Karen Rose - Die for Me

Derek shook his head as Jager headed toward his room. “It’s indecent. Period.”

Jager stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “It’s what sells.”

“It’s not right, Jager.”

“I don’t see you refusing any paychecks. You act morally repulsed by the violence, but you’re in it for the money as much as I am. And if you’re not, you need to get out.”

“Is that a threat?” Derek asked quietly.

“No. It’s reality. Just contact Frasier and tell him to speed up the fight scenes he’s been promising me for a month. I want them by nine Tuesday morning. I need the fight scenes from Inquisitor to show at Pinnacle so he needs to light a fire under his ass.”

Stunned, Derek could only stare. “You already gave him the new game.”

Jager turned, his eyes cold. “It’s an entertainment venture, ” he said between his teeth, “and yes, I gave Frasier the design for Inquisitor months ago. If I left it to you, we’d end up with the same sorry washed-out graphics we’ve had for years. He’s been researching and working the design for months while you’ve been sitting on your ass, doodling cartoons. ” The last was uttered with contempt. “Face it, Derek, I’ve moved oRo to the next level. Keep up or get out.” He shut the door with a snap.

Derek stood motionless for a long time, staring at the door. Keep up or get out. Get out. He couldn’t just get out. Where would he go? He’d put all his talent, all his heart into oRo. He couldn’t just walk away. He needed his salary. His daughter’s college tuition wasn’t cheap. I am a hypocrite. He’d disagreed so vehemently with using Frasier Lewis’s scenes because the killings were so chillingly real. But Jager was right. I take the money. I like the money.

He needed to make a choice. If he planned to continue at oRo, he needed to come to terms with his distaste for Frasier Lewis’s “art.” Either I’m morally opposed or I’m not.

He sighed. Or he needed to decide if Jager had been telling him the truth, hard as it would be to accept. The same sorry washed-out look. That hurt. Am I jealous? Is Lewis the better artist? If so, could he accept that, and, more important, could he work with him?

Derek got up and paced the length of the room, stopping at the bar. He poured himself a drink, then sat back down in the dark to consider his options.

Philadelphia, Sunday, January 14, 10:30

P.M.

Vito watched as Katherine wheeled away another body in a bag, the third they’d recovered so far. He’d been male, about the same age as the “Knight” as the first man had been dubbed. The name was inevitable once word had spread among the team that the archeologist said the victim’s hands had been posed to hold a sword. The woman they’d uncovered that morning had become the “Lady.”

He wondered what they would call this last victim. The third victim had lain with his arms at his sides. Well, kind of. One arm lay straight, but the other was mangled at the shoulder, barely attached at the joint and rotated so that the palm faced outward. The man’s head was in worse shape. What little that remained was unrecognizable.

“It’s late,” Vito said. “We’ve got uniforms on guard duty. I say we call it a night.”

“So, we meet back here tomorrow at first light?” Nick asked.

Vito nodded. “Then we begin to ID the victims. Katherine should have the initial exams done by morning. The autopsies could take days.”

Jen looked around. “Where is Sophie?”

Vito pointed to his truck where Johannsen sat sideways on the passenger side, her door wide open. She’d been there for about a half hour. He’d worried she’d freeze, then tried to put her out of his mind, figuring she’d have shut the door if she got too cold. But he’d been unsuccessful in pushing her out of his thoughts or his sight. He’d watched her as they’d worked. Seeing the Knight had rocked her. Still she’d worked steadily.

But something else had happened. When Katherine had zipped the body bag shut, Sophie looked like she’d seen a ghost. Whatever memory the body had triggered, it had been substantial enough to send Katherine to her side. And the two had exchanged angry words, that much had been crystal clear.

From then on, he’d watched her even more closely. It was simple curiosity, he told himself. Or perhaps nosiness was more accurate, as Katherine claimed. He wanted to know what had happened, both today and on whatever day she’d been remembering.

But he probably would never find out. He’d take her back and that would be that. Still, the sight of her sitting in his truck tugged at him. She sat with her knees up under her coat, much as she had earlier in the day. She looked young and very much alone.

“Are we finished with her?” Vito asked.

Jen nodded, looking at the printout of Sophie’s scan. “She did an incredible job.” Stakes and flags were arranged in four rows of four plots, every plot the same exact size, rows and columns spaced with military precision. “We just have to start digging.”

When Vito got close to the truck he noticed she’d loaded and secured the two big cases into the truck bed, all by herself. They’d been heavy when he’d done it earlier. She must have some muscle under her field jacket. He thought about how she’d felt those few seconds she’d leaned against him and wondered what else he’d find under her jacket, but again, he’d probably never find out.

When Vito got close to Sophie, his heart squeezed. Tears slid down her cheeks in a steady flow as she stared at the field with its stakes and flags. She’d seen things that rocked most seasoned cops. But she’d stayed the course. He respected that.

He cleared his throat and she turned her head to look at him. She wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve but made no attempt to hide the tears or apologize for them. Vito respected that, too. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and drew a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

“You did good today.”

She sniffled. “Jen showed you the scan?”

“Yes. Thank you. It’s very thorough and very well done. But that’s not what I meant. You held up under terribly stressful conditions. Most people wouldn’t have.”

Her lips trembled and her eyes filled anew. She swallowed hard as she turned her back to stare at the field, visibly fighting for composure. Patiently he waited and when she spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper. “When Katherine called me today, I had no idea it would be like this. Nine people. My God. It’s unreal.”

“You marked seven of the plots as empty. Are you sure?”

She nodded, her tears slowing. “The seven empty ones are air pockets. But every one of them is covered with something thick and solid. Probably wood.” She looked at him, her eyes filled with horror and pain. “My God, Vito. He planned to kill seven more.”

“I know.” The scan had given them not only the lay of the land, but insight into the mind of a killer. Vito knew the insight would be valuable when he’d had enough sleep to consider it. “I’m beat,” he said. “You must be, too. Let me take you home.”

She shook her head. “I have to take the equipment back to the university and get my bike. Besides, you must have plans of your own tonight. A family to get home to.”

He thought of the roses, wilted now. He’d buy another bouquet and go to the cemetery next week. It wasn’t like Andrea would care one way or another. The flowers and the visit, he knew, were really for himself. “I don’t have plans.” He hesitated, then let the words come. “Or anyone waiting for me.”