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…”