Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

Jake let the magazine drop, no longer even pretending to read. Manny was still poring over something on the computer. Sam sat text-messaging furiously on his cell phone. Even Mycroft was electronically bewitched, enthralled by an Animal Planet show set on mute. Jake shifted his lanky frame. He didn't need hardware, software, or a wireless connection to do what needed to be done. He just needed to let all the information on this case stored in his brain come together in some coherent form.

He shut his eyes and let his active mind disconnect from the present, willing his subconscious to take over. Victims seemingly without a connection. Except blood. Blood must tie them together. Blood ties… Blood is thicker than water…

The doorbell rang. Manny leaped up from the computer. "It's the deliveryman from the Great Wall. C'mon, guys-dinnertime!"

Jake rose and stood rubbing his temples as his brother, the dog, and Manny rushed past.

Manny glanced back at him. "What's the matter? Did you doze off?"

Jake shook his head. "No. Something is there, just out of my reach. It will come, if I let it." "I'm telling you, it will work." Manny's chopsticks dived into the white cardboard container and pulled out a clump of kung pao chicken. "According to the Style section of the Times, three of the last five fund-raising events Monserrat Sandoval attended had to do with animal welfare. The Howliday Ball, the World Wildlife Foundation dinner, and the ASPCA Companion Animal Luncheon. Mycroft and I have to get ourselves invited to that one next year."

"Better start accepting cases that actually pay," Sam advised. "You'll need to cough up twenty grand."

"All right, year after next. But don't you see? This is the perfect entree for me to get in to see her."

"Purr-fect," Sam mimicked.

"Purr-fect," Jake chimed in.

Manny flicked a water chestnut across the table, scoring a direct hit on Jake's beaky nose. "You two need to be separated."

"So, you pose as the representative of some animal lover's charity and you talk your way in to see her." Jake wiped off his face and slipped the water chestnut to Mycroft. "Then what? 'Senora Sandoval, please make a donation to our bark-a-thon, and by the way, can I speak to your son, Paco? Are you harboring any fugitives here?'"

"Scientists!" Manny shook her head. "You have no imagination whatsoever. Just leave the strategy to me. I'll have your part all worked out for you."

"My part? What do you mean, my part?"

Manny's blue eyes opened wide. "Well, of course I can't pull this off alone. It's a two-person operation." She patted Jake on the knee. "And you are coming with me."

He nudged her away. "I can't. I have a lot of work to do."

"Oh, real nice, Jake. After all the times I've saved your ass at work, now when I need you, you're too damn busy."

Jake bristled. "When have you ever saved my ass at work?"

"Let's see… How about two weeks ago, when you were all set to declare that naked NYU coed's nosedive off a balcony the work of a sadistic killer because of the way her pubic hair had been plucked out. I took one look at the autopsy photo and clued you in: Brazilian bikini wax. No killer involved. Although those wax jobs are sadistic."

"Okay, that was a good call. I'm happy to repay you for ser vices rendered, but not tomorrow."

"Nonsense. This won't take long." Manny pulled a fortune cookie from the pile left in the center of the table and cracked it open. "'A journey of a million miles begins with one step.' See? You're destined to do this." She tossed a cookie to him. "Read what yours says."

Jake snapped the brittle cookie and pulled out the white slip of paper.

"'Blood debts must be repaid in blood.'"

"You know what your problem is? You spend entirely too much time with dead people." Manny and Jake were under one umbrella, striding toward First Avenue, heading for the Sandovals' building on the East River. "You've totally lost touch with how living, breathing human beings react."

True to Manny's prediction, the elusive Senora Sandoval had been immediately responsive to the plea, delivered over the phone by Kenneth in one of his most breathless performances, to discuss the rehabilitation of pets lost and injured every year during hurricane season on the Gulf Coast. The social secretary had only to hear the words homeless pets and Kenneth had been put through directly to the ambassador's wife. Within minutes, he'd succeeded in getting this appointment for "Jack Rose" and "Franny Medford," representatives of Home Again, who were in New York for just a few days, trying to raise money for the desperately needy animals in their care.

"There's probably some clause in the Patriot Act that makes impersonating an animal activist a federal offense," Jake complained.

"Look on the bright side-we'll be sent to Club Fed together."

"Great. We can brush up our doubles tennis game. Me and you versus whichever corrupt politicians and bankrupt CEOs are on our cell block."

Manny grinned. "I knew you'd come to see the upside of this project."

Jake stepped off the curb into the path of a turning taxi and stopped it with his glare. "Anyone with half a brain in her head will see through this ruse in an instant. And then how are we going to talk our way out of there?"

"The pictures, Jake, the key is in the pictures." Manny flourished a thick black binder. "I tell you, I had myself in tears putting this together."

Following advice gleaned from her more successful criminal clients, Manny had chosen to create a lie as close to the truth as possible. There really was a small organization in Mississippi dedicated to rehabilitating storm refugees, and their Web site was full of heartbreaking pictures of wet, starving, broken-limbed dogs and cats. Inspired by the group's work, Manny had found other photos along the same lines and combined them to create a presentation to sell Senora Sandoval. Then she'd written a letter of introduction for Jack and Franny on a letterhead she'd created by duplicating Home Again's logo with a graphics program, and printed out business cards on stock from the office-supply store. The lawyer in her experienced a brief moment of squeamishness as she studied the perfection of her counterfeit, and she considered tweaking the logo a bit to get around the copyright laws. Then she laughed-trademark infringement would be the least of her worries if she got caught in this charade.

"Here're your cards." She handed a few to Jake as they came in sight of the Sandovals' building. "Start assuming your identity."

Jake scrutinized them. "They look cheap," he complained. "She'll know they're fake."

"We're not trying to pass ourselves off as investment bankers. We're a low-budget charity-frugality is part of our persona."

"Okay, say she believes we really are from Home Again. How am I going to keep her occupied when you go off exploring?"

"We've been over this. Just keep showing her the photos. Talk about how each animal is being treated."

"But I don't know that," Jake protested. "I'm not a vet."

Manny stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and grabbed Jake by the shoulders. "Listen to me: Make. It. Up. You're not writing an autopsy report. It doesn't have to be true; it just has to be plausible. Talk about infections; talk about parasites. Talk, and don't stop until I'm back. Got it?"

"Got it. Pretend I'm a lawyer and lie."

"Won't cause your hair to stand out any more." Manny remembered the first time she saw Jake, who had been alighting from a helicopter. An unkempt head of salt-and-pepper hair brought to mind a cross between Albert Einstein and Dr. Frankenstein. Love at first sight.

They stood on the east side of First Avenue with crowds surging around them and for a moment Manny worried that she had gone too far, that Jake was going to turn on his heel and leave her there. But then he rolled his eyes, shook his head, and resumed walking toward their destination.