Die for Me (51 page)

“Thank you, by the way, for telling me about Dr. Johannsen, back from France and—how did you put it? A most able assistant. You were quite right. I found her expertise most helpful. Of course, our view on her specific expertise is quite different. I’m glad you were too busy reveling in the baser thoughts to fully utilize her academic assets.”

He stood looking Brewster over, framing the scene in his mind. Van Zandt had been right about needing a regal queen, and after much consideration, he’d agreed VZ was right about the flail scene too. He needed something more dramatic.

VZ had wanted to see someone explode. Simon smiled. And he’d given VZ his wish, up close and personal. This time, he’d capture it on tape.

Saturday, January 20, 9:55
P.M.

Vito caught up with Maggy Lopez as she was entering the precinct. “Maggy. Thanks for coming.” He took her elbow and hastened her toward the elevator. “We have to hurry. He’s had Sophie for five hours now.” And he was using every ounce of concentration not to think about what Simon could have done to her in those five hours.

Maggy was jogging to keep up with him. “I’m gonna break my ankle. Slow down.”

He slowed a little, chafing at every minute that slipped away. “I need your help.”

“I figured that out.” She drew a breath when they stopped at the elevator. “Exactly what do you need, Vito?”

The elevator doors opened and he ushered her in. “I need access to Simon Vartanian’s financial records.”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll get a warrant started, using all the same aliases we used to get his medical records from Pfeiffer.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you could have asked me to do that on the phone. What do you want, Vito?”

The elevator dinged and he tugged her into the hall outside the homicide bullpen. Maggie stopped and yanked her arm away. “Stop it. What do you want, Vito?”

He drew a breath. “We can’t wait for a warrant, Maggy. There’s no time. Simon bought things. He had to have a money source. I have to find that source.”

“So we subpoena bank records, canceled checks.” She frowned at him. “Legally.”

“I don’t have canceled checks. I don’t have a single thing he bought. Dammit,” Vito hissed. “He’s had Sophie for
five hours.
If these aren’t exigent circumstances, I don’t know what the hell is. You know people who can get this information quickly. Please.”

She faltered. “Vito . . . last time I helped you, a man died.”

Vito struggled for calm. “You said Van Zandt would have made bail anyway. Besides, he deserved to die.
Sophie doesn’t.
”

She closed her eyes. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies, Vito.”

Vito grabbed her shoulders and her eyes flew open. Ignoring the warning flare in her eyes, he tightened his grip. “If I don’t find her, he will torture and kill her. I’m begging you, Maggy. Please. Anything you can do.
Please.
”

“God, Vito.” He held his breath as indecision warred in her eyes, then she sighed. “Fine. I’ll make some calls.”

He exhaled slowly, able to breathe once more. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said darkly and pushed past him into the bullpen.

Brent Yelton was waiting for them at Vito’s desk. “I got here as fast as I could.”

Maggy shot Vito a glare. “Your own hacker? Pretty sure of yourself, hotshot.”

Vito refused to feel guilty. “You can use Nick’s desk, Maggy.”

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.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Saturday, January 20, 10:30
P.M.

S
ophie’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.”

Liz’s sigh was exasperated, and had they not found what they’d been looking for, it would not have boded well at all. “Okay, so what’s going on here?”

Vito looked up from his computer screen. “He’s a network engineer.”

Liz shook her head as if to clear it. “
Who’s
a
what?
”

“Simon Vartanian is a network engineer.” Vito pulled a sheet of paper from the printer. “We got into his tax records.”

Liz frowned. “How? Or don’t I want to know?”

Jen shrugged. “Brent had a friendly conversation with a fellow computer geek who happens to work for the IRS.”

“Who happened to be a friend of a friend of a friend,” Brent said with a smile at Maggy. “We got the Social Security number Simon used when he enrolled at Sophie’s college as John Trapper. He paid his college tuition by check and that checking account had a number of deposits over the last year. Trapper had his own business setting up computer networks.”

Vito handed Liz the paper. “John Trapper was issued 1099 forms by twenty firms last year.” He shot Liz an ironic look. “He was a frickin’ consultant.”

Vito could see the wheels turning in Liz’s mind. “Who didn’t work for free,” she said.

“No.” Vito smiled grimly. “Not by a long shot.”

“Vito was wondering where Simon was getting all his money,” Jen said. “He was getting his medical care by stealing Frasier Lewis’s medical benefits. But Simon had to have a place to live, some pretty expensive computer equipment, and cash to buy his goodies from Kyle Lombard. Claire didn’t have any money, so he didn’t steal it from her and he didn’t steal it from his parents. So what’s he been living on?”

“Follow the money,” Nick mused with his mouth full of cruller. “Smart.”

“Okay,” Liz said. “I’m hooked. What does a network engineer do, exactly?”

“Well, he sets up networks,” Brent said. “Connects computers in an office to each other and to other systems. All these computers are hooked into the PD’s network. There are files on shared servers you can see if you have access. There are databases you can search, if you have access. The key here is access.”

Liz pulled a doughnut from the box. “Keep talking, Brent. You haven’t lost me yet.”

“Big companies like Philly PD have an internal IT department to set up the networks and make sure everybody can get to the information they need. E-mail accounts, et cetera. But you gotta make sure people have access on a need-to-know basis. Everybody can download medical insurance forms from HR, but a mail clerk shouldn’t get access to AFIS. Jen gets access because she needs to run fingerprints.”

