{"id":2031,"date":"2018-08-14T11:14:21","date_gmt":"2018-08-14T15:14:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/nymysteries.com\/?page_id=2031"},"modified":"2023-10-31T10:56:52","modified_gmt":"2023-10-31T14:56:52","slug":"graphic-lessons-the-first-three-chapters","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/nymysteries.com\/?page_id=2031","title":{"rendered":"Graphic Lessons: the first three chapters"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n \n \"Fb-Button\"\n <\/a>\n <\/div>
<\/div><\/div>

GRAPHIC LESSONS<\/p>\n

Mary Jo Robertiello<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Chapter 1<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 89th Street and Park Avenue<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sunday, October 14<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 11:14 p.m.<\/p>\n

Manuel ducked out of the 89th Street and Park Avenue service entrance, turned north and glanced at his watch. Through the mist he could barely see the dial. He brought it closer. 11:14 p.m. He had to move quickly. His iPhone X vibrated in his pocket. His chatty girlfriend was checking on the delivery address again. He snarled the address and slipped the phone back into his pocket. The mist lifted. Standing behind a nearby tree, he glanced toward the window\u2019s dim light. The blinds were down, but he was able to see between the slats into the softly lit room.\u00a0He edged closer to the window.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 What\u2019s this? They couldn\u2019t wait?<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He watched two people snorting coke. Like little piggies they bent over the table and inhaled the stuff. They could afford to since they hadn\u2019t paid him. The woman snorted like a pro. He figured they could have their fun. He could too. He wanted a good shot for his collection. He fished out his X and focused at the window.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 ***<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWe\u2019ll give him five minutes,\u201d Detective Jimbo Jimenez said. At 12:05 a. m. on a chilly October Monday morning, 90th Street and Park Avenue were dead.<\/p>\n

Detective Steve Kulchek looked out through the Subaru\u2019s tinted windows at the wet pavement. Seeing his image in the sideview mirror, he forced himself to study his own hawk-like face, deep-set eyes and hair that resembled a thatched roof.<\/p>\n

Kulchek had turned forty the week before but was feeling more like four hundred. The ashes-in-the-mouth taste wasn\u2019t from his one-pack-a-day habit. It was from Jimbo Jimenez, his partner of eleven months, refusing to tell him whom they were meeting off duty.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo we\u2019ll give him five minutes?\u201d Kulchek said.<\/p>\n

There was no response from Jimbo.<\/p>\n

Kulchek patted his pockets one more time, feeling unsuccessfully for the reassuring outline of a cigarette pack. Forget about a full pack, even one could get him through the next five minutes. Six weeks ago he would\u2019ve bummed one from Jimbo, but the guy had gone cold turkey on him. Kulchek remembered there was an all-night deli around the corner on Lexington. He shoved the thought out of his mind. Time he quit smoking anyway.<\/p>\n

Sitting in the driver\u2019s seat, Jimbo was backlit by the streetlight shining on his shaved head making it hard to see his face.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cSo where is this guy?\u00a0 It’s a guy, right?\u201d Kulchek crumpled up his empty pack.<\/p>\n

Jimbo shrugged. For the umpteenth time he opened his window a crack. He turned his face to the moist fall air and sucked it in like someone having an asthma attack. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Like he hadn\u2019t been a two-pack-a-day man, Kulchek thought. He studied Jimbo\u2019s silhouette. The chiseled stubborn look was back, reminding Kulchek of their first rocky weeks together. It had taken both of them almost six months to trust each other.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jimbo nodded, his head brushing the roof of the car, and grunted.<\/p>\n

Kulchek was used to the grunt. Neither detective was a talker. Here he was, acting on a tip-off with a partner who kept sticking his nose out the window and who wouldn\u2019t tell him who they were meeting.<\/p>\n

\u00a0Jimbo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.<\/p>\n

\u201cWas he the guy who called?\u201d\u00a0 Kulchek said. \u201cFamily?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jimbo sat still for a second or two. He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow the fuck am I supposed to work if I don\u2019t know the connection?\u201d Cigarette deprivation was kicking in. Kulchek inhaled the car\u2019s stale air, imagining a Camel between his lips. Light from a passing car cut across Jimbo\u2019s dark features. For a second Kulchek saw the wary, tired look in his eyes. One of Jimbo\u2019s kids had a heart condition. Another fight with his wife? What else is new.<\/p>\n

Jimbo turned toward Kulchek, cutting off the light on his face. \u201cIt\u2019s a cousin. He\u2019s meeting me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere?\u201d Kulchek looked out the passenger side window at barren Park.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe works around the corner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt one in the morning? Why are we here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe claims he found something out he has to tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou tell him to come to the station?\u201d Kulchek said.<\/p>\n

Jimbo shook his head. \u201cRefused.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAfraid someone will find out?\u201d Kulchek eyed the Park\u2019s limestone condo wall.<\/p>\n

Jimbo nodded.<\/p>\n

Both detectives saw someone moving in an alley. Jimbo\u2019s cell rang. He checked the ID and didn\u2019t bother putting it to his ear. \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Kulchek heard a male voice, anywhere from thirty-five to fifty, probably Puerto Rican. He also heard the guy say Jimbo had to be alone. \u00a0Jimbo slanted his head toward the passenger seat door.\u00a0 Kulchek opened the car door and walked north since the cousin was in the service entrance alley of a mid-block, apartment building between 89th<\/sup>\u00a0and 90th<\/sup>\u00a0Streets.\u00a0He turned the corner at 91st<\/sup> Street, pulled up his jacket\u2019s dark hood and edged his way back toward Park. He stood a few inches from the avenue, adjacent to the corner building. Not moving, he rolled his eyes toward Jimbo\u2019s vehicle.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The guy takes a step out of his hiding place, one step at a time, turning his head back and forth. Still glancing over his shoulder, he headed toward the Subaru. A real shrimp. Kulchek felt a wave of irritation sweep over him. Practically two a.m. He could\u2019ve been smoking. Once upon a time, he could\u2019ve been sleeping with Carmen. All stakeouts had to be conducted with partners. Too many assaults when cops went on their own. So here he was, wasting his time in a domestic fight.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The shrimp stopped, swung around and looked toward 90th<\/sup> Street. Kulchek waited a minute then stepped forward, interest replacing irritation. The guy ran south, toward 89th<\/sup> Street. Another guy, a hoodie, inched around 90th<\/sup> Street and Park. He kept close to the building, moving toward Jimbo.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Kulchek messaged Jimbo. \u201cNew guy approaching.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Jimbo replied: \u201cRoger.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek saw the hoodie leaning down into Jimbo\u2019s window. Then the guy ran past Kulchek northwest toward Central Park. Kulchek turned, set to chase him. The silence from the car stopped him. He raced down the block to the Subaru and ran around to the driver\u2019s side. Jimbo wasn\u2019t moving. He was slumped over the steering wheel, groaning, blood gushing from his neck and upper chest. Kulchek yanked open the door, slipped and hit his head on the door frame. \u201cMove, Jimbo. Grab my arm!\u201d Stunned, Kulchek shook his head, steadied himself and looked down at his partner. He grabbed Jimbo and pulled his partner toward him.<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 ***<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Bellevue Hospital, Tuesday, October 16, 10:15 a.m.<\/p>\n

Kulchek opened his eyes a sliver. Was the banging and clanking going on in his head? He blinked his right eye open and shut. He couldn\u2019t figure out the bed. His sheets at home in Stuyvesant Town weren\u2019t this white, weren\u2019t white at all. Hadn\u2019t Carmen picked out beige with chocolate trim?\u00a0 Carmen. He thought about his ex. Three months ago, she\u2019d married his boss.<\/p>\n

Kulchek steadied himself and concentrated on getting up. First he inched to the bed\u2019s edge and put his right foot then the left on the linoleum floor. He forced himself up. The room started spinning.<\/p>\n

\u201cBack to bed,\u201d a voice said. Strong female hands helped him back onto the bed.<\/p>\n

A short, plump woman stared down at him. \u201cNo getting out of bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her accent had a Latina lilt like Carmen\u2019s, but Carmen was history.<\/p>\n

The aide stood at the bottom of Kulchek\u2019s bed and pushed a button raising the head to a 45 degree angle.\u00a0\u201cRemember me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek shook his head. Then stopped, dizzy. He pressed his right hand against his pajamas left pocket, eager for the shape of a Camels pack.<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember you, a knifing six months ago? When I saw your stomach scars I said, \u2018that\u2019s him.\u2019\u201d She eyed Kulchek\u2019s gray mop and bristly chin.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u201dCan I have some water?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait until the doctor sees you,\u201d the aide said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cWhat the hell\u2019s going on?\u201d Kulchek sunk his head back into his pillows.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very lucky,\u201d the aide said.<\/p>\n

