Saturday, January 20, 5:30
P.M.
Stacy Savard stared at them defiantly. “I’m not talking to him. You can’t make me. I’ll end up like that.” She shoved the photos. “No fucking way. You’ve got to be crazy.”
Vito swallowed back his anger and disgust. “You could have reported Simon Vartanian at any time and avoided the deaths of more than ten people. They’re on your head. So you will help us. We want you to draw Simon out into the open.”
“Through the telephone,” Nick added calmly. “You don’t have to talk to him in person. And if you don’t choose to help… Well, we can’t always control the press.”
Savard cocked her jaw. “I don’t seem to have much choice. What do I say to him?”
Nick’s smile wasn’t pleasant. “You always have a choice, Miss Savard. This might be your first good one. You noted in his file that Simon ordered more silicone lubricant.”
“Two days ago. He normally gets it from one of those specialty places, but he was almost out, so he ordered some through us because we can get it faster. So?”
“So,” Nick said, “you’re going with us to Pfeiffer’s office, where you’ll call him from the office phone and tell him his order is ready.”
“But the office is closed today,” she said, her voice starting to shake.
“Dr. Pfeiffer will open it up,” Vito told her. “He’s very eager to help us. Setting a trap with the lubricant was his idea, actually.” He enjoyed seeing her jaw drop. “How do you think we found you so quickly, Stacy? We had the airports looking for you, but you didn’t have a reservation and you never even made it to the check-in counter. Pfeiffer had been thinking through things and came to the conclusion you were likely involved. So he followed you this morning and when you got to the airport, he called us.”
The door opened and Liz looked in, her expression unreadable. “Detectives?”
Vito and Nick stood, and Nick fired the parting shot. “Practice your best receptionist voice, Stacy,” he said mildly. “Because Vartanian’s no fool. He’ll spot a nervous twitch a mile away.” Nick shut the door when they were on the other side of the glass.
“Do you hear all that?” Vito asked.
Nick shook his head. “What a piece of work. Prison’s just going to hone her edge.”
“Vito,” Jen whispered harshly.
Vito turned from the window and his blood went cold. Jen was white as a sheet and Liz’s expression was no longer unreadable but stark with controlled fear.
“It’s Sophie,” Liz said. “Her grandmother was rushed to the hospital. She had a heart attack.”
Vito forced himself to stay calm. “I’ll go to the museum and drive her to the hospital.”
Liz caught his arm and held tight when he tried to move past her. “No, Vito. Listen to me. Emergency personnel got a call to the Albright Museum. They found the Albright boy unconscious on the street in front of the museum.” She visibly steeled herself. “And they found Officer Lyons dead in the back seat of his cruiser.”
Vito opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“And Sophie?” Nick asked hoarsely.
Liz was trembling. “Witnesses saw her being forced into a white van before it backed up over the Albright boy and drove away. Sophie’s gone.”
Vito could only hear the rush of his own blood as his heart went from a dead stop to clubbing out of his chest. “He’s got her, then,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Liz whispered back. “I’m sorry, Vito.”
Numbly he looked back through the glass and had to restrain the unholy need to put his hands on Savard and choke her dead. “She knew he was a killer and she said nothing.” He was breathing hard, every word ripped from his throat. “Now it’s too late. We can’t even use her to draw him. He’s got what he wants. He’s got Sophie.”
Nick grabbed his other arm and squeezed until Vito turned to him. “Vito, calm down and think. Simon still needs that lubricant. It could still work. We have to try.”
Vito nodded, still numb. But in his heart he knew better. He’d seen Simon’s eyes, right before Van Zandt died. They’d been cold, calculating. Like walking into a cage with a cobra, Pfeiffer had said. And now Sophie was in that cage.
Saturday, January 20, 6:20
P.M.
Simon’s cell phone rang. Frowning at the caller ID, he cautiously answered. “Hello?”
“Mr. Lewis, this is Stacy Savard, from Dr. Pfeiffer’s office.”
Simon sucked in his cheeks. The office wasn’t open on the weekends. “Yes?”
