Karen Rose - Die for Me

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…”

“Don’t go there, Vito,” Jen snapped. “It doesn’t help.”

“Brand?” Spandan asked, frowning. “We didn’t talk about branding.”

“One of her students did,” Vito said, making himself breathe. “It wasn’t you two?”

Both students shook their heads. “There are four of us,” Marta said. “We couldn’t find Bruce or John, so we just came ourselves.”

“John was the name Sophie mentioned. John…” Vito closed his eyes. “Trapper.”

Jen sighed. “Hell.”

“Do you know where John lives?” Vito asked, but again they shook their heads. “What does he drive?”

“A white van,” Spandan said immediately. “He gave Dr. J a ride Tuesday night.”

“Because her bike had been tampered with.” Breathe. Think. Then a piece of the puzzle fell into place. “If he was a student, he’d have to pay tuition.” He turned to Brent.

Brent was typing. “Already on it. It would help to know his student number.”

“We don’t know each other’s numbers,” Spandan said. “But the library would have it. He’d need it to check out books.”

“I’ll call the library,” Brent said. “But they’re probably closed.”

Maggy rose from where she’d been sitting. “Perhaps our guests would like a snack.”

Jen’s brows lifted and understanding filled her eyes. “I’ll take them to the cafeteria.”

Marta shook her head violently. “No, I couldn’t eat a bite.”

“They want us to leave,” Spandan murmured. He looked at Vito. “We’ll go back to campus. Please call us as soon as you find her.”

Brent waited until they were gone. “Library’s closed. You want me to find a way in?”

Jen raised her hand. “Wait. Liz had Beverly and Tim run a check on John Trapper. Bev called and told me he checked out, that his medical file listed him as confined to a wheelchair.”

“But we know Simon can change medical files,” Vito said. “If Bev and Tim have seen his medical file, they’ll have whatever Social he’s been using. If he paid tuition or for anything at the university, we can track it to his bank.”

“I’ll call them,” Jen said and sat down at an unoccupied desk as Maggy Lopez approached, her expression sober.

“I’ve got a name at the IRS. Vito, you need to be clear on what happens from here. This is an unauthorized search. Anything we find from this point is fruit from the poisoned tree. It won’t be admissible in court. If you apprehend Simon Vartanian based on what we find next, he could walk on thirteen murders.”

Vito met her eyes. “Let’s just make sure it’s not fourteen.”

Saturday, January 20, 10:30

P.M.

Sophie’s body ached. Every one of her muscles was tensed beyond the ability of meditation to relax. There had been an explosion, so loud her ears still rang, so hard that some of the rock had fallen from the walls. She’d quelled the scream before it escaped her throat, but she hadn’t been able to hide the reflexive tensing of her body. If Simon Vartanian came down now, he’d know she was awake.

So she had to relax. She thought of soothing music. She thought of Vito’s Che faro. Remembering the way he’d looked as he sang to Anna… Anna. Please be alive, Gran. Please be safe.

She prayed for Anna. She prayed that Simon had died in whatever exploded.

The ceiling above her head creaked, loud and long, and her heart sank. Simon wasn’t dead. He was walking around up there. So she prayed that he would stay where he was, at least until the tears that seeped from her closed eyes dried.

Saturday, January 20, 11:45

P.M.

Liz set a box down hard on Vito’s desk. “Vito, I thought I told you to go home.”

She frowned at Maggy who sat at Nick’s desk and at Jen who’d pulled a chair up to Vito’s desk and propped her feet on the edge, her laptop on her thighs. Brent had assumed a similar pose and power cords crisscrossed their legs.

“And you three,” Liz accused, “encouraging him, against my orders.”

Jen shrugged. “He got crullers.” She nudged the box with her toe. “Have one.”

Nick came in with another big evidence box. “Hey, crullers. I’m starved.”