A white-coated doctor entered the room and glanced at the aide\u2019s ID. \u201cThank you, Ms\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll check on you later,\u201d the aide said leaving the room. The patrolman on duty closed the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cDetective Kulchek, how you doing?\u201d The doctor read the chart he was holding. \u00a0\u201cYou weren\u2019t seriously injured.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened to me?\u201d Kulchek said. \u201cShe said I was lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have a concussion. You\u2019ve been in and out of consciousness since early Monday morning. That\u2019s when EMS brought you in.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek shook his head once. He stopped. Dizzy, he lowered his head. \u201cTuesday? It\u2019s Monday.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s 10:15 a.m. Tuesday, October 16, Bellevue,\u201d the doctor said. He moved \u00a0closer to the bed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hit my head on the door. No big deal. Why do I feel like shit?\u201d Kulchek tried to stretch his back and groaned. He raised his head slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight. You hit your head and you\u2019ve been hit on the back of your head with a sharp object, maybe a knife handle or the butt of a gun.\u201d The doctor checked his notes. \u201cYou smoke?\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek nodded his head slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t. Give it up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cWhere\u2019s Jimbo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIntensive Care Unit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0Kulchek threw back the bed sheet.<\/p>\n

\u201cStay there, Detective,\u201d the doctor ordered. \u201cYou can\u2019t see him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek\u2019s head sank back into the pillows. He dimly remembered hitting something.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about Jimbo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s been stabbed. That\u2019s all I can say. One of your colleagues is stopping by later today.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek knew what that meant. Lieutenant Dominique Leguizamo, his one-time partner and now superior, was paying him a visit.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 ***<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Two hours later, Kulchek woke up to the sound of his door being opened. He\u00a0opened his eyes to see Dom Leguizamo glaring at him from the bottom of his\u00a0bed. She was in civilian clothes, head-to-toe black leather. On her, they looked like a uniform.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cGive me a mirror,\u201d Kulchek said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSteve, you haven\u2019t the balls to see what you look like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Kulchek felt right at home.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat the hell were you and Jimbo doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAsk him,\u201d Kulchek said. \u201cHow\u2019s Jimbo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAside from being stabbed in the neck and chest, just missing the jugular, \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0he\u2019s great. Forget about Jimbo. What were you two doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cHe wanted to check out someone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWho wants Jimbo dead?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Kulchek shook his head once and stopped.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThe knife?\u201d Kulchek put his head back on the pillows and closed his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cGone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Neither detective said anything.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cHolbrook is going to use this against you. Start talking,\u201d Dom said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Captain Dick Holbrook and Detective Steve Kulchek hated each other as much as Kulchek\u2019s Uncle Con, a cop forced into retirement, had hated Holbrook Senior. The Hatfields and McCoys, Manhattan version. When Holbrook Junior married Carmen, Kulchek\u2019s eternal fianc\u00e9e, that added to the mix.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t know, Dom. Honest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYou better get your act together, Steve. Have you contacted Jessie?\u201d Dom referred to Kulchek\u2019s daughter.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhy? She\u2019s in Sicily.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cNot in school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cJunior year abroad.\u201d The thought of his daughter created a flutter of pride in Kulchek\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cJunior year abroad.\u201d Dom mimicked Kulchek\u2019s false modesty with some of the old joking sarcasm that had existed between them before he had screwed up an investigation last year. \u201cWell, get you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Dominique Leguizamo and Kulchek had started out as partners in Homicide. It was a dream match professionally. They cleared a majority of their case load. Dom was Jessie\u2019s godmother.\u00a0Then, about a year ago, Kulchek had ruined a case. Dom was furious. Only after Kulchek solved the Lemrow Museum case had Dom thawed. Meanwhile, Dom had climbed the ladder to lieutenant and married her girlfriend.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSo what were you doing in an unmarked car at 1:00 a.m. at 90th Street and Park?\u201d Dom said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cHis cousin called the station that afternoon. Had to tell Jimbo something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhy didn\u2019t he come to the station? It is a guy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek held up his hands. \u201cHe said we were doing a stakeout. So we did a stakeout.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSince when you don\u2019t find out what it\u2019s about?\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek nodded. \u201cI screwed up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYou got out of the Subaru?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThe cousin saw me in the car. Texted Jimbo he had to be alone. So I got out and stood at the corner of 91st<\/sup> and Park. The cousin started toward the Subaru. Then he was running south. He must\u2019ve seen a guy at 90th<\/sup> Street.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGo on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw a hoodie coming out of 90th<\/sup> Street. He headed for the Subaru.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere was the cousin?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was out of there. Kept running south. I saw the hoodie leaning on Jimbo\u2019s side of the Subaru. The next minute he\u2019s running toward the Park. I was going to chase the guy but there was no sound from Jimbo so I ran back to the vehicle. He was covered in blood. I dragged him out.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dom reached into her tote, pulled out a plastic envelope and removed some photos from the envelope. \u201cTake a look.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek studied Jimbo\u2019s photos. Jimbo was sprawled across the Subaru\u2019s front seat in an awkward angle. He was covered in blood and his usually sharp outfit was crushed and stained red. Kulchek looked at photos of himself, his body sprawled across the driver\u2019s seat over Jimbo and then a photo of the EMS lifting him into their van.<\/p>\n

He said, \u201cCan I see Jimbo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat\u2019s the cousin\u2019s name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cHe didn\u2019t say. I\u2019m going home.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Chapter 2<\/p>\n

Hernandez\/Lopez Apartment<\/p>\n

Tuesday, October 16<\/p>\n

6:00 a.m.<\/p>\n

Gigi Hernandez dumped the clean laundry on her dad\u2019s bed then started folding his blue work shirts. She worked quickly so she could grab a latte at the new Starbucks and catch the express 6 train at 125th<\/sup> Street to 86th \u00a0\u00a0<\/sup>Street and then jog the four blocks to her new school. The private Windsor School was where her Uncle George was on the kitchen staff and Manuel, her dad, was on the maintenance staff.<\/p>\n

Something caught her eye. Her dad\u2019s iPhone was lying on the bureau. She was curious about some shots he\u2019d taken of her the day before. She had learned the password when dad was high so she tapped it in and clicked on Photos. The first shot she saw was a man slipping a little bag into his hip pocket. She paused, puzzled, and then was scared. It was Captain Richard Holbrook, a New York City Police Department big shot and on the Windsor School board. In the next shot Holbrook was talking to a cute girl Gigi didn\u2019t recognize.<\/p>\n

\u00a0Her fingertip slid across the screen again bringing up two people snorting coke. She caught her breath, her fear kicking up a notch as she recognized both Holbrook and Ms. Billington, the Windsor School head. \u00a0Gigi sent a copy of the snorting photo to her phone.<\/p>\n

Noelle Holbrook, her newest and only Windsor friend, had told her that her dad wanted to take away Gigi\u2019s scholarship. He thought Gigi was a bad influence. Noelle laughed when she said this.<\/p>\n

Gigi smelled her uncle\u2019s tobacco breath. Uncle George, his coat on, already to go to work, looked over her shoulder and stared at the two people in the photo. He breathed in and out. Gigi froze as he reached across her and took the iPhone out of her hand. He tapped on the keys. Gigi figured he was also sending himself a copy.<\/p>\n

Uncle George looked up suddenly. He moved in front of Gigi and stared at her. \u201cWhere\u2019s your necklace? Your birthday necklace? Don\u2019t hide it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi pulled out the necklace from under her Windsor School white blouse. \u201cSee, Uncle, I\u2019m not hiding it. I\u2019m protecting it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The bedroom door was flung open. Manuel Hernandez stormed in, always ready for a fight with his half-brother. He grabbed his cell out of George\u2019s hand and shoved it into his rear pocket.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cThat\u2019s the last time, you nosy bastard,\u201d Manuel said.<\/p>\n

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Chapter 3<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Scales Studio<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Tuesday, October 16<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 6:30 p.m.<\/p>\n

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Nine-year-old Dana Scales slumped in her cushioned rose chair and chewed on her cuticle. Her head rocked gently as Gigi Hernandez, her favorite babysitter, massaged her scalp. Like Dana, Gigi was a student at the Windsor School. The resemblance ended there.<\/p>\n

\u00a0Dana\u2019s mother, Rina Scales, ran a successful graphics house, owned a pricey Carnegie Hill condo and was on the Windsor board. In contrast Gigi was a scholarship student whose mother had died in childbirth and lived in a rent-stabilized apartment on 124th Street with her father, Manuel Hernandez, her father\u2019s girlfriend, Leticia Scott, and her Uncle George.<\/p>\n

Whenever Gigi opened the door of Scales Studio at 93rd Street and Madison she felt a rush of awe and envy as she entered the combination of 8,000 square feet of professional studio and home with 3,300 gallons of fresh and saltwater aquariums. Placed on\u00a0custom-built stands that acted as cubicle dividers, the aquariums zigzagged through the studio and adjacent office.\u00a0Each aquarium was called by the name of the locale from which the fish originated.<\/p>\n

The living quarters were at the back of the condo. Dana\u2019s bedroom was the size of Gigi\u2019s apartment. She thought of this as she ran her long fingers through Dana\u2019s straggly hair as if she were a salon pro on the Hair Channel. God, she was tired. It had been a long day, starting with the discovery on her dad\u2019s phone.<\/p>\n

She kept an eye on the kid who was pushing aside a carved pumpkin, a grubby iPad, and lots of candy wrappers, searching the vanity table for an escaped chocolate.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo more, Dana.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pouty-faced Dana frowned at Gigi in the mirror as her fingers moved slyly across the mirrored surface, discovered a chocolate kiss and tossed it into her mouth.<\/p>\n