“Dr. Pfeiffer’s had a family emergency and the office is going to be closed for about a week. He and I are here, taking care of last-minute details. I wanted to tell you your silicone lubricant came in.”
Simon almost laughed. “I’m a bit busy right now. I’ll come in on Monday.”
“But we’ll be closed on Monday. We’ll be closed all week. If you want the lubricant, you have to come in tonight. I’d hate for you to run out.”
She was good, Simon had to admit, but there was the slightest quaver in her voice. “I’ll find another source. I may be moving soon anyway.” He hung up before she could say another word, chuckling out loud now. Savard was cooperating with the cops, any idiot could figure that out.
“Your boyfriend is really smart,” Simon called behind him. “But I’m smarter.” There was no response. If she wasn’t awake already, she’d be waking up soon, he knew, but he’d have no further trouble from her. He’d pulled over to change his license plates and tie her wrists and ankles once he got away from the main roads.
Stacy Savard hung up the phone, her hands shaking. “I did my best.”
“Your best wasn’t good enough,” Nick snapped. “He knew.”
Vito dragged his hands down his face as two uniformed cops took Stacy Savard back to the station in handcuffs. “I didn’t think it would work.”
Pfeiffer stood, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry. I was hoping it would.”
“You’ve been a big help, Doctor,” Nick said kindly. “We do appreciate it.”
Pfeiffer nodded, looking at Savard as she was taken through the door. “I can’t believe I shared this office with her for so long and never knew her. I kept hoping I’d been mistaken. That’s why I didn’t say anything when you were here yesterday. I would’ve hated to point the finger and have been wrong.”
Vito wished Pfeiffer had just pointed the finger, but he said nothing.
“So what next?” Nick asked when they were back in his car.
“We go back to the beginning,” Vito said grimly. “There’s something we’ve missed.” He stared out the window. “And we pray Sophie can hold on until we find her.”
Saturday, January 20, 8:15
P.M.
“We got him on tape,” Brent said, coming into the conference room with a CD in his hand. He handed it to Jen. “Sonofabitch tampered with the old lady’s IV.”
Vito had remembered the camera he’d left at Anna’s bedside as he and Nick had been driving back from Pfeiffer’s office. Now he stood behind Jen’s chair as she inserted the CD containing the camera’s footage into her laptop. Nick and Liz stood to his right, Brent came to stand on his left. Katherine stayed seated, pale and numb.
Vito hadn’t been able to meet her eyes. He’d promised her he’d take care of Sophie. And he hadn’t. He should have kept Sophie under lock and key until Simon was caught. He should have done a lot of things. But he hadn’t and Sophie was gone. Simon Vartanian had her and they all knew what Simon Vartanian could do.
He had to stop thinking like that. He’d go quietly insane. So focus, Chick. And find the thing you missed.
Brent slanted him a look. “Simon shows up five hours into the tape. The camera is motion activated. The first two hours are you and Sophie with the grandmother last night. I fast-forwarded through that visit and through the nurses’ visits, blood pressure checks, medicine, meals. There’s a card game in there, too.”
Vito looked at him. “A card game?”
“Some nurse came in with a deck about ten
A.M.
this morning. Said it was time for their daily game. Sophie’s grandmother lost and called the nurse mean.”
“Was the nurse’s name Marco?”
“Yeah. She was also the one that saved the old lady’s life.”
“Well, at least her grandmother wasn’t being abused by the nurses.” Vito shook his head. “Anna just didn’t like losing at cards.”
“I’ve got it cued,” Jen said. They watched Simon Vartanian come into Anna’s room and sit at her bed. He was dressed as the old man.
“He must have come straight from blowing up Van Zandt,” Nick murmured.
“Busy day,” Jen said flatly. “Dammit.”
Brent leaned over Jen and fast-forwarded the tape. “He tells her he’s from the opera society. That Sophie sent him. He calls her by name. They chat for twenty minutes, until the grandmother falls asleep. Here’s where he tampers with the IV.”
