Vito tapped his printout. “Twenty companies hired Frasier Lewis. Among them are six investment brokers, three realtors, and two medical insurance companies.”
“But now we’re stuck,” Maggy said. “We’ve been checking these companies for anything that links them to Vartanian or one of our victims, but so far, nothing has.”
“God.” Liz took the paper from Vito’s hands. “Simon really thought of everything.” Then she laughed, a smug yet joyful sound. “Good thing we did, too.” She handed the paper to Nick. “Look at the sixth company down, Nick.”
Nick’s grin was sharp. “Fuckin’ bastard.” He slapped Vito on the back and put the list on the desk. “Chick, that company handled all the finances for Winchester’s aunt.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the evidence box. “Five years of broker’s statements.”
“Rock Solid Investments is a brokerage firm that has a huge client base of retirees,” Liz added. “Lots of old people have their money there.”
“Maybe the old woman buried next to Claire did, too.” Vito drew a breath. They were close. He only prayed they wouldn’t be too late. “Okay. So we need to do what?”
“I’d say we need a warrant to search Rock Solid’s client files,” Maggy said. “I hope the judge on call is an insomniac. Who wants to go?”
Vito got up, but Liz and Nick each grabbed one of his shoulders and pushed him back down. “Dammit, Liz,” Vito gritted. “This isn’t funny.”
Liz got serious fast. “Maggy, take Nick. Brent, you go, too, in case they need someone to speak computerese with their network guy. Vito, you’re staying with me. If you want to help Sophie, get some rest. You’ll need it when you find Simon Vartanian.”
Sunday, January 21, 3:10
A.M.
The phone on Vito’s desk rang and he snatched it up. “Ciccotelli.”
“It’s Tess. I know you’d call if you’d heard anything. But we’re all here, the whole family, sitting in your living room, worrying about you. We just wanted you to know.”
He could picture it, his family gathered to support him, and he yearned to go be with them, to take their comfort. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about Sophie.”
“We are. Don’t worry. We have plenty of worry to go around,” Tess added wryly. “Don’t give up. I guarantee Sophie knows you’re doing everything you can to find her.”
If anyone understood, it was Tess. “Thank you. Tell them all thank you. I’ll call you when I can.” He hung up, then sat back, arms crossed tight over his chest. It had been ten hours since Simon had taken Sophie, three since Maggy, Nick, and Brent had gone off in search of Rock Solid Investment’s client list. “Where the hell are they?”
Jen looked up from her laptop sympathetically. “Try to relax, Vito. I know it’s hard.”
Maggy Lopez had gotten the warrant easily enough. But finding someone at Rock Solid Investments who had access to the full client list was turning out to be harder than expected. The one broker who played network administrator in his spare time was on vacation and couldn’t be reached. Nobody else seemed to know all the passwords and ironically, someone had actually suggested they call their network consultant.
Vito tried to relax, but it wasn’t going to happen. His gaze settled on the CD Brent had made from the camera feed. He remembered Sophie watching that movie of her father’s, because she “needed to see him.” Now Vito needed to see her. He slid the CD in his computer, then saw himself sitting next to Anna’s bed, and Sophie waiting at the doorway, that plastic pitcher in her hands.
He muted the sound, then fast-forwarded until he saw Sophie again, the pitcher in her hand and tears on her face. He watched her expression soften and her eyes change. And saw what he hadn’t seen Friday night because he’d been focused on Anna-Sophie looking at him with love in her eyes. Neither of them had said the words. She’d been so scared of messing things up, but now he’d seen for himself. Vito closed the file, then closed his eyes and did what he hadn’t done in two years. He prayed.
Sunday, January 21, 4:15
A.M.
Nick came running in, clutching a stack of papers in his hand. “We got the list.”
Vito was on his feet, grabbing it, but it was page after page of names that meant nothing. He looked up at Liz who’d rushed from her office at the sound of Nick’s voice.
“What are we supposed to do with this?” he said, frustrated.
Brent was right behind Nick, laptop under his arm. “We sort and filter. Katherine said she thought the old woman in the graveyard was between sixty and seventy, so I ran the search on female clients fifty-five to eighty, just to be sure. There are over three hundred names. When I just look at sixty to seventy, it’s still over two hundred.”
Vito sank into his chair. “Two hundred.” He’d hoped a single name would pop. But the others weren’t discouraged. They were energized and Vito drew from their energy.
Jen was pacing. “Okay, let’s think. What did he steal from these people? Money?”
“Real estate,” Liz said. “He took Winchester’s aunt’s field. Maybe he took another field from somebody else. A field near a quarry, far enough out that he could do what he wanted without raising suspicion.”
“Or anybody being able to hear,” Nick added.
Vito closed his eyes, despair threatening again. “Of course we’ve also assumed he took Sophie to the place he took everyone else.”
“Don’t borrow trouble,” Nick ordered. “Until we have a reason to think otherwise, there’s no reason to believe Simon will do anything more than stick to his routine.”
Vito stood up with a hard nod. “Okay, we’re going to split these lists and figure out which of these people have property in the USDA soil areas that match the grave fill dirt. Then we find out which of those are homes with more than one story.”
“The elevator shaft,” Nick said. “Don’t forget about the old woman’s dental fillings. Check for anyone who lived in Europe before 1960.”
“Daniel called me last night,” Liz said. “He and his sister are back in town and want to help. I’ll put them on call to give us information if we end up in a hostage negotiation.”
Vito made himself breathe. “Then let’s move. He’s had Sophie eleven hours now.”
Sunday, January 21, 4:50
A.M.
Simon leaned away from his computer, stretching his shoulders. Alan Brewster had been a lot heavier than he looked. Carrying him out to the barn for the filming had been the right choice, though. The mess from Brewster’s exploding head would have been bad enough, but percussion from the grenade had blown part of the barn wall away. Had he executed the film inside, he might have damaged his studio.
He’d planned to leave Brewster’s body outside, but discovered the lighting in the barn hadn’t been sufficient to achieve the level of detail he required while filming. The video was grainy and the camera lens had been dirtied by flying debris of the human variety. So he’d brought Brewster back inside to get a closer look at what remained. Of course, carrying Brewster back indoors had been a tad easier. He estimated Brewster’s head alone had weighed a good ten pounds.
With a click of his mouse Simon replayed the changes he’d made to Bill Melville’s death by flail. As much as he hated to admit it, Van Zandt had been one hundred percent correct. Seeing the knight’s head explode made playing Inquisitor a far more exciting experience. Not authentic, but damn exciting.
Simon rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Sophie would provide both authenticity and excitement and he couldn’t wait. He checked his watch. Another few hours and his leg would be fully charged and ready to roll.
As would parts of Sophie.
Sunday, January 21, 5:30