Gigi frowned back, shaking her head from side to side, knowing that\u2019s what Dana expected. In the mirror\u2019s reflection she studied the lush background of French wallpaper that covered Dana\u2019s bedroom walls. A smug lady sat on a pink throne. She reminded Gigi of Dana\u2019s mom.<\/p>\n

Looking over Dana\u2019s head into the mirror, Gigi examined herself. Raising her\u00a0head\u00a0to\u00a0emphasize her long neck, buffed shoulders and her\u00a0dark, voluminous curls, she turned her head from side to side as she practiced smiling. Only 5\u2019 3\u201d, she’d learned \u00a0\u00a0to stand taller from Noelle Holbrook, junior class president.<\/p>\n

Out of habit, Gigi reached under her blouse to feel the necklace her Uncle George had given her. It wasn\u2019t there. She was ashamed of her feelings about the necklace and the way she always hid it under her clothing. Gigi blushed, recalling how after this afternoon\u2019s gymnastics she\u2019d lifted the necklace over her head and offered it to Noelle, holding it out in her hand like Dana offering a candy because Noelle had examined it before saying, \u201cCute. 18 karat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d Gigi said, not having a clue what karat meant. She worried every time she thought of Noelle\u2019s dad regarding her as a bad influence. She kept telling herself not to worry. Noelle thought it was funny.<\/p>\n

Noelle was so generous. After gym practice, she loved the necklace so much she treated Gigi to a deluxe manicure and pedicure at Mani-Pedi Spa.\u00a0 No flashy colors for Noelle. She looked at the million shades they could choose from and pointed at Chanel\u2019s Liquid Mirror. Trying to sound casual, Gigi chose the subtle gray too.<\/p>\n

Dana wriggled in front of her, bringing her out of her reverie.<\/p>\n

She showed Dana her nails and toes. \u201cI got them done this afternoon. What do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dana shrugged. \u201cOkay. I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dana grinned into the mirror. \u201cDo your Uncle George.\u201d The nine-year old\u2019s eyes gleamed with pleasure as she thought of the little kitchen guy, with his funny English, who was always friendly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot again,\u201d Gigi said, feeling disloyal when she imitated her uncle. Then Gigi raised her right index finger for emphasis, lowered her voice and spoke in an exaggerated Latino accent, \u201cDon\u2019t show off and don\u2019t wear short short skirts.\u201d She didn\u2019t say aloud, \u00a0\u00a0And don\u2019t hang with Noelle<\/em>. Gigi hated George\u2019s going on and on about Noelle. Gigi raised her right hand to her bare neck. She didn\u2019t miss that stupid necklace he\u2019d given her, but she should have kept it.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cHe works in the kitchen, right?\u201d Dana said, knowing full well the answer.<\/p>\n

Oh, yes, Uncle George Lopez, her father\u2019s half-brother, works in the school kitchen and takes every chance to inform everyone that his niece is a Windsor junior. At least she didn\u2019t have to worry about her dad talking to anyone. He was too busy on his phone making deals to think about his daughter.<\/p>\n

Manuel\u2019s idea of being a father was to snap an occasional photo of her. Again, she recalled the photos on her father\u2019s iPhone that she had seen early in the morning.<\/p>\n

Gigi tried to brush aside the pinch of fear. The important people in the photo could get her kicked out of Windsor, get her father and uncle fired. Maybe kicked out of the country.<\/p>\n

Plus, she was envious of the rich, dopey kid she had to babysit after school to make a few bucks. All for the precious Windsor scholarship.<\/p>\n

Dana took her thumb out of her mouth and stared in the mirror at Gigi. \u201cRemember me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0Both girls heard the sound of heels on the hard wood floor, approaching from the studio.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d A slender woman with reddish-brown hair stood in the doorway.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Millie. What\u2019s with you? Looking sharp,\u201d Gigi said. Millie was one of the good guys. Whenever Gigi asked her about private schools or what an English word meant, Millie always told her the answer without making her feel dumb and lost. Millie had on a little make-up, cool jeans and a sharp green sweater. She was making an effort to snap out of her sad look. A widow at thirty-four, her husband had died less than a year ago.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Gigi.\u201d Millie gave her a wise, older sister look. \u201cWhat about you, my pal?\u201d Millie looked into the vanity mirror and into Dana\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m bored,\u201d Dana said, turning around and facing Millie.\u00a0 \u201cAre you getting a job at my school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho knows? And where did you hear that?\u201d Millie said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom was talking about you to someone,\u201d Dana said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d Millie smiled down at Dana. \u201cBack to work.\u201d Looking at Gigi, she gestured with her head toward her desk in the studio.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe back in a minute,\u201d Gigi said.\u00a0 She followed Millie down the hall and into aquarium central.<\/p>\n

Officially, Millie was the office manager. Unofficially, she was also the photographer in a crisis. Her wavy, enormous desk laden down with folders, a Mac, and photos was tucked between fish tanks. A framed photo of a dark-haired man throwing a Frisbee to a schnauzer was in the middle of the desk.<\/p>\n

Millie fished a coffee table book out of a pile and flipped to a page marked by a Post-It. \u201cHere it is.\u201d She opened the page to the Pantheon. Gigi stared. Her heart rate quickened when she saw the Roman monument. She had shown Millie a photo she had taken of a Chinatown bank. Millie had told her the original was in Rome.<\/p>\n

As she left, Gigi shot Millie a look of appreciation. Millie<\/p>\n

had helped her get the dried urine-smelling sheets into the washer and dryer and on the bed before Rina Scales banged her way through the door. Poor Dana, wetting her bed at nine years old, then hiding the sheets under her bed until Gigi arrived after school.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Gigi?\u201d Dana said as Gigi entered her bedroom.<\/p>\n

Gigi winked in the mirror at Dana and fluffed the kid\u2019s lousy locks. The kid looked more like a Cabbage Patch Kid than one of the American Girl dolls settled in packs on the cherry window seat. Gigi pressed a finger into Dana\u2019s back, a signal that she had to sit up. Dana sat very straight trying unsuccessfully to lengthen her pudgy body. After a few seconds she slumped back into her cushioned chair,\u00a0put in\u00a0her earphones and become\u00a0engrossed in music on her iPod.<\/p>\n

\u00a0Gigi checked her iPhone. A few messages from kids in the Harlem hood, but nothing from that great Windsor girl.<\/p>\n

The first time Gigi saw Noelle she was parking her cherry red Vespa. No shredded jeans for Noelle. Hers were pressed. The jeans were a perfect length, following Noelle\u2019s great legs to her ankles and to her red Tod\u2019s loafers. Noelle reminded Gigi of that Daisy character she had read about in The Great Gatsby CliffsNotes.<\/p>\n

Gigi thought she and Noelle looked alike. Both had toned bodies, thanks to gymnastics. Gigi exercised in P. S. 138\u2019s summer program. Noelle\u2019s trim body was courtesy of her hot personal trainer who was now the gymnastics coach at Windsor.<\/p>\n

Gigi was off to fantasyland. She and Noelle were twins. They\u2019d arrive at school together on the Vespa. No. Gigi had a greedy rush. They\u2019d have twin Vespas.<\/p>\n

The door slammed, waking Gigi from her fantasy. She pulled the earphones from Dana\u2019s ears.\u00a0 From the studio, they heard Rina Scales\u2019 voice and the clicking of her heels, then her stopping.<\/p>\n

\u201cGigi,\u201d Dana said in her scared voice.<\/p>\n

Both Dana and Gigi stared at the telltale candy wrappers. Dana swept a few under her iPad. They listened to Rina coming closer and cooing to the fish. \u201cHow are my babies?\u201d Her heels clicked closer to Dana\u2019s room, then she stopped in the studio. \u201cMillie, what\u2019s this I hear? We\u2019ll talk later.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi grabbed a comb and rested the comb\u2019s teeth on Dana\u2019s dry scalp before making a straight part. She thought of Uncle George\u2019s futile attempts at raising a corn crop on his parched allotment.<\/p>\n

Rina marched into the room. \u201cHomework done?\u201d she said. The bright smile didn\u2019t fool anyone. China-blue eyes raced around the messy room taking in the custom-made pillows on the floor, the dolls and teddy bears heaped together on the canopied bed. Rina glared at the ten candy wrappers scattered on the vanity table and the fourteen candy wrappers nestled in the flowery dust ruffle.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Mommy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rina glanced at Gigi for confirmation.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am? Don\u2019t call me ma\u2019am. Call me Rina. I want you to stay an extra hour, okay?\u201d Rina grabbed a lilac tissue from a decorative box and blew her nose.<\/p>\n

Of course, it wasn\u2019t okay. Since Gigi had begun her after-school babysitting gig two weeks ago, Rina had squeezed in five extra hours. Gigi checked her watch. \u201cWell, okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rina leaned over and planted an unwanted kiss on Gigi\u2019s cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cClean up this place.\u201d Rina picked up one of the American Girl dolls from the heap on the bed and placed it with the others on the window seat. \u201cThese are expensive. Treat them with respect.\u201d<\/p>\n

