Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

The smile faded from Jake's face. The word BLOOD pulsated again from the whiteboard. "I'm working on it."

Jake's house, never tidy under the best of circumstances, had degenerated over the course of the Vampire investigation to something between chaos and biohazard. Plates of Chinese and Indian carryout lay around the first floor in varying degrees of petrifaction. The tower of unopened mail, some envelopes emblazoned with "Second Notice" imprints, threatened to consume the hall table. A battered cardboard box with a Romanian return address disgorged a suspicious ashlike substance.

Manny surveyed the scene with disgust. "You and Jake are going to supplant the Collyer brothers for the pack rat of the century title." She kicked aside some forensic journals. "At least they left little paths to navigate from room to room."

"How conventional." Sam finished a section of the Times and tossed it over his shoulder.

Manny reached to pick it up, then stopped herself. "You're trying to provoke me."

"Not so, dear woman. We simply represent different approaches to housework." Sam stretched out his legs on the couch and reached for another section of the newspaper. "I'll never be a clean-as-you-goer. Too Sisyphean-you push the rock up the hill every day, only to watch it roll back down again. I prefer the tactic Hercules used to clean the Aegean stables. Let things get really bad, then divert a nearby river and wash it all away at once."

"When do you plan to work that wonder, Herc?" Jake emerged from the kitchen bearing paper plates of Vietnamese spring rolls. "With all the china plates out of commission, we're limited to nonsaucy food."

"Food. The great motivator." Taking her spring roll, Manny plopped into an overstuffed chair. "Tell me again what Detective Pasquarelli said after he talked to the FBI."

Manny had reported her entire conversation with Paco to the police. Detective Pasquarelli had been very excited about the information and naturally wanted to interview Paco himself. But the FBI's involvement in the case had compromised his autonomy. Because of the Sandovals' diplomatic immunity, he had to get FBI clearance to proceed. As Manny had feared, it hadn't been forthcoming.

"Vito said the agent he works with directly seemed just as excited about this break as he is. But that guy's low on the totem pole. He had to kick it upstairs for permission. They're still waiting."

"That's preposterous!" Manny said. "Diplomatic immunity is a courtesy; it should not be absolutely inviolable. In a case this serious, there should be no question about pressuring the Sandovals to cooperate."

"Maybe tomorrow they'll catch a break," Jake said.

"Don't count on it." Manny leaned back in her chair and promptly shot back out again. "Ow! It's booby-trapped." She pulled the cushions away. "My God, there's a scalpel in there!"

"Sorry, dear. I was doing an experiment to see if a scalpel could make accidental incised wounds if you lean back on it in a chair. Guess the defense attorney will have to try harder because you just proved that his client intentionally killed her husband." Jake then patted a space beside him on the love seat. "Come sit with me."

Manny eyed the cobweb stretching from the floor lamp to the arm of the love seat. "No thanks, I'll just clear a space over here."

She pushed a box of old slides into the corner. "This is the problem with having a big house. The more space you have, the more junk you accumulate. You know, when I drove over to Club Epoch in Hoboken, I was seriously considering moving to one of those big loft apartments in a converted factory. Now I'm afraid if I lived there, I'd wind up hoarding like you two."

"I think you should consider it, Manny," Sam said. "Think of how you could expand your shoe portfolio. But the time to buy is now. There are only a few factories left to be converted."

"The ones that are left all have hazardous-waste issues," Jake said. "You wouldn't want to expose your footwear to radiation. A Manhattan studio is much more salubrious."

"Your concern for my health is touching." Manny began heaving newspapers off the window seat. "Couldn't we at least get rid of some of these copies of the Times? They're weeks old."

She paused to read a headline. "'Vampire Suspected in Death of Prominent Physician'-this one's from when Dr. Fortes was killed. 'Vampire's Lair Found in Brooklyn,' 'Vampire Tied to Bombing in Hoboken,' 'Mysterious Attacker Targets Opera Star.' Geez, the Vampire's been on the front page of the paper just about every day since this case started. This pile is an archaeological record."

Jake stopped chewing and stared at her, a crumb of spring roll stuck to his lip. He dumped the half-full plate onto the floor. Mycroft shot across the room and immediately tucked into the delicate melange of shrimp and vegetables.

"I hope you were done with that," Manny said as Jake crossed the room to the window seat.

Jake didn't appear to hear her. He fell to his knees and began digging through the newspapers, scattering them left and right.

"Jake, come on. I just stacked those for recycling," Manny protested.

"Help me find April fifth," Jake demanded.

"What's April fifth?" Manny asked.

"The day after the first Vampire attack. Lucinda Bettis, victim number one."

"Here it is."

Jake snatched the paper from her, quickly scanned the front page, then flipped to the Metro section. "Nothing," he said, checking the inside pages. "Not even a little blurb." He tossed the paper aside. "Now look for April eleventh."

"What are you-"

"Here!" Jake held it up and immediately began paging through the issue. "Nothing on page one, nothing on the front page of Metro, but here on page B-four we see it. 'Police Curious about Strange Similarities in Attacks.' A six-paragraph story comparing the MO of the attack on victim two with that of Lucinda Bettis. Now, find April twenty-third."

Manny handed it to him.

"By victim three, the story's moved to the front page. Prominent mention of the blood draw and the needle mark left on the victim. As I recall, this is when the Post first dubbed him 'the Vampire.'" Jake sat back on his haunches. "From then on, it's been headline news every day in every local paper. That must be it."

"What must be it?" Sam and Manny said almost simultaneously.

Jakes pointed to the sea of newsprint surrounding him and Manny on the floor. "This is why the Vampire drew blood from Fiore, Hogaarth, Fortes, and Slade even though they aren't children of the Desaparecidos. He must crave publicity for his cause. When he realized what a stir his weird blood draws were causing, he decided to use that as his signature, even on victims he intended to torture and/or kill. The blood draw itself was unnecessary, just done as a flourish."

"A signature," Manny whispered.

"For someone who seeks publicity, he's done an awfully good job of covering his tracks," Sam said. "He's got the police chasing after imaginary Islamic terrorists. You and Manny are the only ones who seem to know this is about the Desaparecidos."

Jake's and Manny's eyes met; then they both turned slowly to look at Sam. "He's planning something," Manny said. "Or, I should say, they're planning something, because we know there's a woman involved in this, too. She's the one who posed as Tracy and recommended me to Maureen Heaton. She intentionally drew me into this case"-Manny reached for Jake's hand-"and I bet, by extension, drew you into this case. They wanted us because of who we are, because of the results we achieved on the Lyons case."

"I think that must be it," Jake agreed. "The story of the Desaparecidos has been around for about thirty years. The mothers and grandmothers keep up their protests, but the outrage has faded. There are still victims who've never been accounted for, kids who don't know their true heritage. But people aren't listening anymore. They want to forget about the Dirty War."