Damn the bureaucrats, anyway. took almost two hours to get clearance to tap into the DHS database. What did they think I was going to do, plant a virus to rescue all the deadbeat dads? Actually, I was tempted to eliminate everything they knew about me, but I knew data left traces even after it was erased-electronic skidmarks, Darcy called them-so I didn't bother. While we were at it, we uncovered Danielle's dark secret-an out-of-wedlock child born many years ago, before she found success, and whom she had put up for adoption at-you guessed it-Clark County Children's Home. The one she gave all the cash contributions-in a way that couldn't be traced back to her.
Once we had access to the DHS records, the process of cross-referencing the DHS database against all the missing persons reports for the past twenty-four hours was daunting. Darcy wrote some kind of subroutine-whatever the hell that is-that sped up the process, but it was still slow going, especially since Darcy had to duck every time his father or Granger emerged from their offices.
While he worked, I excused myself to the bathroom. I'm sure Darcy wondered why I had such a small bladder today, and as smart as he was, he probably suspected I was up to something. But I would think I could be forgiven this minor non-impairing indiscretion when I was in the midst of trying to save someone who was sure to be dead before midnight tomorrow.
Darcy finally produced a list of three names, all male, who had been reported missing and who also had histories with the DHS. It didn't take me long to know which one was the likely target.
"Joshua Brazee," I said, without blinking.
"Why him?" Darcy wondered.
"He's a celebrity, and twenty-five years ago, he had a pretty good following as a teen heartthrob and recording artist. These other two guys-who knows why they haven't come home? Probably stopped off at a bar and lost track of the time. But when a celebrity misses a show, and there's no press release suggesting that he's collapsed from exhaustion or checked himself into the Betty Ford clinic…something's wrong. Besides the killer told us on that tape that he was moving into showbiz next." I grabbed my coat. "I'm going to check it out."
"Can I come?" Darcy said, his eyes wide and imploring.
I looked both ways, made sure the coast was clear. "Okay. But lay low till we're far away from headquarters."
He giggled. "Are we going to act like we are spies? I think that it would be fun to act like we are spies."
"Something like that."
"What if they will not let you backstage?"
I smiled. "I have a friend at the Florence. He owes me one."
Thanks to my healthy relationship with Frank Olivestra, I had no trouble getting backstage. Joshua Brazee was still missing, but his manager was on the premises. I entered Brazee's dressing room, instructed Darcy to stay out of the way, then started talking.
"Charles Halliwell?" I asked. He was sitting in a chair before a dressing mirror with about a hundred lightbulbs, a handkerchief pressed against his brow.
"Oh, my God, don't tell me. Has something happened to Joshua?"
"That's what we don't know, sir. What we're trying to find out."
I took a seat on an ottoman near him, close enough to smell his breath, which was laced with a certain scent I knew all too well. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked.
I didn't really want him to; I just wanted him to look up at me. It worked. "No, go right ahead."
"That's okay. Probably against the building code." His face was flushed and lined. Coupled with the booze on his breath, I got the impression he'd been through a tough patch. Concern about losing his cash cow? Or was there something more?
"I gather Joshua is still missing?"
"Yes. I don't know what's going on. Joshua has never been anything but trouble, not from the moment I first took him on as a client, when he was just a snot-nosed nobody from Queens. Nothing but trouble. Disappears, never tells anyone where he's gone."
"And you don't know what has happened to him?"
"No idea. None at all. I wish I did."
He was lying. But why? He wasn't the man who had killed the previous victims. Maybe this killing-if it was a killing-was unrelated. Or maybe he had some other reason for playing dumb. "Forgive me, sir, but I've been told by some of the other workers in the casino that you and Joshua had quite a row recently."
Halliwell waved the suggestion away dismissively. "Show people. They're all very high-strung. Like spoiled children, really. Doesn't mean anything."
I plowed ahead. "In fact, some witnesses have suggested that he actually fired you."
"Josh has probably fired me a thousand times. But I'm still his manager."
"Can you think of any possible explanation for his disappearance?"