She walked over to the dust ruffle, picked up a candy wrapper and held it up to the light. \u201cFifty calories,\u201d she read from the label. \u201cIf I eat twenty-four candies and there are fifty calories in each one, how many calories have I consumed?\u201d Rina had paid big bucks for a tutor during summer school since Dana\u2019s math was lousy. \u201cWell?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dana and Gigi froze.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many calories have I added to my body?\u201d Rina raised her voice and ran her manicured hands down her boyish hips. \u201cHow many calories have you added to your body, Dana?\u201d Rina\u2019s icy tone petrified Dana, who sat frozen under her mother\u2019s spell. Gigi backed away and started picking the wrappers out of the dust ruffle.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 Justin Bieber\u2019s \u201cLove Yourself\u201d played on Gigi\u2019s phone. Gigi snatched her phone and glanced at Rina before looking at the screen. \u201cExcuse me.\u201d She walked out of the room into the hall that separated the living quarters from the studio before answering. \u201cHi,\u201d she said with no trace of a Latino accent.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cGigi?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi read the caller\u2019s name on her screen. \u201cHi, Noelle.\u201d She couldn\u2019t think of anything to say. \u201cHow\u2019s the Vespa?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0Noelle said to a third person, \u201cShe\u2019s saying something about my Vespa.<\/p>\n

Gigi, are you going to that Halloween thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi blew out her cheeks. The Upper School was expected to show up at the October 24th fundraiser, but she had lots of excuses for not going \u2013 no date, no car, no confidence, no money to buy a cute outfit. \u201cI haven\u2019t thought about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, think about it. You can go with me and my date. He has a friend.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi recalled a tall thin boy with lots of attitude who went to another fancy private school.<\/p>\n

Keep cool. Gigi pitched her voice low. \u201cI\u2019ll think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBe in touch.\u201d Noelle clicked off.<\/p>\n

\u201cYesss,\u201d Gigi whispered to herself.\u00a0 A warm, loving sensation spread through her body. At last, acceptance. I\u2019m so glad I gave her my necklace. I\u2019d give her a thousand necklaces. Thank you, God, she whispered. She reached up to touch her necklace, then remembered it wasn\u2019t there. Rina stared at Gigi before she marched back to her graphics and advertising empire.<\/p>\n

Gigi scooted back into Dana\u2019s bedroom. I\u2019m friends with Noelle Holbrook. I\u2019m going to the Halloween party with a private school guy. I guess I\u2019m not so bad, Mr. Holbrook, right??<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Gigi fiddled with Dana\u2019s hair, as she eavesdropped on Rina and Millie in the studio.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cMillie, so let me get this straight. You really want to work with kids?\u201d\u00a0 Rina said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cYou\u2019re a pretty good photographer. I have some projects you can work on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cRina, I can work part time for you, but I want to get back to teaching full time.\u201d Millie stared at the half-dead avocado plant under the mirror she and Dana had planted and promptly forgotten. She thought of Momzer. After work she was taking her dying dog to the vets to be put down. Like everything else, it reminded her of Jake who had died eleven months before. She could heard Jake whispering into her ear, \u201cGet out of there.\u201d<\/p>\n

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89th Street and Park Avenue<\/p>\n

Sunday, October 14<\/p>\n

11:14 p.m.<\/p>\n

Manuel ducked out of the 89thStreet and Park Avenue service entrance, turned north and glanced at his watch. Through the mist he could barely see the dial. He brought it closer. 11:14 p.m. He had to move quickly. He stretched to relieve the backpack\u2019s weight. His disposable phone vibrated in his pocket. His chatty girlfriend was checking on the delivery address again. He snapped into the phone before putting it in silent mode.The mist lifted. Standing behind a nearby tree, he glanced toward the window\u2019s dim light. The blinds were down, but he was able to see between the slats into the softly lit room.\u00a0He edged closer to the window.<\/p>\n

What\u2019s this? They couldn\u2019t wait?<\/p>\n

He watched two people snorting coke. Like little piggies they bent over the table and inhaled the stuff. They could afford to since they hadn\u2019t paid him. The woman snorted like a pro. He figured they could have their fun. He could too. He wanted a good shot. He fished out his iPhone and focused at the window.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll give him five minutes,\u201d Detective Jimbo Jimenez said. At 12:05 a. m. on a chilly October Monday morning, 90th Street and Park Avenue were dead.<\/p>\n

Detective Steve Kulchek looked out through the Subaru\u2019s tinted windows at the wet pavement. Seeing his image in the side view mirror, he forced himself to study his own hawk-like face, deep-set eyes and hair that resembled a thatched roof.<\/p>\n

Kulchek had turned forty the week before but was feeling more like four hundred. The ashes-in-the-mouth taste wasn\u2019t from his one-pack-a-day habit. It was from Jimbo Jimenez, his partner of two and a half years, refusing to tell him whom they were meeting off duty.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo we\u2019ll give him five minutes,\u201d Kulchek repeated.<\/p>\n

There was no response from Jimbo.<\/p>\n

Kulchek patted his pockets one more time, feeling unsuccessfully for the reassuring outline of a cigarette pack. Forget about a full pack, even one could get him through the next five minutes. Six weeks ago he would\u2019ve bummed one from Jimbo, but the guy had gone cold turkey on him. Kulchek remembered there was an all-night deli around the corner on Lexington. He shoved the thought out of his mind. Time he quit smoking anyway.<\/p>\n

Sitting in the driver\u2019s seat, Jimbo was backlit by the streetlight shining on his shaved head making it hard to see his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo where is this guy?\u00a0 It’s a guy, right?\u201d Kulchek crumpled up his empty pack.<\/p>\n

Jimbo shrugged. For the umpteenth time he opened his window a crack. He turned his face to the moist fall air and sucked it in like someone having an asthma attack. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Like he hadn\u2019t been a two-pack-a-day man, Kulchek thought. He studied Jimbo\u2019s silhouette. The chiseled stubborn look was back, reminding Kulchek of their first rocky weeks together. It had taken both of them almost a year to trust each other.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jimbo nodded, his head brushing the roof of the car, and grunted.<\/p>\n

Kulchek was used to the grunt. Neither detective was a talker. His thoughts went back to the day he turned ten. What a birthday present. It had hooked him worse than cigarettes. His uncle, Con Haggerty, a New York City detective, had taken him on a ride-along.\u00a0 Con had treated him like a man, expecting him to figure things out for himself.<\/p>\n

Here he was thirty years later acting on a tip-off with a partner who kept sticking his nose out the window and who wouldn\u2019t tell him whom they were meeting. Kulchek\u2019s thoughts went back to his Uncle Con. He missed the old guy. Con had two songs on his phone. Harry James was on weekdays, trumpeting through \u201cFlight of the Bumblebee.\u201d On weekends, Dean Martin crooned \u201cRelax-ay-voo.\u201d\u00a0Con had erased the songs the day he retired and was probably staring at the ceiling of his Florida condo, wondering how he\u2019d get through another day of mandatory retirement. It was Con\u2019s stubborn righteousness that had gotten him kicked off the force. His last investigation had uncovered police corruption at his own 19th Precinct. After a few Jim Beams at weddings or funerals, Uncle Con would raise his glass and say, \u201cRichard Holbrook,\u201d as if he were drinking his dead ex-captain\u2019s blood. Sooner or later Kulchek expected to get a call about Con having a boating accident, courtesy of booze or of unfinished NYPD business.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d Jimbo said. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh?\u201d Kulchek came back to the present. \u201cGive it a minute,\u201d he said, not wanting to ask again who hadn\u2019t shown. Con floated back into his thoughts. He lifted his spirits by thinking of his daughter in Sicily. \u201cFamily,\u201d he mumbled.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said it,\u201d Jimbo said.<\/p>\n

Cigarette deprivation was kicking in. Kulchek felt his anger rising.\u00a0 \u201cHow the fuck am I supposed to work if I don\u2019t know the connection?\u201d<\/p>\n

Light from a passing car cut across Jimbo\u2019s dark features. For a second Kulchek saw the wary look in his eyes. Then Jimbo turned to face him, cutting off the light on his face. \u201cLet\u2019s get out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBe back in a minute.\u201d Kulchek couldn\u2019t help himself. He jerked open the door and ran down 90th Street to the all-night deli on Lexington. He tossed some bills on the counter then grabbed the pack out of the merchant\u2019s hand. He ran back again, huffing a little up the incline to Park. He ripped open the pack thinking, Jesus, I have to stop. Nobody smokes anymore. If he can do it, I can do it. Pissed at Jimbo and at himself,\u00a0he took a deep drag. The nagging thought wormed into his head: Jimbo won\u2019t talk. Therefore, Jimbo doesn\u2019t trust me.<\/p>\n

As he got back to Park, he saw a hoodie leaning down into Jimbo\u2019s window.<\/p>\n

Then the person was running northwest toward 91st Street. \u00a0Kulchek raced across Park Avenue and ran passed the Subaru after the hoodie. He smelled smoke. \u00a0He circled back. Shoved next to the rear door was a pressure cooker. It fizzled then stopped. Kulchek yanked at the driver\u2019s door handle. It opened. Jimbo wasn\u2019t moving. He was slumped over the steering wheel, groaning, blood gushing from his neck and upper chest. \u201cMove, Jimbo. Grab my arm!\u201d Behind Kulchek, someone yanked on his right arm. Kulchek clutched at Jimbo. Someone pulled on Kulchek\u2019s arm again. He turned angrily to free his arm and hit his head on the door frame. Stunned, Kulchek shook his head, steadied himself and looked back at his partner. He grabbed Jimbo, pulled his partner toward him and tumbled over the pressure cooker.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Bellevue Hospital, Tuesday, October 16, 10:15 a.m.<\/p>\n

