Karen Rose - Die for Me

Monday, January 15, 4:45

P.M.

“Here. Don’t say I never give you anything.”

Vito looked up when a bag of corn chips landed on the missing persons printout he’d been scanning. Liz Sawyer was leaning against the side of his desk, opening her own bag. He looked over to Nick’s empty desk where she’d thrown a second bag of chips. “Nick got barbeque flavor. I wanted barbeque flavor.”

Liz leaned over and switched the bags. “God, you’re worse than my kids.”

Vito grinned and opened the bag of barbeque chips. “But you love us anyway.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. Where’s Nick?”

Vito sobered. “With the DA. He got called down to be prepped for tomorrow.”

Liz sighed. “We’ve all had our Siever cases, unfortunately.” Her eyes narrowed. “You had one, too. A couple of years ago. Right about this time.”

Vito crunched on his chips, keeping his expression bland, even though his gut clenched. Liz was fishing. He knew she’d known something wasn’t right about Andrea’s death, but she’d never come out and asked. “Right about.”

She watched him for another few seconds, then shrugged. “So bring me up to speed on our mass-grave situation. The story broke on the noon news and the phones down in PR have been ringing off the hooks ever since. Right now we’re ‘no commenting’ like there’s no tomorrow, but that won’t hold water too much longer.”

Vito told her everything they knew, finishing with their visit to the morgue. “Now I’m combing through missing persons reports trying to match vics.”

“The girl with the folded hands… If Keyes was an actor/model, maybe she is, too.”

“Nick and I thought the same thing. When we’re through looking through missing persons, we’ll canvas the bars where the actors hang out down by the theater district. Trouble is, the vic’s face is too decomposed to show her pictures.”

“Get an artist down to the morgue. Have them look at bone structure and do the best they can.”

Vito munched glumly. “Tried that. Both artists are with live victims. It’ll be days before they’re freed up enough to sketch a dead victim.”

“Goddamn budget cuts,” Liz muttered. “Can you draw?”

He laughed. “Stick figures with a ruler.” Then sobered, thinking. “My brother does.”

“I thought your brother was a shrink.”

“That’s my sister Tess. Tino’s the artist. He specializes in faces.”

“Is he cheap?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell my mom. She thinks we’re all, you know, saints.” He lifted his brows cagily. “Candidates for the priesthood even.”

Liz laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me. Has your brother done anything like this?”

His mind came back to Tino. “No. But he’s a good guy. He’ll want to help.”

“Then call him. If he’s willing, bring him down and sign a release. You’re getting pretty good at finding free help these days, Chick. Archeologists, artists…”

Vito made himself grin carelessly. “So what do I get for my trouble?”

Liz reached over and snagged Nick’s chips and threw them at him. “Like I said, don’t say I never gave you anything.”

New York City, Monday, January 15, 4:55

P.M.

“Derek, I need to talk to you.”

Derek looked up from his laptop screen. Tony England stood in the open door of his office, his jaw clenched and sullen fire in his eyes. Derek leaned back in his chair. “I was wondering when you’d come. Come in. Close the door.”

“I started for your office at least twenty times today. But I was too angry.” Tony lifted a shoulder. “I’m too angry now.”

Derek sighed. “What do you want me to do, Tony?”

“Be a man and tell Jager no for once ,” he exploded, then looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You’ve been with oRo since the beginning. You supervised the fight scenes in the last three games. You expected to take my place someday, not be demoted to work for a newcomer.”

“All that’s true. Derek, you and I made a great team. Tell Jager no.”

“I can’t.”

Tony’s lip curled. “Because you’re afraid he’ll fire you?”

Derek let him have that shot. “No. Because he’s right.”

Tony’s spine went ramrod straight. “What?”

“He’s right.” He waved at his laptop. “I’ve been studying Enemy Lines next to everything we did before. Enemy Lines is stunning. The work we did on the last project is barely mediocre by comparison. If Frasier Lewis can do it-”

“You sold out,” Tony said dully. “I never believed you…” He lifted his chin. “I quit.”

It was what Derek expected. “I understand. If you sleep on it and decide to change your mind, it will be like we never had this conversation.”

“I won’t change my mind. And I won’t work for Frasier Lewis.”

“Then contact me for a recommendation. For whatever it’s worth.”

“Once it would have been worth a great deal,” Tony said bitterly. “Now… I’ll take my chances on my own. Enjoy the money, Derek, because once Jager forces you out, it’ll be all you have left.”

Derek stared at the door Tony quietly closed behind him. Tony was right. Jager was forcing him out. The signs had been there for weeks, but Derek hadn’t wanted to see.

“Derek?” his secretary called through the intercom. “Lloyd Webber is on line two.”

He was not in the mood to speak to any more reporters. “Tell him no comment.”

“He’s not a reporter. He’s a parent and wants to talk to you about Enemy Lines. ”

Nor was Derek in the mood to listen to any more irate parents who found Enemy Lines disturbing and violent. “Take a message. I’ll call him back tomorrow.”

Monday, January 15, 6:00

P.M.

His timing had been good, Vito thought as he watched Sophie exit the Albright Museum. She looks tired, he thought as she got closer to her bike.

He stepped around his truck as she unhooked her helmet from her seat. “Sophie.”

She gasped. “You scared the hell out of me,” she hissed. “What are you doing here?”

Vito hesitated, now unsure of the words to say. From behind his back he whisked out a single white rose and watched her eyes narrow.

“Is this a joke?” she said, her voice gone low and hard. “Because it’s not funny.”

“Not a joke. It bothered me that you thought I was just like ‘all the others.’ I wanted you to know that I’m not.”

For a moment she said nothing, then shook her head and bungeed her backpack to her seat. “Okay. Fine. You’re a prince,” she said sardonically. “A really nice guy.” She straddled her bike and tucked her braid under her jacket before pulling the helmet onto her head. “I would have gotten you the list anyway.”

Vito spun the rose between his fingers nervously. She wore a black leather jacket tonight, and she’d exchanged the rainbow-fingered gloves for leather gloves similar to his own. With her forbidding expression and all that black leather, she looked like a dangerous biker chick, not like the eclectically dressed academic he’d met the day before. She tugged the strap under her chin and stood up to start the bike. She was leaving and he had not accomplished his mission.

“Sophie, wait.”

She paused, poised to kick the engine into gear. “What?”

“The flowers were for someone else.” Her eyes flickered. She obviously hadn’t expected him to own up to it. “They were for someone I cared for who died. I was going to put them on her grave yesterday, but got tied up in the case. And that’s the truth.” As much as he was willing to divulge, anyway.

She frowned slightly. “Most people put carnations on graves in the winter.”