"Only the obvious one. He disappeared himself."
"Surely he would've told you. Or someone?"
"No. He's taken a powder before without giving anyone so much as a boo. Like I said, show people are like children." He snapped his fingers. "Now that I think about it, he did mention that his mother was in poor health. I thought maybe that was why he was so grumpy with me. It would explain a lot."
"You're saying he took off to see his mother?"
"Well, now that I think about it, it does seem the most likely explanation."
"But-if he's not in danger, why would you call in a missing persons report?"
"I didn't. Olivestra did. I thought we should wait until we knew more. But Frank has his reasons. If he doesn't make a report, he can't file an insurance claim for the loss of income."
True enough. But somehow…"Can you give me Joshua's mother's name?"
"Sorry. I don't know it."
"Where does she live?"
"Don't know that, either."
"You've managed him for twenty years and you don't know where his mother lives?"
"He was my client. Not my friend."
That much was clear. "So I've got to search the country looking for a Mrs. Brazee?"
"Actually, Brazee is Josh's stage name."
Someone would choose that for a stage name? "What's his real name?"
"Smith."
I felt my head throbbing. This was impossible. I would be boiling over with frustration-if I believed anything the man was telling me. But I didn't.
Behind me, I heard Darcy clear his throat about as subtly as a bulldozer. I looked back.
He was pointing at the television set. What about it? Darcy made sure Halliwell wasn't watching him, then pantomimed plunging a dagger into his chest.
What the hell?
"Oops!" I said, doing my best to act frantic. "I lost an earring!" Of course, I wasn't wearing earrings. I should've said I lost both earrings, but somehow, that lacked verisimilitude. I just hoped he hadn't noticed the un-adorned state of my lobes when I came in.
"Sorry," Halliwell said. "You'll never find it in this shag carpet. Must be a million years old."
I crouched down and pretended to search. In the process, I put the side of my face down against the carpet, next to the television. "You're right. I can't see a thing. Oh, well. They came from Target, not Tiffany's." I scrambled back to my feet and resumed the interrogation. "You say you weren't his friend-would you have any reason to want to get rid of him?"
"Excuse me? What are you saying? Should I call my attorney?"
"Relax. I have to ask everyone these questions."
"I have never hurt anyone in my life, and even if I were going to start, I wouldn't go after one of my own clients. How stupid would that be? Joshua Brazee pays my mortgage."
I shrugged. This interview was going nowhere. Obviously, a different approach was required. I passed him my card. "If you learn anything else-anything about Joshua, or his mother, or anything else that might possibly be of relevance, please call me immediately."
"Of course."
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Halliwell. And speaking as a psychologist, may I recommend that you take some time off? You look as if you could use it."
"Well…thank you."
I headed for the door, careful not to betray what I was really thinking. "C'mon, Darcy. There's nothing to find out here."
It was all I could do to get Darcy halfway down the hall before he started spilling over.
"But-"
"Not now."
"But-"
"I said, not now."
"But I think-"
"I know what you think. Not now."
"But-"
I found an empty side room-looked like someplace the showgirls got into costume-and pushed Darcy inside, shutting the door behind us.
Darcy couldn't hold it another second. "I do not think that man was telling us the truth."
"Yeah, me neither. Shifty eyes. Went left way too often."
"Shifty…?" And then I remembered-Darcy didn't see faces. "Was there something wrong with his eyes?"
"No, not-I mean not like-" I sighed. "Why don't you believe him?"
"There was blood on the television set. The speckles were very small. But I saw them."
I nodded. "When I put my cheek down on the carpet, it was damp. Like maybe he spilled a drink. Or something."
"I think that maybe he cleaned up most of the blood. But he didn't see the little bitty drops on the television."
I batted my finger against my lips. "Well, if he missed those traces, he must've missed something else."
"We can find the evidence even if he did clean up. Many substances, such as luminol, will reveal traces of blood under ultraviolet light even after the blood has been cleaned and is no longer visible to the naked eye. Blood is absorbed-"
I held up my hand. "End of lecture."