On the tape, Simon pulled a syringe from his pocket and injected it into the IV the nurse had left prepped next to her bed. He pocketed the syringe, checked the IV that currently dripped, then checked his watch.
“A very simple and effective time delay,” Jen said dully. “It gives him time to get away from the nursing home and lie in wait for Sophie at the hospital.”
Once again, Simon had thought of everything.
Which once again made Vito’s blood run cold.
Brent cleared his throat. “The nurse comes in to change the IV.” Jen fast-forwarded and again they watched. It was Marco again, and she recorded Anna’s vitals on her chart after changing the IV. The screen went dark, then a second later was full of activity as Marco ran back in. The cardiac monitor was beeping and Anna was jerking in pain. Marco leaned close to Anna’s mouth.
“The nurse said that Anna was saying that it burned,” Liz said. “The nurse is good. She took one look at the cardiac monitor and recognized the signs of potassium chloride overdose. She gave her an injection of bicarb. Stopped the heart attack.”
“And saved Anna’s life,” Vito murmured, swallowing hard.
“Marco thought she’d made a mistake on the IV,” Liz said. “She was prepared to face disciplinary actions, even dismissal. But she said she couldn’t lie, that if she’d harmed a patient, she’d accept accountability.”
Vito sighed. “Does she know about the camera?”
“No,” Liz said. “Telling her will ease her mind about her own culpability.”
“And will let her know Sophie didn’t trust her,” Vito finished. “But she should know anyway. So should Sophie’s family. I’ll go by the hospital in a little while.” He sat down in his chair at the head of the table. At the beginning of this case he’d welcomed the responsibility for leading an investigation of this magnitude. Now the responsibility hung around his neck like a lead weight. The investigation was his. Where it went from here would be on him. That meant what happened to Sophie was on him as well.
“So what are we missing?” Vito demanded. “We need details.”
“Isolated buildings with elevators built on quarry soil,” Jen said.
“Identities of the old woman and the man at the end of the first row,” Nick added.
Liz pursed her lips. “That damn field,” she said and Vito narrowed his eyes.
“You mean why that field?” he asked and Liz nodded.
“We never answered that question, Vito. Why that field? How did he pick it?”
“Winchester, the old postal worker who owns that land, said it had been owned by his aunt.” Vito swiveled in his chair to look at the whiteboard. “The old woman buried next to Claire Reynolds can’t be Winchester’s aunt.”
“Because Winchester’s aunt didn’t die until October of this year,” Nick continued. “This old lady died a year earlier.”
“She was from Europe,” Katherine said. They were the first words she’d uttered since entering the room. “I had her dental work analyzed and the report came back late yesterday. Her fillings are an amalgam that was never used in this country but was common in Germany in the fifties.” She shook her head. “I can’t see how that’s going to help you. Thousands of people emigrated from that part of the world after the war.”
“It’s a piece we didn’t have before,” Vito said. “Let’s go out and see Harlan Winchester again. Let’s find everything we can on his aunt. We need something to tie that land to Simon, and right now the only thing that ties to the land is the aunt.”
Liz put her hand on his shoulder. “I have a better idea. Nick and I will go see Winchester. You go see Sophie’s family.”
Vito’s chin came up. “Liz, I need to do this.”
Liz’s smile was kind but firm. “Don’t make me take this case, Vito.”
Vito opened his mouth, then closed it. “You’re about to knock me off my bucket,” he said quietly, remembering Sophie and Dante.
“It’s a strange word association, but yeah, I guess it works.” Liz lifted her brows. “Your emotions are running high. Go home. Recharge. That’s an order.”
Vito stood up. “Okay. But only for tonight. Tomorrow morning I’m back here. If I don’t do something to find her, I’ll go crazy, Liz.”
“I know. Trust us, Vito. We’ll leave no stone unturned.” She looked over at Jen. “You were here all last night. You go home, too.”
“I’m not going to fight you,” Jen said, closing up her laptop. “But I’m not sure I can even get home. I think I’ll just crash in the crib for a while.” She gave Vito a hard hug on her way out. “Don’t lose hope.”
