“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.”