Kulchek opened his eyes a sliver. Was the banging and clanking going on in his head? He blinked his right eye open and shut. He couldn\u2019t figure out the bed. His sheets at home in Stuyvesant Town weren\u2019t this white, weren\u2019t white at all. Hadn\u2019t Carmen picked out beige with chocolate trim?\u00a0 Carmen. He thought about his ex. Three months ago, she\u2019d married his boss, that bastard Captain Dick Holbrook, son of the recently deceased Richard Holbrook.\u00a0 He tortured himself with the thought, she\u2019s pregnant.<\/p>\n

Kulchek steadied himself and concentrated on getting up. First he inched to the bed\u2019s edge and put his right foot then the left on the linoleum floor. He forced himself up. The room started spinning.<\/p>\n

\u201cBack to bed,\u201d a voice said. Strong female hands helped him back onto the bed.<\/p>\n

A short, plump woman stared down at him. \u201cNo getting out of bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her accent had a Latina lilt like Carmen\u2019s, but Carmen was history.<\/p>\n

The aide stood at the bottom of Kulchek\u2019s bed and pushed a button raising the head to a 45 degree angle.\u00a0\u201cRemember me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember you. I saw your stomach scars and said, \u2018that\u2019s him.\u2019\u201d She eyed Kulchek\u2019s gray mop and bristly chin.<\/p>\n

\u201dCan I have some water?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait until the doctor sees you,\u201d the aide said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell\u2019s going on?\u201d Kulchek sunk his head back into his pillows.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very lucky,\u201d the aide said.<\/p>\n

A white-coated doctor entered the room and glanced at the aide\u2019s ID. \u201cThank you, Ms\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll check on you later,\u201d the aide said leaving the room. The patrolman on duty closed the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cDetective Kulchek, how you doing?\u201d The doctor read the chart he was holding. \u00a0\u201cYou weren\u2019t seriously injured.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened to me?\u201d Kulchek said. \u201cShe said I was lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have a concussion. You\u2019ve been in and out of consciousness since early Monday morning. That\u2019s when EMS brought you in.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek shook his head once. He stopped. Dizzy, he lowered his head. \u201cTuesday? It\u2019s Monday.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s 10:15 a.m. Tuesday, October 16, Bellevue,\u201d the doctor said. He moved \u00a0closer to the bed.<\/p>\n

Kulchek tried to stretch his back and groaned. He raised his head slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour patrol car had an explosive devise near it. It didn\u2019t explode. Your colleague didn\u2019t stand a chance if it had worked.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek was too groggy to correct him. The Subaru was Jimbo\u2019s, not the department\u2019s. \u201cWhere\u2019s Jimbo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIntensive Care Unit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek threw back the bed sheet.<\/p>\n

\u201cStay there, Detective,\u201d the doctor ordered. \u201cYou can\u2019t see him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek\u2019s head sank back into the pillows. He dimly remembered hitting something.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about Jimbo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s been stabbed. That\u2019s all I can say. One of your colleagues is stopping by later today.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek knew what that meant. Lieutenant Dominique Leguizamo, his one-time partner and now superior, was paying him a visit.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Two hours later, Kulchek woke up to the sound of his door being opened. He\u00a0opened his eyes to see Lieutenant Dominique Leguizamo glaring at him from the bottom of his\u00a0bed. She was in civilian clothes, head-to-toe black leather. On her, they looked like a uniform.<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me a mirror,\u201d \u00a0Kulchek said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSteve, you haven\u2019t the balls to see what you look like.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kulchek felt right at home.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell were you and Jimbo doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Kulchek said. He thought to himself, we sat in the Subaru, I bought cigarettes, and now I\u2019m here. \u201cHow\u2019s Jimbo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAside from being stabbed in the neck and chest, just missing the jugular, he\u2019s great. Forget about Jimbo. What were you two doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe wanted to check out someone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho wants you dead? Who wants Jimbo dead?\u00a0 Who planted that bomb? You know they used a pressure cooker, Boston marathon shit?\u00a0 Shoved against the rear door like someone was trying to shove it under the car.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt didn\u2019t go off.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLucky you,\u201d Dom said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe knife?\u201d Kulchek put his head back on the pillows and closed his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cGone. The guy took it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Neither detective said anything.<\/p>\n

\u201cHolbrook is going to use this against you. Start talking,\u201d Dom said.<\/p>\n

Captain Dick Holbrook and Detective Steve Kulchek hated each other as much as Kulchek\u2019s Uncle Con had hated Holbrook Senior. When Holbrook Junior married Carmen that just added to the mix.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Dom. Honest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou better get your act together, Steve. Have you contacted Jessie?\u201d Dom referred to Kulchek\u2019s daughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy? She\u2019s in Sicily.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot in school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJunior year abroad.\u201d The thought of his daughter created a flutter of pride in Kulchek\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n

\u201cJunior year abroad.\u201d Dom mimicked Kulchek\u2019s false modesty with some of the old joking sarcasm that had existed between them before he had screwed up an investigation last year. \u201cWell, get you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dominique Leguizamo and Kulchek had started out as partners in Homicide. It was a dream match professionally. They cleared a majority of their case load. Privately, Dom was Jessie\u2019s godmother.\u00a0Then, about a year and a half ago, Kulchek had ruined a case. Dom was furious. Only after Kulchek solved the Lemrow Museum case had Dom thawed. Meanwhile, Dom had climbed the ladder to lieutenant and married her girlfriend.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what were you doing in an unmarked car at 1:00 a.m. at 90th Street and Park?\u201d Dom said.<\/p>\n

Kulchek remembered that Jimbo had gone silent on him like in their early days working together.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Dom. It was Jimbo\u2019s car. I went for cigarettes. Coming back, I saw a hoodie leaning on Jimbo\u2019s side of the Subaru. I chased the guy. Behind me, I heard a sound like a fizzle. It was that booby-trap. \u00a0I ran back to the vehicle. It took me a minute to get why Jimbo wasn\u2019t moving. Stabbed. So I dragged him out.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dom waited. Finally she said, \u201cThat pressure cooker was filled with ammo but didn\u2019t fit under the car. It didn\u2019t explode. Good thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

She reached into her tote, pulled out a plastic envelope and removed some photos from the envelope. \u201cTake a look.\u201d<\/p>\n

After studying the photos of Jimbo, Kulchek said, \u201cCan I see him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going home.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chapter 2<\/p>\n

Scales Studio<\/p>\n

Tuesday, October 16<\/p>\n

6:15 p.m.<\/p>\n

Nine-year-old Dana Scales slumped in her cushioned rose chair and chewed on her cuticle. Her head rocked gently as Gigi Hernandez, her favorite babysitter, massaged her scalp. Like Dana, Gigi was a student at the Windsor School. The resemblance ended there.<\/p>\n

Dana\u2019s mother, Rina Scales, ran a successful graphics house, owned a pricey Carnegie Hill condo and was on the Windsor board. Gigi was a scholarship student whose mother had died in childbirth. Gigi lived in a rent-stabilized apartment on 124th Street with her father, Manuel Hernandez, her father\u2019s girlfriend, Leticia Scott, and her Uncle George. Both her father and uncle were on Windsor\u2019s custodial staff.<\/p>\n

Gigi felt a thrill of awe and envy whenever she opened the door of Scales Studio at 93rd Street and Madison, a combination of 8,000 square feet of studio and home with 3,300 gallons of fresh and saltwater aquariums. Placed on\u00a0custom-built stands that acted as cubicle dividers, the aquariums zigzagged through the studio and adjacent office.\u00a0Each aquarium was called by the name of the locale from which the fish originated.<\/p>\n

Gigi ran her long fingers through Dana\u2019s straggly hair as if she were a salon pro on the Hair Channel. God, she was tired. It had been a long day, starting with the discovery on her dad\u2019s phone.<\/p>\n

She kept an eye on the kid who was pushing aside a carved pumpkin, a grubby iPad, and lots of candy wrappers, searching the vanity table for an escaped chocolate.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo more, Dana.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pouty-faced Dana frowned at Gigi in the mirror as her fingers moved slyly across the mirrored surface, discovered a chocolate kiss and tossed it into her mouth.<\/p>\n

Gigi frowned into the three-way mirror knowing that\u2019s what Dana expected. In the mirror\u2019s reflection she studied the lush background of French wallpaper that covered Dana\u2019s bedroom walls. A smug Little Miss Muffet on her pink throne-like tuffet reminded Gigi of Dana\u2019s mom.<\/p>\n

Looking over Dana\u2019s head into the mirror, Gigi examined herself. Raising her\u00a0head\u00a0to\u00a0emphasize her long neck, buffed shoulders and her\u00a0dark, voluminous curls, she turned her head from side to side as she practiced smiling. \u00a0Only 5\u2019 3\u201d, she carried herself to give the impression of being taller. \u00a0She’d learned that from Noelle Holbrook, junior class president.<\/p>\n

Out of habit, Gigi reached under her blouse to feel the necklace her Uncle George had given her. It wasn\u2019t there. She was ashamed of her feelings about the necklace and the way she always hid it. Gigi blushed, recalling how yesterday after gymnastics she\u2019d lifted the necklace over her head and offered it to Noelle, holding it out in her hand like Dana offering a candy. All because Noelle had examined it before saying, \u201cCute. 18 karat?\u201d<\/p>\n

