Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

this, she thought. Not by choice. On the other hand, maybe he’d left a note and it was waiting upstairs and she hadn’t noticed it.
    Silvestri’s door was open! Well, of course, Leslie Wetzon, you left it open. And good thing, too, because you don’t have a key. You would have locked yourself out. She closed the door behind her and turned on the ceiling light, looking for the note.
    But there was no note.
    She gave Izz fresh water. There was still some food in her bowl so Silvestri must have filled it before he left. Don’t panic. He’s a big boy, he can look after himself. And he took time to feed Izz. But, she thought, what if he fed Izz and went down for a smoke and someone grabbed him?
    The downstairs buzzer sounded. She froze. It wouldn’t be Silvestri, so who was it? She edged to the window, separated a slat. Judy Blue. You couldn’t miss her. She was looking up, gesturing to Leslie to let her in.
    What if the FBI had taken Silvestri away so Judy Blue would be able to talk to her without his protection.
    The buzzer sounded three more angry times, then stopped.
    Leslie made coffee, thinking. The tall cop, his friend Metzger. He would know what to do. But she didn’t have his phone number. What precinct was it? She should remember. Think of the numbers chiseled over the entry. Twenty first. Two one.
    If the FBI had Silvestri, they couldn’t keep him very long. Or could they?
    Information gave her the number of the Twenty-first Precinct, and she let them dial it for her. It was a spendthrift something her instinct told her Leslie Wetzon would never do, but she wasn’t the same old Leslie Wetzon, and this was an emergency, or at least she thought it was, which was reason enough.
    She wondered as she listened to the phone ringing, did the former Leslie Wetzon often have these searching dialogues with herself.
    After about ten rings, someone responded. She asked for Metzger and waited while they transferred her call.
    “Rodriguez.”
    “I’m looking for Detective Metzger.”
    “He’ll be here in a couple of hours.”
    “It’s important. Can you give me his home number?”
    “He’s probably on his way in. I’ll give him a call and tell him you want to talk to him, or you can leave him a message.”
    “Tell him to call me right away. Leslie. He knows where.”
    Dress and wait. But don’t wait too long. “I’m a sitting target,” she said out loud.
    She brought the phone into the bathroom with her when she showered. No one called.
    Dressed, she dried her hair and put on eye makeup. Still no call. She made coffee.
    The downstairs buzzer sounded. The bulldog Judy Blue again? She edged to the window. Judy Blue was out of her car and crossing the street. What was going on?
    Raised voices drifted up to Leslie. Judy Blue and a red haired woman in a black suit were having a disagreement. Actually, the woman was doing most of the talking, along with finger pointing gestures.
    “I know her!” Leslie said. She picked up Izz, kissed her nose, danced around the room. “Oh, yes!” When she went back to the window, Judy Blue was returning to her car.
    The buzzer sounded again.
    “Yes?”
    “It’s Rita, Leslie.”
    Leslie buzzed Rita Silvestri in.
    “God, how he lives,” Rita Silvestri said. She unencumbered herself of the crimson and black cashmere shawl. “Not even a decent chair to sit on.” Before setting her purse and heavy briefcase on the floor, she shooshed away some dust balls with the toe of her patent leather pump. “This is not how he was brought up.”
    “Just tell me—” Leslie’s hands were icy on Rita’s.
    “He’s pissed as hell, but he’s okay. The Feebs picked him up and he got a message to me.” She looked down at the little dog trying to get her attention. “Hello, Izz.”
    “I was scared the people looking for me got him. Did he tell you?”
    “Only what you told him when he found you.”
    “Why did they pick him up? They can’t go around arresting NYPD officers.”
    “They think they can do anything, and since the World Trade Center they have all these new powers, goddammit. Thought they’d get a clear path to you. They can’t hold him.” She stood with her hands on her attractive hips and gave Leslie the once over. “So you remember me?”
    “I do. A lot has come back and I remember more every day.”
    She knew Silvestri’s mother was a respected civil rights attorney who specialized in spousal abuse cases. After Silvestri’s father was killed on the