“Nick, you’re with me,” Liz said. “I’ll get my coat.”
“I call shotgun,” Nick said, then paused next to Vito. “Just sleep, Chick,” he muttered. “Don’t think. You think too damn much.” Then he and Liz were gone.
Brent hesitated, then gave Vito a CD in a plastic case. “I thought you’d want a copy.” One side of his mouth lifted sadly. “You have a hell of a set of pipes, Ciccotelli. There wasn’t a dry eye on the IT floor when I was viewing that part of the tape.”
Vito’s eyes burned. “Thank you.” Then Brent was gone and it was just him and Katherine. Not caring if she saw, he swiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Katherine, I don’t know what to say.”
“Neither do I, except that I’m sorry.”
He blinked at her. “You’re sorry?”
“I damaged our friendship this week more than I thought. Because I hurt you before, you’re thinking I blame you for this, and nothing could be further from the truth.”
Vito turned the CD over and over in his hands. “You should. I blame myself.”
“And I blame myself for bringing her in in the first place.”
“All I can see in my mind are all his victims.”
“I know,” she whispered harshly.
He looked at her then. Her eyes were haunted. She’d done twelve autopsies this week, each one a victim of Simon Vartanian. “You understand better than anyone.”
She nodded. “I also know Sophie Johannsen. If there’s a way to survive, she will. And you have to hold on to that, because right now it’s all we have.”
Saturday, January 20, 9:15
P.M.
Sophie was waking up. She lifted her eyelids and swept her gaze from one edge of her peripheral vision to the other, without moving her head. Above her was waffleboard. It was, she knew from all those times she’d accompanied Anna to recording studios, used for soundproofing and controlling sound quality. The walls were covered with rock. Whether it was real or not was hard to tell. The torches in wall sconces appeared real enough, their flickering flames creating shadows on shadows.
She smelled death. And she remembered the screams. Greg Sanders had died here. As had so many others. So will you. She gritted her teeth. Not if I have an ounce of strength left. She had far too much to live for to give up.
It was a good thought, but pragmatically she was bound, hands and feet, and was lying on a wooden table. She had clothes, but they weren’t the ones she’d been wearing. She wore a dress or robes. She heard footsteps and quickly closed her eyes.
“No need to pretend, Sophie. I know you’re awake.” He had a soft, cultured drawl. “Open your eyes now. Look at me.”
Still she kept her eyes closed. The longer she could put off a confrontation, the more time she’d give Vito to find her. Because he would find her. Of that she was sure. Where and what shape she’d be in were the only questions in her mind.
“Sophie,” he crooned. She could feel his breath wash over her face and fought not to flinch. She felt the breeze his body made when he straightened. “You’re very good.” Because she was anticipating it, she controlled the flinch when he pinched her arm. He chuckled. “I’ll give you a few more hours, but only because I need to recharge my circuits.” He’d said the last few words with an almost self-deprecating amusement.
“Once I’m all charged up, I’ll be fit and ready to roll for another thirty hours. Just imagine all the fun we can have in thirty hours, Sophie.” He walked away chuckling, and Sophie prayed he didn’t see the shiver she couldn’t control.
Saturday, January 20, 9:30
P.M.
“Hi, Anna.” Vito sat in the chair next to her bed in the cardiac intensive care unit. Anna was barely lucid, but her good eye flickered. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand if you can’t talk. I just came to see how you were.”
Her eye moved toward the door and her lips trembled, but no words came out. She was looking for Sophie, and Vito didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. “She had a long day. She fell asleep.” It wasn’t untrue. Witnesses said she’d been dragged to the white van in which she was taken, limp as if she’d been drugged. Vito hoped she had been and that she still slept. Every hour she slept gave them another hour to find her.
“Who are you?”
Vito turned to find a shorter, younger version of Anna in the open door. That, he guessed, would be Freya. He patted Anna’s hand. “I’ll come back when I can, Anna.”
“I said, who are you?” Freya’s voice was shrill, but under it Vito heard panic.
