notice, like everyone else."

"Did anyone see you?"

"When?"

"The last two Wednesday nights?"

"Oh, I don't count them, but I'm sure. There are plenty of people around here all the time."

Mike made a note, then changed the subject. "Tell me about making the ask."

Al lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, God. It's an art, and I love it. People don't always know that they need to give back. But they really do. The fun part is opening their eyes to the need. They're so happy when it comes together for them."

"What do you mean, people need to give?" April spoke for the first time. He shifted his eyes to her and gave her an odd smile.

"Have you ever noticed how messed up rich people are?" he asked.

"More than nonrich people?" Mike asked solemnly.

"Oh, of course. Rich people have a limitless amount to give. They buy their wives, have a kid or two, spoil them all with indulgences you wouldn't believe." He let his eyes crinkle at those indulgences. "Then they leave them for prettier women who smell good. I see it all the time." He dropped his eyes to his half-eaten sandwich, which was beginning to smell.

April's nose twitched. Brie cheese, that was what it was. Warmed by the hot bread, it was beginning to soften around thin slices of prosciutto ham. And reek.

Many old-style Chinese, who could tolerate any odor of garbage, were totally repulsed by the smell of cheese. Thousand-year-old eggs (buried for weeks in crocks in the backyard) and a whole host of other fermented foods that stank to heaven were considered lovely and fragrant, but cheese products? Disgusting. April was first-generation American with old views stuck deep in her psyche. She swallowed her aversion to the rank smell and thought about Brenda and Burton Bassett.

"How do they need to give?" Mike echoed her thought. This question put Al in an expansive mood.

"Most of the money that comes to us isn't old, you know. The students who come here don't have anything. It's not like Harvard and Princeton, where families go way back. This is a down-to-earth kind of school. A lot of our kids work their way through. Frankly, we make them what they are. Down the line they become big earners. A surprisingly large proportion of our graduates make big money."

"And where does guilt fit in?"

"Oh, you want to be educated."

"Of course. What happens when they don't give?"

"They feel bad, really bad. You have no idea. People who don't give are selfish. They hurt other people." He tapped his head. "Psychology. If they give back, they feel better."

"What if they don't want to feel better?"

"I feel sorry for them, I really do."

"Did you feel sorry for Lieutenant Bernardino and Martha Bassett?"

"Very sorry," he said sadly. "I'll miss them."

April left Mike with the suspect and went downstairs to make some calls. Woody Baum showed up in the unmarked unit she'd requested and waited in the car. Two good-looking uniforms borrowed from the Sixth idled by the front door of the building. Three bigger ones guarded the room where Mike was showing muscle while getting educated by a nut. April was on the phone for close to an hour. She called Hagedorn at Midtown North to check on his progress with the Bassett heirs. He'd done his homework.

"Wednesday evening Brenda walked her dog at nine-thirty and didn't leave the apartment the rest of the night. Confirmed by her doorman. She would have to pass him, and he would have to unlock the front door for her to get out," he said. "She's been married twice. Two nasty divorces, came out pretty well. She owes two million on her apartment, but pays off her credit card debt monthly. She has nearly eight figures in a brokerage account. A standard credit check comes up with no financial difficulties, no other debt. She winters in Santa Fe, votes Republican, plays golf at two private clubs where she's a full member. She likes to go on cruises. Crystal Line. Two or three a year. She's clean, no arrests, no troubles in the past. I've just started, though."

"What about the brother?"

"He bought land outside of Denver for development twelve years back. Turned out there was no water there, and the zoning changed. Lost his shirt. He's down to a couple of mil, drinks like a college freshman, golfs at a club in Connecticut where he has a restricted membership. Votes Republican, had a couple of DUIs in the past. No driver's license at the moment. That's it."

"And he has an alibi for Wednesday."

"Yes. In plain sight at a bar at the time of the murder. But he could have hired someone. We need to subpoena bank records to get more. Cherry Packer is a small-time horse breeder and trainer, nee Olivia Brancusi. Not even a parking ticket on her. Lot of financial problems, though. She's had to refinance the stables several times. The property is maxed out, so are her credit cards, and she owed almost nine months on her mortgage until a month ago. She does have a three-year-old called Warlord, but it's never run any race.

"Pretty horse, but probably a hacker. She's had a longtime association with Harry Weinstein. They talk on the phone every day, traveled to Florida twice together last winter. She still has two hundred twenty-five thousand in her account-didn't pay off the credit cards yet, nor has she gone on any spending sprees since the money came in. She's acting as if this is all she's getting. Do you want me to work on Weinstein?"

"That's terrific. Thanks, Charlie. I owe you. But that's a no on Harry. Mike's people are on it."

"Give me a few days and I'll come up with more," he said hopefully.

"I've got a bigger fish for you. I want you to work on a guy called Albert Delano Frayme. He's in the alumni office at York U. He's a karate freak. Hands like sledgehammers. He might have been a competitor. See what comes up on him."

"How are you spelling that?"

"Sorry. Frank, Robert, Allen, Yankees, mother, Ellen."

"That's frame with a Y?"

"You got it."

"How are you feeling?" he queried before she hung up.

"Better, thanks for asking. I didn't know you cared," she said.

"See ya."

She dialed Kathy Bernardino's number at one p.m. "What are you up to?"

"I'm going through the shit, cleaning up. No one else will," Kathy replied.

"Looking for the money?" April couldn't resist saying.

"Maybe. Your people didn't help in the mess department, and I'm sure Bill tossed the place, too. I miss Weenie, but the kids want to keep him. Dad and Mom left me the house; did you know that? It was in the will from years ago after they helped Bill buy his house."