"I was just trying to be helpful."
"And you were." I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Now we have to figure out what we're going to do about it." Esther looked up from her calculations. She had been working feverishly into the night. This time, she was almost certain she had it. It wasn't finished yet, but all the proofs added up, even the ones that lived only in her head. It was going to work this time. What had once been mere hypothesis would now be acknowledged as fact.
The slamming of the door downstairs jolted her from one mode to the next. The prim intellectual researcher must now give way to the seductive, sex-starved mathematical mystic. Tucker, like any instrument, had to be played with care and precision if she wished to produce the desired effect.
She pushed herself out of her chair, and at the exact same instant that she did, the baby kicked. Kicked like he was going for three points, she thought, as she clutched her tummy and allowed herself to fall back into the chair. The time was fast approaching. The child's time, and her time, and His time. The time when all accounts would be reckoned.
Tucker strode into the room and, without stopping or speaking, went to the bathroom. He was washing his hands, she knew. He always did that, even when he hadn't a thing on him. Pontius Pilate syndrome, she supposed, even though that brute probably had no idea who Pontius Pilate was.
After he finally finished, he came to her, his face ashen, his step hobbled, uncertain and trembling.
"How are you?" she asked, as she cradled him in her arms.
"Not…so good," he said, snuggling his head into her shoulder. "It gets harder every time."
"If it were easy, Tucker, anyone could do it. You have been chosen because of your strength, your courage. And your conviction. You do believe in what we're doing, don't you, Tucker?"
"I-" He closed his eyes and dug deeper into her shoulder. "I believe in you."
"As I do you. We are so close. Only a few more and the deconstruction of the primordial form will be complete. The spiral will be finished. The time of the final questioning will be upon us."
"And-And then we can get outta this place?"
"If you wish," she said, not meaning a word of it. Her work was here, her future. She wasn't going anywhere. But then, neither was he. "After that, there will only be you, and me, and the child. No one else. Not in our world. We will live in a universe of three."
"That-That'd be nice. But I worry…"
"About what, my love?"
"I'm worried that…after I've done all the stuff you want me to do…you won't be interested in me anymore."
"That's ridiculous."
"I know what I am. I'm-"
"My hero!"
"A monster. A short, squat monster."
"Tucker! Why would you say these horrible things? You know that I love you."
"You-You do?"
"Haven't I said so? Haven't I said it a million times or more? And if words are not enough…" She fiddled with the top button on his shirt. "I'll be happy to show you."
"Does the next one have to be so soon?"
"I'm afraid it does. The numbers control our destiny." She ran her fingers down to his belt and slowly removed it. "But think what a pleasure that job will be. To strike at someone so close to our pursuers. While they remain helpless to prevent it."
"But what if they don't? What if they start to cause trouble?"
"Have they caused any trouble?"
"Not yet. But-"
"Why do you think we left that videotape behind? It's a distraction. It will distort all their attempts to profile, all their attempts to understand. Just as you do."
"I guess. But…oh, God." He clung to her like a child, his hands gripping the fabric of her sleeves. "I couldn't go back to the way things were before. Bein' alone all the time. I couldn't live like that. I couldn't live without you. You're…everythin' to me."
"And you to me, my love. I trust you, depend upon you." She paused. "And at the moment, I lust for your flesh." She removed his shirt and leaned in closer, sucking and biting his nipples. "Come to me, my love."
"But…the baby."
"I'll be on top. You stay just as you are. Be the man I want you to be. Penetrate my soul and fill me with your strength." She wondered if this was a bit over the top, even for a stupid troll like him. Apparently not. She could feel his interest swelling.
"But-You don't have to-"
"I want to," she said, quickly removing her loose-fitting dress and undergarments. "I want to make you happy. I want you to feel things you've never felt before. We are one person, Tucker, you and I. We are meant to be together." She pulled off his pants and lowered herself upon him. His head rocketed backward as if he'd been jolted with an electric current. "Together, Tucker," she said, "you and I. Together always."