Panic he understood. “I’m Vito Ciccotelli, a friend of Anna’s. And Sophie’s.”
A man with a thin ring of hair around the back of his head appeared behind Freya, fear and hope warring in his eyes. This would be Uncle Harry.
The man confirmed it. “I’m Harry Smith, Sophie’s uncle. You’re her cop.”
Her cop. Vito’s heart broke a little more. “Let’s find a place to talk.”
“Sophie?” Harry said when they’d sat down in a small family waiting room.
Vito looked at his hands, then back up. “She’s still missing.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would anyone hurt our Sophie?”
Vito watched the corner of Freya’s mouth tighten. A tiny movement, probably caused by stress. He wasn’t sure. What he did know was that the man before him was the closest thing Sophie had ever had to a real father and he deserved to know the truth.
“Sophie was helping us with a case. It’s gotten some press coverage.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “The graves the old man discovered with a metal detector?”
“That’s the one. For the last week we’ve been tracking the man who killed all those people.” He drew a breath. “We have reason to believe he abducted Sophie.”
Harry paled. “My God. They found nine bodies up there.”
Now there were five more, perhaps six considering Alan Brewster had never been found. But Harry didn’t need to know that. “We’re doing everything we can to find her.”
“My mother’s heart attack,” Freya said slowly. “It happened not an hour before Sophie was taken. The timing can’t be coincidental.”
Vito thought of the look on Nurse Marco’s face when he’d told her about the tape and the tampering. She’d been, as he’d anticipated, both hurt and relieved. He wondered what Freya Smith’s response would be. “We know it wasn’t. The killer tampered with your mother’s IV, injected a high concentration of potassium chloride.” Probably a coarse grade, Jen had thought. The kind used to melt ice on roofs and streets, available at any hardware store this time of year.
Freya’s mouth pressed to a hard line. “He tried to kill my mother. To get to Sophie.”
Vito frowned, not at the words, but by the way in which she said them. Apparently Harry was as well. An expression of appalled shock crossed his face.
“Freya, Sophie didn’t cause this.” When Freya said nothing, Harry rose unsteadily to his feet. “Freya? Sophie’s gone. A man who killed nine people has our Sophie.”
Freya began to cry. “Your Sophie,” she spat. “Always your Sophie.” She looked up at him. “You have two daughters, Harry. What about them?”
“I love Paula and Nina,” he said, his shock becoming anger. “How dare you insinuate otherwise? But Paula and Nina have always had us. Sophie had no one.”
Freya’s face contorted. “Sophie had Anna.”
Harry paled further, then dark red stained his cheekbones as realization began to dawn. “I always thought it was because of Lena. That you couldn’t love Sophie because she was Lena’s. But it was because of Anna. Because Anna took her in.”
Freya was sobbing now. “She gave up everything for that girl. Her house, her career. She never stayed home for us. But for Sophie… Everything was for Sophie. And now my mother’s lying in there, dying.” She choked on a sob. “Because of Sophie.”
Vito let out a breath. Freya the Good wasn’t so good.
“My God, Freya,” Harry said quietly. “Who are you?”
She buried her face in her hands. “Go away, Harry. Just go away.”
Shaking, Harry walked outside the little waiting room and slumped against the wall. With a look of bewildered contempt at the sobbing Freya, Vito joined him. Harry’s eyes were closed, his face drawn. “I never understood before tonight.”
“You were wrong about something,” Vito said softly.
Harry swallowed hard, but opened his eyes. “What’s that?”
“Sophie didn’t have ‘no one.’ She had you. She told me you were her real father, that she didn’t think she’d ever told you that before.”
Harry’s throat worked. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
Vito squared his shoulders. “She had you and Anna. And now she has me. And I’m going to find her.” His own throat closed, but he forced the words out. “And I’ll love her, Harry, and give her the home she’s always wanted. You have my word.”
Harry held his gaze, weighing both the promise Vito had made and his own response. “I told her that there was someone out there for her. That she just needed to be patient and wait.”
