whatever. I pay for top security at Grayland, as I do at all of my properties. I’m sorry that Dr. Lonigan and some of her fellow owners have decided to turn our small dispute into a public spectacle. I’m sorry all of you have to get so involved and waste so much time on the matter as well.”
“We’re not wasting time if it turns out we find someone who is making threats and murdering animals,” Nicole said.
“I assure you, young lady, neither is the case with me. Now, if you’ll please excuse us.”
Watisi climbed in the back of the Mercedes.
Nicole put her hand on the edge of the car for a moment. “Just one more question,” she said. “You have any pets yourself, Mr. Watisi?”
“What?”
“You know. Dogs, cats, hamsters.”
He failed to answer, but Mrs. Watisi smiled from across the seat. “Our nine year old daughter Alvina is a budding zoologist, I’m afraid,” she said. “We have two dogs—Pomeranians—three hamsters, a turtle, and eight species of aquarium fish at last count, I think.”
“But no cats.”
“No cats.”
Igor, or whatever his name was, almost slammed the door on Nicole’s hand with a disgusted look on his face. He climbed in front and they sped off, leaving nothing but a trail of carbon monoxide.
“That was fruitful,” I said.
“So much for animal-torturing serial killers.” Nicole said.
7
I deduce they’re hiding something,” I said as I wheeled the Boxster back downtown.
“You think?” Nicole rolled her eyes, reaching over the seat and pulling her laptop out of her bag. “Places are starting to close down for the holiday. I need to find a fast internet connection laptop so I can really start looking into this guy’s finances and other dealings. Something that isn’t wireless.”
“Hopefully we can get you set up back in the apartment where we’re supposed to be saying.”
“What are you going to be doing?”
“Darla wants to meet me at the Central Park precinct before the shift changes. There’s a detective there she wants me to meet. Later on, I’ve got the guard in the lobby to talk to. After that, we’ll see what you find out about Watisi, and if I think the guard makes any sense at all, we can take over Darla’s stakeout duty in the park. If we can find this idiot with the owl, we might save ourselves a lot of trouble.”
“What about asking a few more questions of our client?”
“Why? Don’t you trust her?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Me either. But she’s not going anywhere for the time being.”
“You want me to run a check on her too? See what I can find?”
“Go for it.” I said.
* * * * *
NYPD’s old Central Park precinct building on 86 th and Transverse Road looks like a cross between a gingerbread house and a brick and stone fortress. I’d never visited the tired looking edifice during my years on the force. No occasion to.
I wouldn’t be visiting today either. The building was supposed to be undergoing renovations and the word was they might go on forever. The precinct was now being housed next door in a big red structure that looked more like a Broadway theater, complete with marquee sign, than a police station.
Ruminate all you want about the ironies of the park itself, eight hundred acres of nature wedged in the middle of the metropolis—a manufactured wilderness. If I had it to do over again, working as patrol officer, I’d have applied to work here.
The reception area and waiting room were surprisingly empty. A lull in the busy weekend crime blotter, no doubt. I knew I was in trouble, though, when the desk sergeant, a burly mound of a man with a shock of red hair, turned to look up at us as Darla and I entered.
Warren Fitzhugh had been working the streets back when Toronto and I were still detectives. A grin spread across his face as soon as our eyes met.
“Hey, hey, hey. Would you look who’s here.”
Darla had already told me about her visit to the precinct a couple of days before to talk about
“We’re not wasting time if it turns out we find someone who is making threats and murdering animals,” Nicole said.
“I assure you, young lady, neither is the case with me. Now, if you’ll please excuse us.”
Watisi climbed in the back of the Mercedes.
Nicole put her hand on the edge of the car for a moment. “Just one more question,” she said. “You have any pets yourself, Mr. Watisi?”
“What?”
“You know. Dogs, cats, hamsters.”
He failed to answer, but Mrs. Watisi smiled from across the seat. “Our nine year old daughter Alvina is a budding zoologist, I’m afraid,” she said. “We have two dogs—Pomeranians—three hamsters, a turtle, and eight species of aquarium fish at last count, I think.”
“But no cats.”
“No cats.”
Igor, or whatever his name was, almost slammed the door on Nicole’s hand with a disgusted look on his face. He climbed in front and they sped off, leaving nothing but a trail of carbon monoxide.
“That was fruitful,” I said.
“So much for animal-torturing serial killers.” Nicole said.
7
I deduce they’re hiding something,” I said as I wheeled the Boxster back downtown.
“You think?” Nicole rolled her eyes, reaching over the seat and pulling her laptop out of her bag. “Places are starting to close down for the holiday. I need to find a fast internet connection laptop so I can really start looking into this guy’s finances and other dealings. Something that isn’t wireless.”
“Hopefully we can get you set up back in the apartment where we’re supposed to be saying.”
“What are you going to be doing?”
“Darla wants to meet me at the Central Park precinct before the shift changes. There’s a detective there she wants me to meet. Later on, I’ve got the guard in the lobby to talk to. After that, we’ll see what you find out about Watisi, and if I think the guard makes any sense at all, we can take over Darla’s stakeout duty in the park. If we can find this idiot with the owl, we might save ourselves a lot of trouble.”
“What about asking a few more questions of our client?”
“Why? Don’t you trust her?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Me either. But she’s not going anywhere for the time being.”
“You want me to run a check on her too? See what I can find?”
“Go for it.” I said.
* * * * *
NYPD’s old Central Park precinct building on 86 th and Transverse Road looks like a cross between a gingerbread house and a brick and stone fortress. I’d never visited the tired looking edifice during my years on the force. No occasion to.
I wouldn’t be visiting today either. The building was supposed to be undergoing renovations and the word was they might go on forever. The precinct was now being housed next door in a big red structure that looked more like a Broadway theater, complete with marquee sign, than a police station.
Ruminate all you want about the ironies of the park itself, eight hundred acres of nature wedged in the middle of the metropolis—a manufactured wilderness. If I had it to do over again, working as patrol officer, I’d have applied to work here.
The reception area and waiting room were surprisingly empty. A lull in the busy weekend crime blotter, no doubt. I knew I was in trouble, though, when the desk sergeant, a burly mound of a man with a shock of red hair, turned to look up at us as Darla and I entered.
Warren Fitzhugh had been working the streets back when Toronto and I were still detectives. A grin spread across his face as soon as our eyes met.
“Hey, hey, hey. Would you look who’s here.”
Darla had already told me about her visit to the precinct a couple of days before to talk about
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