Noelle was so generous. She loved the necklace so much she treated Gigi to a manicure in a fancy salon. No flashy colors for Noelle. She looked at the million colors they could choose from and pointed at Chanel\u2019s Liquid Mirror. She chose it too. It was the first time Gigi picked gray. \u00a0She showed Dana her nails from Monday. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dana shrugged. \u201cOkay, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi was worried. Last night Uncle George had wanted to know where her necklace was. She\u2019d lied and said she was having the clasp fixed. He said it didn\u2019t have a clasp. He wanted to know if she had lost it. All the time George was saying this, he looked at her suspiciously. She couldn\u2019t tell him she\u2019d given his gift to Noelle.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo your Uncle George.\u201d The nine-year-old broke into Gigi\u2019s reverie. Dana\u2019s\u00a0 eyes gleamed with pleasure as she thought of the little kitchen guy, with his funny English, who was always friendly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot again,\u201d Gigi said, feeling disloyal when she imitated her uncle. Then Gigi raised her right index finger for emphasis, lowered her voice and spoke in an exaggerated Latino accent, \u201cDon\u2019t show off and don\u2019twear short short skirts.\u201d She didn\u2019t say aloud,\u00a0 And don\u2019t hang with Noelle. Gigi hated George\u2019s going on and on about Noelle. Gigi raised her right hand to her bare neck. She didn\u2019t miss that stupid necklace he\u2019d given her, but she should have kept it.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe works in the kitchen, right?\u201d Dana said, knowing full well the answer.<\/p>\n

Oh, yes, Uncle George Lopez, her father\u2019s half-brother, works in the school kitchen and informs everyone that his niece is a Windsor junior. At least she didn\u2019t have to worry about her dad talking to anyone. He was too busy on his phone making deals to think about his daughter.<\/p>\n

Manuel\u2019s idea of being a father was to snap an occasional photo of her. Again, she recalled the photo on her father\u2019s iPhone that she had seen early this morning. Before leaving for school, she had just dumped out the clean laundry on her dad\u2019s bed and was folding a work shirt. His phone was lying on the bureau. She was curious about a shot he\u2019d taken of her the day before. When she clicked on Photos on her dad\u2019s phone she found a shot that showed two people snorting something. She caught her breath, feeling scared because she recognized the people. She sent a copy of the photo to her phone. That\u2019s when she realized Uncle George was looking over her shoulder staring at the two people in the photo. George took Manuel\u2019s phone from Gigi and sent himself a copy. Seconds later, her dad came in, grabbed his cell out of George\u2019s hand and threw it into a drawer. \u201cThat\u2019s the last time, you nosy bastard,\u201d her dad said to George.<\/p>\n

Gigi tried to brush aside the touch of fear. The important people in the photo could get her kicked out of Windsor, get her father and uncle fired. Maybe kicked out of the country.<\/p>\n

Plus, she was envious of the rich, dopey kid she had to babysit after school to make a few bucks. All for the precious Windsor scholarship.<\/p>\n

Dana took her thumb out of her mouth and stared in the mirror at Gigi. \u201cRemember me?\u201d<\/p>\n

They heard footsteps approaching from the studio.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d A slender woman with reddish-brown hair stood in the doorway.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Millie. What\u2019s with you? Looking sharp,\u201d Gigi said. Millie was one of the good guys. Whenever Gigi asked her about private schools or what an English word meant, Millie always told her the answer without making her feel dumb and lost. \u00a0Gigi noticed that Millie had on a little make-up, cool jeans and a sharp green sweater. She was glad that Millie was making an effort to snap out of her sad look. Gigi knew that Millie\u2019s husband had died less than a year ago.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Gigi.\u201d Millie gave her a wise, older sister look. \u201cWhat about you, my pal?\u201d Millie looked into the vanity mirror and into Dana\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m bored,\u201d Dana said, turning around and facing Millie.\u00a0 \u201cAre you getting a job at my school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho knows? And where did you hear that?\u201d Millie said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom was talking about you to someone,\u201d\u00a0 Dana said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d Millie smiled down at Dana. \u201cBack to work.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi shot Millie a look of appreciation as she left the room, recalling how Millie<\/p>\n

had helped her get the dried urine-smelling sheets into the washer and dryer and on the bed before Rina Scales banged her way through the door.\u00a0Poor Dana, wetting her bed at nine years old, then hiding the sheets under her bed until Gigi arrived after school.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Gigi?\u201d Dana said.<\/p>\n

Gigi winked in the mirror at Dana and fluffed the kid\u2019s lousy locks. The kid looked more like a Cabbage Patch Kid than one of the American Girl dolls settled in packs on the cherry window seat. Gigi pressed a finger into Dana\u2019s back, a signal that she had to sit up. Dana sat very straight trying unsuccessfully to lengthen her pudgy body. After a few seconds she slumped back into her cushioned chair,\u00a0put in\u00a0her earphones and become\u00a0engrossed in music on her iPod.<\/p>\n

Gigi checked her iPhone, a gift from George to make her feel at home with the Windsor girls. A few messages from kids in the Harlem hood, but nothing from that great Windsor girl.<\/p>\n

The first time Gigi had seen Noelle she was parking her cherry red Vespa. No shredded jeans for Noelle. Hers were pressed. The jeans were a perfect length, following Noelle\u2019s great legs to her ankles and to her red Tod\u2019s loafers. Noelle reminded Gigi of that Daisy character she had read about in The Great Gatsby CliffsNotes.<\/p>\n

Gigi thought she and Noelle looked alike. Both had thick dark brown hair and toned bodies, thanks to gymnastics. Gigi exercised in P. S. 138\u2019s summer program. Noelle\u2019s trim body was courtesy of her hot personal trainer who was now the gymnastics coach at Windsor.<\/p>\n

Gigi was off to fantasyland. She and Noelle were twins. They\u2019d arrive at school together on the Vespa. No. Gigi had a greedy rush. They\u2019d have twin Vespas.<\/p>\n

The door slammed, waking Gigi from her fantasy. She pulled the earphones from Dana\u2019s ears.\u00a0From the studio, they heard Rina Scales\u2019 voice and the clicking of her heels, then her stopping.<\/p>\n

\u201cGigi,\u201d Dana said in her scared voice.<\/p>\n

Both Dana and Gigi stared at the telltale candy wrappers. Dana swept a few under her ipad. They listened to Rina coming closer and cooing to the fish. \u201cHow are my babies?\u201d Her heels clicked closer to Dana\u2019s room, then she stopped. \u201cMillie, what\u2019s this I hear? We\u2019ll talk later.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi grabbed a comb and rested the comb\u2019s teeth on Dana\u2019s dry scalp before making a straight part. It reminded her of her Uncle George\u2019s futile attempts at raising a corn crop on his parched allotment in Harlem.<\/p>\n

Rina marched into the room. \u201cHomework done?\u201d she said. The bright smile didn\u2019t fool anyone. China-blue eyes raced around the messy room taking in the custom-made pillows on the floor, the dolls and teddy bears heaped together on the canopied bed. Rina glared at the ten candy wrappers scattered on the vanity table and the fourteen candy wrappers nestled in the flowery dust ruffle.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Mommy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rina glanced at Gigi for confirmation.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am? Don\u2019t call me ma\u2019am. Call me Rina. I want you to stay an extra hour, okay?\u201d Rina grabbed a lilac tissue from a decorative box and blew her nose.<\/p>\n

Of course, it wasn\u2019t okay. Since Gigi had begun her after-school babysitting gig two weeks ago, Rina had squeezed in five extra hours. Gigi checked her watch. \u201cWell, okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rina leaned over and planted an unwanted kiss on Gigi\u2019s cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cClean up this place.\u201d Rina picked up one of the American Girl dolls from the heap on the bed and placed it with the others on the window seat. \u201cThese are expensive. Treat them with respect.\u201d<\/p>\n

She walked over to the dust ruffle, picked up a candy wrapper and held it up to the light. \u201cFifty calories,\u201d she read from the label. \u201cIf I eat twenty-four candies and there are fifty calories in each one, how many calories have I consumed?\u201d Rina had paid big bucks for a tutor during summer school since Dana\u2019s math was lousy. \u201cWell?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dana and Gigi froze.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many calories have I added to my body?\u201d Rina raised her voice and ran her manicured hands down her boyish hips. \u201cHow many calories have you added to your body, Dana?\u201d Rina\u2019s icy tone petrified Dana, who sat frozen under her mother\u2019s spell. Gigi backed away and started picking the wrappers out of the dust ruffle.<\/p>\n

Justin Bieber\u2019s \u201cLove Yourself\u201d played on Gigi\u2019s phone. Gigi snatched her phone and glanced at Rina before looking at the screen. \u201cExcuse me.\u201d She walked out of the room into the hall that separated the living quarters from the studio before answering. \u201cHi,\u201d she said with no trace of a Latino accent.<\/p>\n

\u201cGigi?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi read the caller\u2019s name on her screen. \u201cHi, Noelle.\u201d She couldn\u2019t think of anything to say. \u201cHow\u2019s the Vespa?\u201d<\/p>\n