Patient and wait. Patience wasn’t something Vito had a whole lot of right now. He knew Liz had told him to go home, but he couldn’t. He owed Sophie more than patience and waiting. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something,” Vito said. “When I’ve found her.”
Vito walked a few steps, then thought again of the tape. “Anna’s nurse, Lucy Marco? Her quick thinking saved Anna’s life.”
Harry closed his eyes. “We yelled at her,” he murmured. “She told us she’d made a mistake with Anna’s IV and we yelled at her. I promise I’ll make that right.”
Vito had expected no other reply. “Good. You should also know that the young man whose father owns the museum risked his life to stop the man who took Sophie.”
Harry’s eyes blinked open. “You mean Theo Four? Sophie didn’t think he liked her.”
Vito thought about the worry in the eyes of all the Albrights, both for Theo, who’d sustained serious internal injuries when Simon had backed over him with his van, and for Sophie. “They all like her, Harry. They’re terrified for her.”
Harry nodded unsteadily. “Theo. Will he be all right?”
“They hope so. It’s touch and go.”
Again he nodded. “Do they need… anything?”
Vito sighed. “Insurance. They didn’t have any. No money.” Insurance. Simon had stolen his. Vito sucked in a breath as it hit him like a sucker punch. In all the flash of this case he’d forgotten the most fundamental principle. Follow the money.
“What?” Harry grabbed his arm, panicked. “What?”
Vito clasped the older man’s shoulder. “I had a thought. I have to go.” Then he took off for the elevator, dialing ADA Maggy Lopez as he ran.
Saturday, January 20, 9:50
P.M.
He’d plugged his leg into the wall just in time. He’d been so busy lately, he’d run the battery until it was almost dead. It would take hours to fully charge. He had other legs, but none provided the same range of motion or reliability of movement as the microprocessor he’d acquired from participation in Pfeiffer’s study, and he had the feeling killing Sophie Johannsen would require that he have a physical edge.
He thought about her in full costume, swinging that battleax over her head. No fragile flower, she. Yes, he’d need every advantage Pfeiffer’s unit could give him.
Sitting on the bed in his studio, he paused, considering the issue of Dr. Pfeiffer. Pfeiffer and that nurse of his were helping the cops. It was the only explanation for the phone call he’d received. Come and get your lubricant. Ha. He’d honestly thought better of Ciccotelli than that. It was a damn good thing he hadn’t allowed Pfeiffer’s nurse to photograph him. Otherwise, Ciccotelli would also know his true face. That could present problems the next time he chose to surface with a new life.
With the death of Sophie Johannsen, all that would be left were the old man’s spawn. He smiled, suddenly eager for a family reunion. Especially Daniel. He looked at the trap on the table next to his unfinished matrix. That his beautifully planned graveyard would go unfinished gnawed at him. He would have to make up for it by finishing what his brother had started so many years ago. He’d dreamed of his revenge so many times… Maybe he’d dream of Daniel snared like an animal tonight.
But he was too restless to sleep. Had his leg been charged, he’d go for a run. He’d need to work off this nervous energy another way, and he had just the right thing. Pulling on his old leg, he crossed to the doors set into the stairwell. Opening them, he smiled. Brewster lay curled in a fetal ball, bound hands and feet. But he breathed.
“Have you given up hope yet, Brewster?”
The bound man’s eyelids flickered, but he made not the slightest noise. Not even a whimper. He could take Brewster standing one-legged in a hurricane. But he had other plans for Alan Brewster. “You know, Alan, I’ve never properly thanked you. You were the hub that brought my support staff together. How fortuitous that your name was one of the first I found when I searched for experts in medieval warfare. And how fortuitous that you associate with such… helpful merchants.” He pulled Brewster so that he sat up, his back propped against the wall.
“Thank you, by the way, for telling me about Dr. Johannsen, back from France and-how did you put it? A most able assistant. You were quite right. I found her expertise most helpful. Of course, our view on her specific expertise is quite different. I’m glad you were too busy reveling in the baser thoughts to fully utilize her academic assets.”
