Dan Simmons - Hard Freeze

"He likes to burn down and blow up his homes," said Kurtz. Shelves in the safe held more than $200,000 in cash and bearer's bonds, a bunch of certificates and policies, and a titanium case. Kurtz ignored the money and carried the case to the desk.

"Excuse me," Angelina said. "You forgetting something?"

"I'm not a thief."

"I am," she said and began transferring the money and bonds to her bag.

"Shit," said Kurtz. The locks on the case were also titanium and did not give when he went at them with the small crowbar.

"That little case may take longer to crack than the safe," said Angelina.

"Uh-uh," said Kurtz. He took out his.40-caliber Smith & Wesson and blew the locks off. The gap allowed the crowbar to get a grip and he popped the briefcase open.

Angelina finished loading the contents of the safe, lifted her heavy bag, and came over to the desk where Kurtz had laid out some of the photographs. "So what exactly are you… Holy Mother of God!"

Kurtz nodded.

"Who is this motherfucking pervert?" whispered Angelina.

Kurtz shrugged. "We'll never know his real name. But I was sure that he'd keep trophies. And he did."

It was Angelina's turn to look at her watch. "This is taking too long."

Kurtz nodded and hefted the bag of C-4 over his shoulder.

Angelina was sipping her coffee and heading for the door. She gestured. "Bring the other bag with the money and my burglar's stuff. Leave the cannoli."

Hansen showed his badge to three nurses and two interns before being told where Nurse Gail DeMarco was.

"She's out of the O.R. and is… ah… right now, she's in the Intensive Care Unit on nine." The fat, black nurse was checking her computer monitor. Evidently all the hospital personnel were tracked by electronic sensors.

Hansen went up to the ICU and found the nurse speaking on a cell phone while looking down at a sleeping or comatose teenage girl. The girl had bruises and bandages and at least three tubes running in and out of her.

"Mrs. DeMarco?" Hansen showed his badge.

"I have to go," the nurse said into the phone and punched the disconnect button, but kept the phone in her hand. "What is it, Captain?"

Hansen showed his most engaging smile. "You know that I'm a captain of detectives?"

"It said so right on the ID you just showed me, Captain. Let's step out of this room."

"No, we're all right here," said Hansen. "I'll just be a minute." He liked the glass doors and walls separating them from the nurses' station. He went closer to the bed and leaned over the sleeping girl. "Car accident?"

"Yes."

"What's the kid's name?"

"Rachel."

"How old?"

"Fourteen."

Hansen gave his winning smile again. "I have a fourteen-year-old son. Jason. He wants to be a professional hockey player."

The nurse did not respond. She checked one of the monitors and adjusted the IV drip. She was still carrying the stupid cell phone in her left hand.

"She going to make it?" asked Hansen, not giving the slightest damn if the kid survived or went into cardiac arrest right then and there, but still wanting to get on Gail DeMarco's good side. Most women were blown away by his smile and affable persona.

"We hope so," said the nurse. "Can I help you, Captain?"

"Have you heard from your sister-in-law Arlene, Mrs. DeMarco?"

"Not for the last week or so. Is she in some sort of trouble?"

"We don't know." He showed the Frears photo. "Have you ever seen this man?"

"No."

No hesitation. No questions. No sign of alarm. Gail DeMarco wasn't responding according to the script. "We think perhaps this man abducted your sister-in-law."

The nurse didn't even blink. "Why would he do that?"

Hansen rubbed his chin. In other circumstances, he would take great pleasure in using a knife on this uncooperative woman. To calm himself, he looked down at the sleeping girl. She was just at the high end of the age group he liked. He raised her wrist and looked at the sea-green hospital bracelet there.

"Please don't touch her, Captain. We're worried about infection. Thank you. We shouldn't be in here."

"Just one more minute, Mrs. DeMarco. Your sister-in-law works for a man named Joe Kurtz. What can you tell me about Mr. Kurtz?"

The nurse had moved between Hansen and the sleeping girl. "Joe Kurtz? Nothing, really. I've never met him."

"So you haven't heard from Arlene in the last few days?"

"No."

Hansen graced the woman with a last glimpse of his most charming smile. "You've been very helpful, Mrs. DeMarco. We are concerned about your sister-in-law's whereabouts and well-being. If she gets in touch, please call me immediately. Here's my card."

Gail DeMarco took the card but immediately slipped it into her smock pocket as if it was contaminated.

Hansen took the elevator down to the reception level, spoke briefly with the nurse there, and took the elevator the rest of the way to the parking garage. He had learned several things. First, Kurtz's secretary had been in touch with her sister-in-law, but Arlene probably had not told her any details concerning Frears or what was going on. The nurse had known just enough not to be concerned about her sister's safety. Second, Gail almost certainly knew where Arlene was hiding. And probably Kurtz as well. Third, odds were good that Arlene and her boss, probably with Frears, were hiding at Nurse DeMarco's borne on Colvin Avenue. Finally, and perhaps most important, Hansen had recognized the girl's name on the ID bracelet—Rachel Rafferty. Most people would not have made the connection, but James B. Hansen's memory was near photographically perfect. He recalled the notes in Joe Kurtz's file: former partner in their private investigation firm, Samantha Fielding, one daughter—Rachel—two years old when Ms. Fielding had been murdered; Rachel later adopted by Fielding's ex-husband, Donald Rafferty. And the nurse at reception, after being prodded by his badge, gave the details of the Raffertys' auto accident—black ice on the Kensington Expressway, Donald Rafferty recovering well but under suspicion of sexually abusing his daughter, the investigation currently on hold until the girl either recovered consciousness or died.

Hansen smiled. He loved subtle connections. Even more, he loved leverage over other people, and this injured child might make wonderful leverage.

Kurtz and Angelina had just driven away from the Hansen house in Tonawanda when Kurtz's cell phone rang. It was Arlene. "Gail just called from the hospital."

"You told her that you were all staying at her place?" said Kurtz.

"I called her earlier this morning," Arlene said. "She called a minute ago because she was in Rachel's ICU room and her friend at reception called up from downstairs to tell her that a plainclothes detective was there at the hospital looking for her. Gail was on the phone with me when the cop came in and she left the line open while they talked… it was Millworth. Hansen . He even sounded crazy, Joe. And scary."

"What did Gail tell him?"

"Nothing. Not a thing."

Kurtz doubted that. Even with the titanium briefcase full of incriminating evidence in the car with him, it was no time to start underestimating the creature Kurtz thought of as James B. Hansen.

"You and Pruno and Frears have to get out of there," he said.

"We'll go now," said Arlene. "I'll take the station wagon."

"No," said Kurtz. He checked where they were. Angelina had chosen the Youngman Highway to get them back to the city, and the Lincoln was approaching the Colvin Boulevard exit. "Get off here," he snapped at Angelina.

She gave him an angry look but glanced at the titanium case and roared down the off-ramp onto Colvin Boulevard South.