Noelle said to a third person, \u201cShe\u2019s saying something about my Vespa.<\/p>\n

Gigi, are you going to that Halloween thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi blew out her cheeks. The Upper School was expected to show up at the October\u00a0 24th fundraiser, but she had lots of excuses for not going \u2013 no date, no car, no confidence, no money to buy a cute outfit. \u201cI haven\u2019t thought about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, think about it. You can go with me and my date.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gigi recalled a tall thin boy with lots of attitude who went to another fancy private school.<\/p>\n

Keep cool. Gigi pitched her voice low. \u201cI\u2019ll think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBe in touch.\u201d Noelle clicked off.<\/p>\n

\u201cYesss,\u201d Gigi whispered to herself.\u00a0 A warm, loving sensation spread through her body. At last, acceptance. I\u2019m so glad I gave her my necklace. I\u2019d give her a thousand necklaces. Thank you, God, she whispered. She reached up to touch her necklace, then remembered it wasn\u2019t there. She didn\u2019t bless herself because from Dana\u2019s bedroom, Rina\u00a0 was staring at her.<\/p>\n

Gigi avoided looking at Rina as she scooted back into the room. I\u2019m friends with Noelle Holbrook sang in Gigi\u2019s brain as she watched Rina go back to her graphics and advertising empire.<\/p>\n

Gigi fiddled with Dana\u2019s hair, as she tried\u00a0to eavesdrop on Rina and Millie. \u00a0\u201cGood luck, Millie,\u201d Gigi said to herself.<\/p>\n

\u201cMillie, so let me get this straight. You really want to work with kids?\u201d\u00a0 Rina said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a pretty good photographer. I have some projects you can work on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRina, I can work part time for you, but I want to teach full time.\u201d Millie stared at the half-dead avocado plant under the mirror she and Dana had planted and promptly forgotten. She thought of Momzer. After work she was taking her dying dog to the vets to be put down. Like everything else, it reminded her of Jake who had died eleven months before. She could heard Jake whispering into her ear, \u201cGet out of there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chapter\u00a0 3<\/p>\n

The Windsor School<\/p>\n

Wednesday, October 17<\/p>\n

7:25 a.m.<\/p>\n

Smile. Damn it, smile. I should have cancelled this, Millie thought, walking through the rain to The Windsor School. Dumb idea taking Momzer to the vet the day before her Windsor interview. Millie thought of the schnauzer leaping to catch a Frisbee thrown by Jake the day they found out about her pregnancy. To announce it, they had emailed everyone Jake\u2019s perky design of a fetus. How dumb was that? \u00a0Her miscarriage and her husband\u2019s cancer diagnosis occurred a few weeks later. Jake died eleven months and five days ago. Now, Momzer was dead too. In canine terms, he had been seventy-seven. It was longer than Jake\u2019s life, and the end came a lot quicker. She had stroked Momzer as the vet inserted the lethal injection. His cigar-butt tail thumped on the white table. He had trusted her to the end.<\/p>\n

In spite of the rain pinging off her umbrella, Millie loitered at the corner of 90th Street and Park Avenue. She checked her watch: 7:25 a.m. A barrel-chested policeman in a dark raincoat stood on the corner. Lights mounted above the apartment house canopies flashed, signaling for cabs. Doormen whistled. More and more people were rushing out of the town houses and co-ops, hands up, waving for taxis. Crossing the street, a woman Millie assumed was a housekeeper in jeans walked a dog outfitted in custom tartan rain gear.<\/p>\n

Millie continued west on the north side of well-tended 90th Street. At five-foot intervals, trees drooped under the weight of the autumn rain. The sun was breaking through a watery sky. Millie stopped in the middle of the block, tilted her umbrella and looked up at a brick building, a four-story converted townhouse. Over the arched doorway The Windsor School was inscribed on a marble plaque. Remembering the school where she had previously taught, she was fairly certain somebody would be there by now.<\/p>\n

It was exactly 7:30 when she pushed the brass button to the right of the imposing main entrance. She heard it ring. While she waited, she studied a banner announcing a Halloween benefit at the Hudson and Grove Club on October 24. After a few minutes, a face peered through a tiny window to the right of the door. She gestured to open the door. The face disappeared.<\/p>\n

She turned the front entrance\u2019s doorknob. Just as she had thought, it was locked. If Windsor were like most private schools, its main entrance would be opened at eight a.m. for the students. Millie noticed an unobtrusive door to the left of the main entrance. She figured that at one time it had been the servants\u2019 entrance. Over the door was a discreet sign: Staff and Deliveries Only.<\/p>\n

A gust of wind whirled down 90th Street. She ducked into the Staff and Deliveries Only doorway and rang the bell, hearing it pierce the quiet of the building. There was a sound of someone coming to the door, followed by eyes scowling at her through the white bars over the window.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Millie Fitzgerald. I\u2019m here for an interview.\u201d She forced a friendly smile. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I\u2019m so early. Can I come in?\u201d Come on, guy, open the door. He reminded her of Momzer with his scruffy mustache and thinning sideburns. She figured he was on the janitorial staff.<\/p>\n

Finally, he cracked the door. \u201cLady, when\u2019s your appointment?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEight forty-five. I\u2019m early. There\u2019s nothing open in the neighborhood. It\u2019s raining. If I could sit somewhere…\u201d<\/p>\n

Who cares? was written all over his face. He looked sharply toward Park and then toward Madison before motioning her inside and slamming the door shut.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks a lot,\u201d she said, grateful. Straight ahead was a flight of stairs she assumed led down to the basement. Seeing several doors along a corridor that ran to the left side of the stairs, she assumed they were offices.<\/p>\n

\u201cFollow me,\u201d the man said. Millie followed him down a hall. He opened a fire door and held it impatiently while she closed her dripping umbrella. Then he led her through a corridor that smelled of freshly polished linoleum and into a brightly lit room she assumed was the school\u2019s reception area. A circular staircase swept up to the skylight in the ceiling four stories above them. Millie imagined it was perfect for a debutante\u2019s entrance.<\/p>\n

Beneath the sweep of the stairs, there was a desk laden with a computer, a cell, the free newspaper, Metro New York, a container of coffee and a half-eaten Danish. To her right, toward 90th Street, was the bolted main entrance. Above the desk was a closed-circuit TV facing the front door.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit there.\u201d He gestured with his head toward an upholstered bench that followed the circular walls.<\/p>\n

Millie did as she was told. He seated himself at the desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name\u2019s Millie Fitzgerald. I\u2019m here for an interview.\u201d Her voice bounced off the walls of the miniature rotunda.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou told me. I\u2019m only sitting here until the receptionist comes.\u201d He slouched over his cell and slurped his coffee.<\/p>\n

Millie checked out her surroundings. On the circular wall\u2019s bulletin board, Save the Date! Halloween Party October 24 was bordered by witches on broomsticks. Julia Billington, Head of School, was inscribed on the paneled door to her right.<\/p>\n

Over the top of the paper, Millie noticed the guy\u2019s ears flattened like Momzer\u2019s used to do when he had been irritated. She pulled out her tablet and clicked to the obituary section of the Times. Since Jake’s death, she preferred to read about the dead rather than the living. A virtuous failing, Jake used to say, with his weakness for oxymorons, about her inclination to see herself as others did. Since his death, self-consciousness ruled her life.<\/p>\n

She scanned the photos of the newly dead. Not very interesting today, she thought, following her daily routine of comparing the ages of the deceased to her own thirty-five, then Jake\u2019s forty-three, and now their old dog\u2019s at seventy-seven. Vital statistics for her meant cause and age at death.<\/p>\n

She unzipped her purse. It made an annoying buzz like that of a single mosquito.\u00a0 Then she searched for her pocket mirror, acutely aware of the slight, irritating sounds she was making. Do I have lipstick on my teeth, she wondered. She glanced at Stone Eyes who continued to ignore her and read his paper. Then she ran her tongue back and forth over her teeth.<\/p>\n

The front page of his free newspaper was facing Millie. She saw the headline, \u201cMonday\u2019s Cop Attack on Upper East Side. Terrorists Ruled Out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNear here?\u201d she said. He scowled over his paper and looked confused.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe attack?\u201d Millie said, pointing to his paper.<\/p>\n

He turned the paper over, checked the headlines, then jerked his head to the left. Millie figured he meant 90th Street and Park. \u201cIt happened Monday?\u201d<\/p>\n

His cold eyes glared into hers over the top of his paper.<\/p>\n

Millie ran her finger over her tablet and found the Times article. She read the first two paragraphs, interested in the proximity of time and place. \u201cI just passed there.\u201d<\/p>\n

He said nothing. Millie was filled with the free-floating anxiety that had settled in her bones the day she and Jake had heard his diagnosis. I suppose asking the super if I have lipstick on my teeth would be weird. \u201cWhere\u2019s the ladies\u2019 room?\u201d<\/p>\n

The guy looked up in the direction of the sweeping stairs. \u201cYou can\u2019t go upstairs.\u201d Suddenly, he smiled. \u201cThere\u2019s a bathroom in the cafeteria, and you can wait down there.\u201d He pointed at the fire door. \u201cGo back the way you came in and take the stairs on your right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d Millie said. What\u2019s the head going to be like, she wondered, as she picked up her things. As Millie opened the fire door, she heard rapid footsteps. She had a fleeting glance of a dark-haired girl running down the corridor.<\/p>\n