He stood looking Brewster over, framing the scene in his mind. Van Zandt had been right about needing a regal queen, and after much consideration, he’d agreed VZ was right about the flail scene too. He needed something more dramatic.
VZ had wanted to see someone explode. Simon smiled. And he’d given VZ his wish, up close and personal. This time, he’d capture it on tape.
Saturday, January 20, 9:55
P.M.
Vito caught up with Maggy Lopez as she was entering the precinct. “Maggy. Thanks for coming.” He took her elbow and hastened her toward the elevator. “We have to hurry. He’s had Sophie for five hours now.” And he was using every ounce of concentration not to think about what Simon could have done to her in those five hours.
Maggy was jogging to keep up with him. “I’m gonna break my ankle. Slow down.”
He slowed a little, chafing at every minute that slipped away. “I need your help.”
“I figured that out.” She drew a breath when they stopped at the elevator. “Exactly what do you need, Vito?”
The elevator doors opened and he ushered her in. “I need access to Simon Vartanian’s financial records.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll get a warrant started, using all the same aliases we used to get his medical records from Pfeiffer.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you could have asked me to do that on the phone. What do you want, Vito?”
The elevator dinged and he tugged her into the hall outside the homicide bullpen. Maggie stopped and yanked her arm away. “Stop it. What do you want, Vito?”
He drew a breath. “We can’t wait for a warrant, Maggy. There’s no time. Simon bought things. He had to have a money source. I have to find that source.”
“So we subpoena bank records, canceled checks.” She frowned at him. “Legally.”
“I don’t have canceled checks. I don’t have a single thing he bought. Dammit,” Vito hissed. “He’s had Sophie for five hours. If these aren’t exigent circumstances, I don’t know what the hell is. You know people who can get this information quickly. Please.”
She faltered. “Vito… last time I helped you, a man died.”
Vito struggled for calm. “You said Van Zandt would have made bail anyway. Besides, he deserved to die. Sophie doesn’t.”
She closed her eyes. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies, Vito.”
Vito grabbed her shoulders and her eyes flew open. Ignoring the warning flare in her eyes, he tightened his grip. “If I don’t find her, he will torture and kill her. I’m begging you, Maggy. Please. Anything you can do. Please.”
“God, Vito.” He held his breath as indecision warred in her eyes, then she sighed. “Fine. I’ll make some calls.”
He exhaled slowly, able to breathe once more. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said darkly and pushed past him into the bullpen.
Brent Yelton was waiting for them at Vito’s desk. “I got here as fast as I could.”
Maggy shot Vito a glare. “Your own hacker? Pretty sure of yourself, hotshot.”
Vito refused to feel guilty. “You can use Nick’s desk, Maggy.”
Maggy sat, muttering to herself as she dug her Palm Pilot from her purse.
Brent gave a satisfied nod. “What do you need me to hack?”
He sounded so eager that Vito almost smiled. “I don’t know yet. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to remember something he bought.”
“He bought lubricant from the doctor,” Brent said, but Vito shook his head.
“He always paid Pfeiffer in cash. Co-pays and lubricants. I checked that on my way over. Can’t we look up all the area banks? Maybe he had a checking account.”
Brent puffed out his cheeks. “It would be easier if we knew where to start. Bank hacking is delicate work. It’ll take time. It’d be easier to check the credit bureaus to see if he has a credit card.”
Maggy groaned. “I don’t want to hear any of this.” She got up and moved to another desk, out of earshot. But she had her cell in her hand and was making calls.
That was something, Vito supposed.
Brent opened his laptop. “How did oRo pay him?”
“They hadn’t yet. Van Zandt said he wouldn’t get any royalties for three months.” Vito unlocked his desk drawer and found the Pfeiffer medical file. “Here’s the Social Security number he gave Pfeiffer. Search all his aliases.”
Brent looked up, sympathy on his face. “Go away, Vito.”
Vito’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I’m telling you what you already know.”
“Get some coffee.” Brent’s mouth quirked up. “I take two sugars.”
