to run the columns. Bright red nail polish. He wondered if she wore it while winging a softball eighty miles an hour.
"Nothing right on the nose," Babsie said. "Some of the Queens addresses might be close."
As soon as Eddie pulled the panty hose up over the doll's hips, Grace handed him a tiny plaid kilt. The Barbie doll and the clothes had belonged to Kate. The little pink suitcase contained dozens of handmade outfits. Kate had made most of the clothes herself when she was only nine or ten years old, working on a battery-operated toy sewing machine. It always amazed Eddie to see Kate sitting on the kitchen floor in total concentration, turning out tiny dresses and skirts, a few made from remnants of his police uniforms. Grace had never been interested in the doll clothes before, but today she'd dragged it all out of the attic.
"Do me a favor, Babsie: Fax Misha's picture to Boland."
Eddie fumbled as he tried to open the tiny snaps on the plaid doll kilt. He didn't want to pull the snaps out of the wool material by tugging too hard. He recognized the material as the tartan of Kate's old uniforms from Christ the King.
"So what happens now, Eddie?" Babsie said, glancing again at Grace. "You know… with you and the feebs, since Lukin… went away?"
"They still want Borodenko."
"Common goals with the feds, that a good thing?" Babsie said, raising her eyebrows. "Who knows, it may work, for the first time in history. But then, you can always count on your old pal Boland, right?"
"He's not that bad."
"Oh no, the guy's the salt of the earth."
"Not someone you'd want dating your daughter, but a good cop."
"What is it with guys sticking up for each other? I'd rather see a three-hundred-pound Hell's Angel at my front door."
That made Grace laugh. She'd put her head against Eddie's chest and closed her eyes, but when Eddie set the kilt aside, she sat right up and handed him another piece of clothing, a denim jacket with two more snaps sewn in as buttons.
"Let me see the picture of Misha," Eddie said.
"It's not the guy your brother saw going into the house," Babsie said, handing him a photocopy of a Polaroid. 'This kid's blond, not bad-looking. Kevin said the guy in the jumpsuit was dark-skinned."
"Kevin saw this picture?"
"I stopped by the bar on the way over here," Babsie said. "I wanted to show Kev the finished sketch. We're sending it all over Westchester and the city, most of them going to Brooklyn. And yes, I sent a stack to Boland."
"I'll make sure Boland shares with you," Eddie said.
"Just work product," Babsie said. "Nothing else I want to share with that guy."
Eddie asked to see the sketch Kevin had done. Babsie pulled a flyer from the case folder. She put it flat on the table and turned it around so Eddie could see it. "That's the wrong one," Eddie said. "Don't give me that; I just checked with your brother."
"Can't be," he said. "It's the same one I did." Eddie tried to put Grace on the floor, but she clutched his shirt. He carried her over to the counter and grabbed the sketch he'd worked on earlier that day in the precinct on Snyder Avenue in Brooklyn. He put it on the table next to the Yonkers PD sketch, then turned them both toward Babsie.
"It's not that close," she said.
"The hell it's not. It's the same face I saw in Brooklyn." Eddie pushed the two sketches side by side under the bright light that hung over the table. What he could see, which Babsie couldn't, were the things other than ink. Kevin's sketch was more frontal, more defined. Eddie's mind added an olive skin tone, eyes wider in excitement, a mouth slightly more full, and open, breathing hard.
"I can't remember names," Eddie said. "Five minutes after I'm introduced, I'm struggling to remember the name I just heard. But I know faces. This is him."
Chapter 10
Wednesday, April 8
12:45 A.M.
Eddie fell asleep next to Grace, listening to the murmur of sounds coming from the TV in the living room. He jolted awake less than an hour later,
"Nothing right on the nose," Babsie said. "Some of the Queens addresses might be close."
As soon as Eddie pulled the panty hose up over the doll's hips, Grace handed him a tiny plaid kilt. The Barbie doll and the clothes had belonged to Kate. The little pink suitcase contained dozens of handmade outfits. Kate had made most of the clothes herself when she was only nine or ten years old, working on a battery-operated toy sewing machine. It always amazed Eddie to see Kate sitting on the kitchen floor in total concentration, turning out tiny dresses and skirts, a few made from remnants of his police uniforms. Grace had never been interested in the doll clothes before, but today she'd dragged it all out of the attic.
"Do me a favor, Babsie: Fax Misha's picture to Boland."
Eddie fumbled as he tried to open the tiny snaps on the plaid doll kilt. He didn't want to pull the snaps out of the wool material by tugging too hard. He recognized the material as the tartan of Kate's old uniforms from Christ the King.
"So what happens now, Eddie?" Babsie said, glancing again at Grace. "You know… with you and the feebs, since Lukin… went away?"
"They still want Borodenko."
"Common goals with the feds, that a good thing?" Babsie said, raising her eyebrows. "Who knows, it may work, for the first time in history. But then, you can always count on your old pal Boland, right?"
"He's not that bad."
"Oh no, the guy's the salt of the earth."
"Not someone you'd want dating your daughter, but a good cop."
"What is it with guys sticking up for each other? I'd rather see a three-hundred-pound Hell's Angel at my front door."
That made Grace laugh. She'd put her head against Eddie's chest and closed her eyes, but when Eddie set the kilt aside, she sat right up and handed him another piece of clothing, a denim jacket with two more snaps sewn in as buttons.
"Let me see the picture of Misha," Eddie said.
"It's not the guy your brother saw going into the house," Babsie said, handing him a photocopy of a Polaroid. 'This kid's blond, not bad-looking. Kevin said the guy in the jumpsuit was dark-skinned."
"Kevin saw this picture?"
"I stopped by the bar on the way over here," Babsie said. "I wanted to show Kev the finished sketch. We're sending it all over Westchester and the city, most of them going to Brooklyn. And yes, I sent a stack to Boland."
"I'll make sure Boland shares with you," Eddie said.
"Just work product," Babsie said. "Nothing else I want to share with that guy."
Eddie asked to see the sketch Kevin had done. Babsie pulled a flyer from the case folder. She put it flat on the table and turned it around so Eddie could see it. "That's the wrong one," Eddie said. "Don't give me that; I just checked with your brother."
"Can't be," he said. "It's the same one I did." Eddie tried to put Grace on the floor, but she clutched his shirt. He carried her over to the counter and grabbed the sketch he'd worked on earlier that day in the precinct on Snyder Avenue in Brooklyn. He put it on the table next to the Yonkers PD sketch, then turned them both toward Babsie.
"It's not that close," she said.
"The hell it's not. It's the same face I saw in Brooklyn." Eddie pushed the two sketches side by side under the bright light that hung over the table. What he could see, which Babsie couldn't, were the things other than ink. Kevin's sketch was more frontal, more defined. Eddie's mind added an olive skin tone, eyes wider in excitement, a mouth slightly more full, and open, breathing hard.
"I can't remember names," Eddie said. "Five minutes after I'm introduced, I'm struggling to remember the name I just heard. But I know faces. This is him."
Chapter 10
Wednesday, April 8
12:45 A.M.
Eddie fell asleep next to Grace, listening to the murmur of sounds coming from the TV in the living room. He jolted awake less than an hour later,
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