The only sound she could hear as she went down the steps to the cafeteria was the clicking of her heels. She pushed open a door. To her right were rows of white metal tables with matching chairs. Beyond them she saw a door labeled Restrooms. There was an exit sign at the other end of the cafeteria. To her left was an alcove with a kitchen extending behind a cafeteria counter. Running along the left wall were a row of lockers. One of the locker doors was opened. Millie saw a jacket and an ancient fedora.<\/p>\n

Behind the counter, a short, dark-haired man was standing at a stainless steel sink. On the drain board beside him was a tray of carrot and celery strips cut like miniature logs. After watching him for a few moments cutting more vegetables, she approached him.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n

He dropped a paring knife into the deep aluminum sink and turned quickly, staring into her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to startle you.\u201d She smiled into his eyes that were circled by deep shadows. \u201cThe guy at the front desk told me to wait down here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s the super. Larry\u2019s okay. Just doesn\u2019t like to talk in the morning.\u201d He pointed a shaky finger at a chair near the counter. The guy dropped his paring knife on the linoleum floor. He picked it up and dropped it again. With weary grace, he grabbed it off the floor and washed it under a faucet. \u201cSorry, sorry. I’m short-handed. The cook’s gonna be late. You got a name?\u201d He looked at her with his doggy brown eyes, while adding to the stacks of carrots and celery on the counter and then carrying them to the salad bar.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Millie Fitzgerald. I have an interview for a teaching position at 8:45 and was looking for a place to wait.\u201d She sat down.<\/p>\n

\u201cGeorge.\u201d<\/p>\n

He pronounced it hor-hay. \u201cI know it sounds like a bad word, right?\u201d he said apologetically. \u201cSo I say George in American.\u201d He pulled a rubber glove off his right hand and extended it. \u201cGeorge Lopez,\u201d he said as they shook hands. A tinkly tune came from George\u2019s right trouser pocket.\u00a0 He pulled out the cell and transferred it to his left hand.<\/p>\n

He put the cell to his ear. Millie heard nothing. Then George held his cell in front of him and studied the text on the tiny screen. \u201cNothing.\u201d He was shaking. \u201cExcuse me for taking it. It was nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d Millie said, touched by his old-fashioned manners.<\/p>\n

George attempted a smile. The tune sounded again. He put it to his ear.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d he stuttered.<\/p>\n

Millie overheard two words in English, dead meat, and a Spanish phrase.<\/p>\n

George was starting to sweat. He clicked off his cell.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou replacing that lady who broke her ankle? Fourth grade, right?\u201d George was breathing hard. He yanked on a rubber glove, dumped the mounds of carrots and celery into a three-gallon colander and doused them with a fine, hard spray.<\/p>\n

\u201cHopefully.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was the clank and bang of the pipes throughout the kitchen. On one of the gas stoves, a drip coffee pot was gurgling away. Millie inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of freshly brewed coffee.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis place reminds me of my last school. Same kind of layout. I guess a rich family lived here a long time ago. When was it converted?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cConverted?\u201d George asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cSwitched over from a townhouse to a school.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSeventy, eighty years ago? This one is the Upper and Middle School. There’s a corridor to the other building on 91st Street where the young kids are but they all eat in here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat’s where I’d be teaching, if I get the job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’ll get the job. Uncle George and his free advice, that\u2019s what my niece says.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled, knowing he had read her mind. \u201cTake it from me; don\u2019t try too hard. You<\/p>\n

know what I mean? Things work out or they don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gold chains encircled his neck. Twinkling between heavier ones was a<\/p>\n

delicate one with two hearts, one overlapping the other. George<\/p>\n

patted them, embarrassed because her eyes were following his every move.<\/p>\n

The poor guy doesn\u2019t realize how scared he looks, Millie thought. Either he\u2019s petrified or he has a nervous disorder.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou sing?\u201d George said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot any more.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got a nice voice. You know that?\u201d He sliced away. \u201cYou don\u2019t get this job, there\u2019s always another.\u201d He stopped slicing and looked at her. \u201cYou got family?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have a family,\u201d Millie said. \u201cAnyway, not much of one.\u201d<\/p>\n

George put his index finger to his lips and looked around. \u201cMaybe you\u2019re lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n

Millie laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou remind me of my niece, Gigi.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you say, Gigi?\u201d<\/p>\n

Without saying a word, George reached into his hip pocket, and pulled out a battered wallet. He yanked out a photo of himself linking arms with a pretty, teenage girl. In the photo, Millie recognized the gold chain with the two hearts around George\u2019s neck. The girl had an identical necklace.<\/p>\n

George\u2019s smile turned to a frown.\u00a0 \u201cI gave her that.\u201d He pointed to Gigi as he placed his right hand on his chain with the two hearts.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know her.\u201d Millie said, surprised. \u201cShe works for Rina Scales. So do I.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019re a teacher.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI work there part time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike Gigi, but Ms. Scales likes her to stay on and on and on,\u201d George said, making a circular motion with his left hand. \u201cShe changes her eyes?\u201d He said in a gossipy tone.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s Rina, all right.\u201d Millie recalled the horror and delight of looking into Rina\u2019s eyes each day, never knowing if she\u2019d find blue, hazel or brown contacts.<\/p>\n

George laughed. \u201cSo you work with my niece.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe babysits Dana Scales.\u201d And I babysit Rina Scales, Millie thought but didn\u2019t say.<\/p>\n

He looked over at the industrial stove. \u201cCoffee\u2019s ready. Want some?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReal coffee? Sure. Cold for October, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGeorge Lopez, eight years in New York City, has never had instant coffee. And never will.\u201d He handed her a cup of coffee.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou sound like my husband,\u201d Millie said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s his name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHis name was Jake. I guess it still is. He died about eleven months ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

He studied her. \u201cI bet he died of a sickness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c — cancer.\u201d An acrid taste filled her mouth. She gulped.<\/p>\n

George glanced at Millie\u2019s wedding ring. \u201cYou ever put that away?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, of course not.\u201d He was a nice little guy but awfully nosy.<\/p>\n

George found some Oreos and put them on a paper napkin in front of her to go along with the coffee.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou gotta keep going,\u201d George said, the sound bouncing off the walls. \u201cNobody says my life\u2019s been easy.\u201d He raised his right hand and pointed at his chest. The heavy gold of his pinkie ring caught the light. He saw Millie looking at it and held up his left hand to show an identical ring on his little finger.<\/p>\n

\u201cGreat,\u201d she said, meaning it, because he was such a kind guy.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou gotta keep it in perspective,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh?\u201d Millie was lost.<\/p>\n

\u201cMoney. I place a few bets — win some, lose some. I always pay back.\u201d George pointed with his knife at the ceiling. Millie assumed he meant the super, Larry. \u201cDon\u2019t get in over your head like some people I could name.\u201d He moved his head near a vent over the sink. \u201cSometimes I hear things,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n

The screech of the doorbell startled them both. Millie jumped and spilled some coffee. George dropped a pot cover. He had to grab twice before he caught the rolling lid. \u201cTake it easy,\u201d he said. \u201cMaybe kids late for gymnastics. The early ones got here at seven. My Gigi is on the team. She\u2019s on scholarship.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I saw her,\u201d Millie said. She gestured with her head, indicating upstairs.<\/p>\n

George\u2019s face caved in with sadness.<\/p>\n

Confused, Millie said, \u201cMaybe it was someone else.\u201d<\/p>\n

The doorbell rang again. George held on to the sink, listening to the overheard sounds. \u201cI bet that\u2019s Ms. Billington. Larry lets her in when she forgets her key.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMs. Billington? She\u2019s the one I have to see.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBeen the head for a year now.\u201d George shook his head, thinking about something. He hacked off the end of a bunch of celery. \u201cHave confidence. That\u2019s the secret.\u201d He worked fast, adding to the mounds of celery and carrots.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s quiet here,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAfter eight o\u2019clock it\u2019s a zoo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI better get moving, George. I\u2019ve enjoyed talking to you.\u201d She looked at her watch and picked up the mug.<\/p>\n

\u201cLeave that,\u201d George said. \u201cYou\u2019ll get your hands dirty.\u201d<\/p>\n

Millie smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean I\u2019ll take care of it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks for,\u201d she paused, searching for the right phrase, \u201cyour kindness.\u201d<\/p>\n

George gave her the thumbs-up sign. He yanked on the faucet. The water gushed out.<\/p>\n

\u201cEver been to Puerto Rico?\u201d<\/p>\n

“No,” she said, confused. “You going there?”<\/p>\n

\u201cBeautiful,\u201d he said, not answering her. A wall phone rang.<\/p>\n

George stared at it, letting the water run over his hands.<\/p>\n

He braced himself, dried his hands and picked up the receiver. Within seconds, his expression lightened. \u201cSure, sure,\u201d he said, hanging up. \u201cGotta take up coffee to the head\u2019s office.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA meeting?\u201d Millie said.<\/p>\n

\u201cA big shot meeting.\u201d George winked. \u201cRich big shots. Gotta take coffee.\u201d He poured fresh, hot coffee into a carafe, picked up a plate of bagels swathed in plastic and placed them on a small trolley. \u201cCome on. We\u2019ll take the elevator.\u201d<\/p>\n

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