Vito turned around-and ran straight into Jen. She bounced, landing on her heels. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. Her hair was sticking out at all angles and she looked like she’d just woken up. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”
“Following the money,” he said grimly, “like I should have been doing all along. What are you doing here?”
Jen looked over her shoulder, and it was then Vito noticed the two young people who’d followed her in. “Meet Marta and Spandan. They’re Sophie’s grad students.”
Marta was a petite young woman with dark hair and a tear-stained face. She gripped the arm of a young Indian man with scared eyes. “We saw it on the news,” Marta said, trembling. “The shooting outside the Albright. And Dr. J… Somebody took her.”
“We came as soon as we heard,” Spandan said. “My God. We can’t believe it.”
“The desk sergeant called Liz and she called me.” Jen gestured to some chairs and the students sat down. “This is Detective Ciccotelli. Tell him what you told me.”
“The reporter,” Spandan started unsteadily, “said Dr. J was helping the police with a case. Your case, Detective. She said it involved all those graves in the field and that Greg Sanders was the last victim.” He swallowed. “She said his limbs had been amputated.”
Vito shot a frustrated look at Jen and she shrugged. “We knew we couldn’t keep the lid on it forever, Chick. We’re lucky it took the press this long to connect the dots.” She gave Spandan a nod of encouragement. “Keep going.”
“We work with Dr. J on Sundays. At the museum.”
“We talked about amputation as a medieval punishment for theft,” Marta burst out. “Hand and the opposite foot. Then she’s kidnapped. We had to come and tell you.”
Vito opened his mouth but no sound came out and no breath went in. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “I never got a chance to ask her about the brand or the amputations or the church. If I’d asked her…”
“Don’t go there, Vito,” Jen snapped. “It doesn’t help.”
“Brand?” Spandan asked, frowning. “We didn’t talk about branding.”
“One of her students did,” Vito said, making himself breathe. “It wasn’t you two?”
Both students shook their heads. “There are four of us,” Marta said. “We couldn’t find Bruce or John, so we just came ourselves.”
“John was the name Sophie mentioned. John…” Vito closed his eyes. “Trapper.”
Jen sighed. “Hell.”
“Do you know where John lives?” Vito asked, but again they shook their heads. “What does he drive?”
“A white van,” Spandan said immediately. “He gave Dr. J a ride Tuesday night.”
“Because her bike had been tampered with.” Breathe. Think. Then a piece of the puzzle fell into place. “If he was a student, he’d have to pay tuition.” He turned to Brent.
Brent was typing. “Already on it. It would help to know his student number.”
“We don’t know each other’s numbers,” Spandan said. “But the library would have it. He’d need it to check out books.”
“I’ll call the library,” Brent said. “But they’re probably closed.”
Maggy rose from where she’d been sitting. “Perhaps our guests would like a snack.”
Jen’s brows lifted and understanding filled her eyes. “I’ll take them to the cafeteria.”
Marta shook her head violently. “No, I couldn’t eat a bite.”
“They want us to leave,” Spandan murmured. He looked at Vito. “We’ll go back to campus. Please call us as soon as you find her.”
Brent waited until they were gone. “Library’s closed. You want me to find a way in?”
Jen raised her hand. “Wait. Liz had Beverly and Tim run a check on John Trapper. Bev called and told me he checked out, that his medical file listed him as confined to a wheelchair.”
“But we know Simon can change medical files,” Vito said. “If Bev and Tim have seen his medical file, they’ll have whatever Social he’s been using. If he paid tuition or for anything at the university, we can track it to his bank.”
“I’ll call them,” Jen said and sat down at an unoccupied desk as Maggy Lopez approached, her expression sober.
“I’ve got a name at the IRS. Vito, you need to be clear on what happens from here. This is an unauthorized search. Anything we find from this point is fruit from the poisoned tree. It won’t be admissible in court. If you apprehend Simon Vartanian based on what we find next, he could walk on thirteen murders.”
Vito met her eyes. “Let’s just make sure it’s not fourteen.”