Leslie Glass - Tracking Time

"Well, the fact is, Adina has never been the same since Chloe died. We've had no relations since then."

"The loss of a child is a catastrophe," Jason murmured. "Has she been treated for depression?"

Another long pause. Jerome's answer was a sniff. "My friend had a child."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"What is her name?"

"How did you know it was a girl?"

"Your girlfriend's name?"

Atkins swallowed. "Her name is Grace. She has a daughter."

"I see. What is your daughter's name?"

Atkins shook his head, pursed his lips. "Her name is Dylan, Dylan Rodriguez."

"Dylan Rodriguez. How old is Dylan?"

Atkins's eyes filled with tears. "She's twenty."

Jason realized that he had been holding his breath. He exhaled. "You have a twenty-year-old daughter?"

"She's Grace's daughter."

The clock on Jason's desk ticked off thirty seconds while he thought about this. Sometimes thirty seconds can be a very long time. "Does Maslow know he has a sister?" he asked finally.

"Of course not."

Jason scratched his head, astounded. Jerome Atkins was one of those perfectly ordinary-looking men who had a secret family. His son had a sister he didn't know about. "Do Grace and Dylan know about your wife and son?"

"Of course. Grace knew from the beginning that I was married with children. She was the one who wanted a relationship. I had nothing to do with it. It was her idea to have a baby."

Jason quickly did the math. If Maslow was thirty-one and his twin sister died when she was eleven, then Dylan was conceived twenty-one years ago, when Chloe was very ill and about nine months before she died. Twenty-one years ago when the family was in crisis, Jerome was having an affair. Twenty years ago his legitimate daughter died and his illegitimate daughter was born. To Jason, the juxtaposition of those two major events sounded more like calculation than coincidence. Jerome Atkins had a lot to do with the relationship. And the catastrophe to his wife was much greater than the loss of a child. She had lost her husband at the same time. Not only that, Maslow had to have been profoundly influenced. Well before he lost his sister he lost his father, too.

"I didn't abandon them, if that's what you're thinking," Jerome said. "I've always spent time with the Rodriguezes. Grace is a wonderful woman. Dylan is a lovely girl." He gave his nose another little wipe. In body language, that meant he didn't believe what he was saying. The Rodriguezes. He called his second family the Rodriguezes, as if they belonged in another category, another world.

The clocks in the office ticked on like little time bombs, and Jason's heart beat along with them. All of a sudden everything was speeding up. April would want to talk to the Rodriguezes, and so did he. He watched Jerome Atkins's face as the man recovered his poise.

"I don't believe either of them had anything to do with Maslow's disappearance. I told you, Grace is a fine woman. She never thinks of herself." "What are you suggesting?"

"Absolutely nothing. I just wanted you as his supervisor to know the facts of his life, even if he himself did not."

With his confession off his chest, Jerome Atkins reiterated his position on his relationship with Grace Rodriguez. He wanted confidentiality concerning it. Then, white-faced, he gave Jason his second family's address in Long Island City and the phone number. After he left, Jason went over their conversation in his mind. Once again he felt sad and frightened for Maslow. It seemed clear to him that Jerome Atkins's motivation in paying the visit was not so much to help his son, but to start the spin for his wife and the rest of the world if he was unlucky. If his son was dead and the truth about his second family came out.

Peachy knew she wasn't through with her first find. She yanked on the leash, insisting that they continue working. John gave her another biscuit and let her go. Mike tagged along behind and was with them as they circled back and she suddenly stopped a second time, barking happily at something that looked like a small cigar. John praised her lavishly as Mike squatted down to examine what turned out to be a human finger.

"Anything?" April ran toward them.

"Yeah." Mike looked at it carefully. Even without touching or moving the finger, it was clear this was not the digit of a man who wrote prescriptions. He was sickened by the crude way the finger had been hacked off and hoped they wouldn't find the rest of the body scattered all over in such small pieces.

"Oh no! Oh God, no," April cried when Mike's unstated wish was granted a few minutes later, and Peachy found Pee Wee James in the bushes only a few feet away.

She stayed with the body, waiting for the Crime Scene unit. But Mike elected to continue tracking with the dog. That is, he followed along behind the dog and trainer as fast as he could in cowboy boots with heels and no traction. An eerie feeling of unreality had settled over him concerning the whole case. The death of Pee Wee James particularly shook him. April had been almost distraught last night, wanting to go out and search for him. It had been his call to shut down for the night. Now he felt responsible for the man's death.

He didn't like to think that April was never wrong. But the truth was her instincts were flawless. He'd been wrong to let Carla stay in his place Tuesday night. He'd been wrong not to go looking for Pee Wee last night. He'd been wrong not to alert the CP Precinct about the dog trainer, and last, he'd been wrong about the dog. He was having a very bad day.

The Doberman saved them from the humiliation of some innocent civilian's discovering Pee Wee's body. Whether or not there was a connection between Maslow's disappearance and Pee Wee's fatal crack on the head was still a mystery. But why the killer chopped off his finger was a question for the headshrinkers. They definitely had a loon on the loose.

In any case, Mike felt a powerful surge of pride in April's judgment as a detective and half wanted to jog back to tell her that as far as he was concerned, she could be the primary in the case no matter how Iriarte or anybody else felt about it.

It was not yet ten o'clock when dozens of detectives, uniforms, and two EMS units arrived to deal with what had been variously reported as one to three homicides in the park. Peachy was still at it, and Mike had hopes that she would "find" Maslow, too. He was scrambling down a hill after the dog as Peachy dragged her trainer along a footpath, then plunged into the bushes, came out, galloped parallel to the paved walk, then finally stopped abruptly, shivering all over. She pointed her long snout at a bench and yelped crazily. Mike picked up his pace and trotted up just in time to see Zumech give her a biscuit that was big enough to choke a horse.

The dog was yelping at a powerful odor that was like a dead mouse rotting behind a wall, maybe a little stronger. Mike's first thought was how it didn't fit with the bucolic park scene. It didn't fit at all. Central Park had a wide variety of aromas. On a summer morning, tree and flower aromas mingled with essence of hot dog, falafel, and pretzel. Mike could smell them now. The zoo on the East Side and the rowboat lake closer to the West Side added their own extracts to the potpourri. In the fall and winter there was the enticing smell of roasting chestnuts. In the late autumn and early spring, musty odors of wet earth and decaying leaves predominated. Garbage emanated from waste-baskets more powerfully when it was warm and not at all when it was cold. And other forms of human effluvia were from time to time clearly discernible-urine, vomit. But the stench of old corpse was one smell visitors didn't come upon in Central Park.

"Don't touch anything," Mike cried as he made a quick assessment of the site. On the bench was a Styro-foam coffee cup that might have fingerprints or better yet saliva that contained DNA of their killer. On the grass beside the bench was an empty, crumpled-up potato chip bag. Ditto with fingerprints there. The shocking item that didn't belong was the tip of a man's shoe. Peachy was yapping up a storm, but Mike was still puzzled by the odor. The dog's first "find" also had smelled like this, but he doubted that here lay the body that yielded it.