“And she was going to die anyway.” Daniel tossed the letter to the table. “What did she have to lose? Except time with us.”
“He’s still out there.”
Daniel hesitated. He’d tried to find a way to tell her all morning. Just spit it out and get it over with. “There’s more, Suze. I didn’t want to think about it, but all night I couldn’t think about anything but when Ciccotelli told us they’d found Claire Reynolds, our parents, and two empty graves. What they didn’t tell us is that they found them with six other bodies.”
Susannah’s eyes widened. “You mean the graveyard they found… I saw it on the news. I didn’t put it together. I should have.”
“I should have, too. I guess I was too shocked finding out Simon wasn’t dead.” Daniel stopped himself. “No, that’s not true. I didn’t want to think about it. But it was nagging at me, so I called Vito Ciccotelli this morning and asked. He confirmed that Simon was wanted for ten murders. Maybe more.”
Susannah shut her eyes wearily. “I keep thinking it can’t get worse.”
“I know. For years I would lie awake and worry about the people in the pictures, if they were real. That Simon had a hand in their deaths. That I couldn’t help them. Now there are more victims and this time I can’t look away. I need to go back to Philadelphia, to help Ciccotelli and Lawrence now.”
“We go together. This week we stood together over our parents. When this is over, I hope Simon will finally be dead and we can stand over his body together, too.”
Saturday, January 20, 9:15
A.M.
“We ready?” Nick asked, handing Vito a cup of coffee as he slid behind the wheel.
“Yep.” Vito peeled back the plastic lid. “Bev and Tim are in position around the block. Maggy Lopez just called to say Van Zandt’s next up in the docket. If the judge allows him bail, he should be out in an hour.”
“I hope this works,” Nick murmured. “I’d hate to see Van Zandt get away.”
“Me, too.” The words came out a lot shakier than he’d intended.
Nick looked over at Vito. “You’re scared.”
Vito didn’t say anything for a long minute, then cleared his throat gruffly. “Yeah. I’m scared to death. Every time my phone rings I wonder if it’s a call saying he’s gotten to her. That I didn’t keep her safe enough.”
“This is different from Andrea, Chick. This time you’re not in this alone.”
Vito nodded, wishing he was reassured. But he knew he wouldn’t breathe easily until Simon Vartanian was behind bars. Still, his friends cared. “Thanks.” Then his cell phone rang, making him jump. But it was Jen. “What’s up?”
Jen yawned. “I’ve been up all night, Vito.”
“So was I,” he said, then winced. “Um… never mind.”
Jen growled. “I’m ready to hate you, Ciccotelli. I worked all night while you were having hot sex. No, I think I hate you already.”
“I’ll buy you crullers every day next week. From the place in my neighborhood.”
“Not good enough, but it’s a start. We’ve charted churches in a fifty-mile radius on the soil map. Nothing that remotely resembles the church in the game.”
“Well, it was a long shot. Thanks for trying.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Chick. I found your picture.”
“Which picture?”
“The newspaper photo of Claire Reynolds and her lover. It was taken at a march three years ago. The woman is about thirty with light hair. She’s thin. Not really any physical attributes to set her apart. I’ve never seen her before.”
“Damn,” Vito muttered. “I was hoping. I wish I could come in and see it, but we need to stay here. Van Zandt could be coming out any time.”
“Can your phone receive pictures?”
“No, but Nick’s can. Can you send it?”
“It’s on its way.”
“Give me your phone,” Vito said to Nick, then squinted at the screen when the picture downloaded. Every muscle in his body went taut. “Fuck.”
“Who is it?” Nick asked. He took the phone, then whistled. “What a cold bitch.”
Jen’s voice perked up. “You recognize her, Vito?”
“It’s Stacy Savard,” Vito said. “Pfeiffer’s receptionist is blackmailer number two.”
“I’ll get her address and send a cruiser out right now,” Jen said.
Vito took Nick’s phone and stared again at the grainy photo. “She knew Claire was dead and she looked us in the eye and never blinked.”
“What you want to do, Vito? Go work over Savard or wait for Van Zandt?”
“Let’s let the cruiser pick up Savard. I’ll request a warrant for her house. If this thing with Van Zandt doesn’t pan out, then blackmailer number two becomes plan B.”
Saturday, January 20, 12:45
P.M.
It was probably inadvisable, but Simon couldn’t resist. If he was going to have to leave his Frasier Lewis identity behind, he might as well do it with style. Of course, if the DA’s office had managed to keep Van Zandt in jail instead of allowing him out on bail, this whole opportunity would never have arisen.
It was, overall, a delicious irony. Simon had wanted the second German killed in Behind Enemy Lines to be skewered with a bayonet. There had been something more up-close and personal about using a bayonet. But Van Zandt had insisted on a big bang.
Simon had been worried about the sensitivity of the detonator on a sixty-year-old grenade. What if he’d set up the scene, only to find he’d purchased a dud? So, being a thorough man, he’d planned for that scenario. Simon smiled. Kyle Lombard, being a greedy man, had offered him a volume discount.
Saturday, January 20, 12:55
P.M.
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Vito barked into his cell.
“I mean she’s not at her apartment,” Jen said, annoyed. “Her car is gone. A neighbor saw her leaving with a suitcase this morning. We have an APB out.”
“We tipped our hand when we asked for Lewis’s file.” Vito rubbed his temples. “Call the airports and bus stations. And can you send a cruiser out to Pfeiffer’s residence?”
“We arresting him, too?”
“We just want to talk to him. Ask him to come in for questioning. We’ll be in soon.”
“Van Zandt hasn’t come out yet?” Jen asked.
Vito glared at the courthouse. “He must be paying his bail with pennies.”
Jen’s chuckle was brief. “Well, we did get one hit. Stacy Savard has the same printer model in her apartment that printed Claire’s letters.”
“Chick,” Nick hissed. “Look, it’s Van Zandt.”
“Gotta go, Jen. It’s showtime.” Vito dropped his phone in his pocket as Van Zandt exited the courthouse, his expression cold and hard and his attorney a good twenty feet behind him. He rushed to the curb with huge ground-eating strides, his arm out to hail a cab, pushing an old man who’d stumbled into his way.
The hairs raised on the back of Vito’s neck. There was something…
“Nick,” Vito said. “That old man.”
“Fuck,” Nick said, and they jumped from the car at the same time.
“Stop! Police!” Vito shouted it and the old man looked up. For a split second, Vito found himself staring into Simon Vartanian’s cold eyes.
Vartanian began to run. Really fast. Vito and Nick were in pursuit.
Then all hell broke loose when, before their eyes, Jager Van Zandt blew up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Saturday, January 20, 1:40
P.M.
He’d almost been caught. Simon sat in front in his vehicle, still furious. A single misstep and he’d be in the hands of the authorities right now.