“Big companies have IT departments,” Vito said. “Little companies that have ten employees still need a network, but they hire a consultant to set it up.”

“And Simon was one of these consultants.” Liz nodded. “I’m guessing that Simon didn’t limit his evil deed–doing to his art. He stole from these companies?”

Brent smiled. “Not from the companies. From their clients. Every network has an administrator, the guy who sets up who gets access to what. We’re guessing Simon left a back door open in some or all of these companies’ networks, giving himself admin power. He could go back into their systems at any time to see anything on anybody.”

“Like financials,” Nick said. “The models—Warren and Brittany, Bill Melville and Greg Sanders. That’s how he knew they were desperate for cash. Sonofabitch.”

Vito tapped his printout. “Twenty companies hired Frasier Lewis. Among them are six investment brokers, three realtors, and two medical insurance companies.”

“But now we’re stuck,” Maggy said. “We’ve been checking these companies for anything that links them to Vartanian or one of our victims, but so far, nothing has.”

“God.” Liz took the paper from Vito’s hands. “Simon really thought of everything.” Then she laughed, a smug yet joyful sound. “Good thing we did, too.” She handed the paper to Nick. “Look at the sixth company down, Nick.”

Nick’s grin was sharp. “Fuckin’ bastard.” He slapped Vito on the back and put the list on the desk. “Chick, that company handled all the finances for Winchester’s aunt.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the evidence box. “Five years of broker’s statements.”

“Rock Solid Investments is a brokerage firm that has a huge client base of retirees,” Liz added. “Lots of old people have their money there.”

“Maybe the old woman buried next to Claire did, too.” Vito drew a breath. They were close. He only prayed they wouldn’t be too late. “Okay. So we need to do what?”

“I’d say we need a warrant to search Rock Solid’s client files,” Maggy said. “I hope the judge on call is an insomniac. Who wants to go?”

Vito got up, but Liz and Nick each grabbed one of his shoulders and pushed him back down. “Dammit, Liz,” Vito gritted. “This isn’t funny.”

Liz got serious fast. “Maggy, take Nick. Brent, you go, too, in case they need someone to speak computerese with their network guy. Vito, you’re staying with me. If you want to help Sophie, get some rest. You’ll need it when you find Simon Vartanian.”

Sunday, January 21, 3:10
A.M.

The phone on Vito’s desk rang and he snatched it up. “Ciccotelli.”

“It’s Tess. I know you’d call if you’d heard anything. But we’re all here, the whole family, sitting in your living room, worrying about you. We just wanted you to know.”

He could picture it, his family gathered to support him, and he yearned to go be with them, to take their comfort. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about Sophie.”

“We are. Don’t worry. We have plenty of worry to go around,” Tess added wryly. “Don’t give up. I guarantee Sophie knows you’re doing everything you can to find her.”

If anyone understood, it was Tess. “Thank you. Tell them all thank you. I’ll call you when I can.” He hung up, then sat back, arms crossed tight over his chest. It had been ten hours since Simon had taken Sophie, three since Maggy, Nick, and Brent had gone off in search of Rock Solid Investment’s client list. “Where the hell are they?”

Jen looked up from her laptop sympathetically. “Try to relax, Vito. I know it’s hard.”

Maggy Lopez had gotten the warrant easily enough. But finding someone at Rock Solid Investments who had access to the full client list was turning out to be harder than expected. The one broker who played network administrator in his spare time was on vacation and couldn’t be reached. Nobody else seemed to know all the passwords and ironically, someone had actually suggested they call their network consultant.

Vito tried to relax, but it wasn’t going to happen. His gaze settled on the CD Brent had made from the camera feed. He remembered Sophie watching that movie of her father’s, because she “needed to see him.” Now Vito needed to see her. He slid the CD in his computer, then saw himself sitting next to Anna’s bed, and Sophie waiting at the doorway, that plastic pitcher in her hands.

He muted the sound, then fast-forwarded until he saw Sophie again, the pitcher in her hand and tears on her face. He watched her expression soften and her eyes change. And saw what he hadn’t seen Friday night because he’d been focused on Anna—Sophie looking at him with love in her eyes. Neither of them had said the words. She’d been so scared of messing things up, but now he’d seen for himself. Vito closed the file, then closed his eyes and did what he hadn’t done in two years. He prayed.

Sunday, January 21, 4:15
A.M.

Nick came running in, clutching a stack of papers in his hand. “We got the list.”

Vito was on his feet, grabbing it, but it was page after page of names that meant nothing. He looked up at Liz who’d rushed from her office at the sound of Nick’s voice.

“What are we supposed to do with this?” he said, frustrated.

Brent was right behind Nick, laptop under his arm. “We sort and filter. Katherine said she thought the old woman in the graveyard was between sixty and seventy, so I ran the search on female clients fifty-five to eighty, just to be sure. There are over three hundred names. When I just look at sixty to seventy, it’s still over two hundred.”

Vito sank into his chair. “Two hundred.” He’d hoped a single name would pop. But the others weren’t discouraged. They were energized and Vito drew from their energy.

Jen was pacing. “Okay, let’s think. What did he steal from these people? Money?”

“Real estate,” Liz said. “He took Winchester’s aunt’s field. Maybe he took another field from somebody else. A field near a quarry, far enough out that he could do what he wanted without raising suspicion.”

“Or anybody being able to hear,” Nick added.

Vito closed his eyes, despair threatening again. “Of course we’ve also assumed he took Sophie to the place he took everyone else.”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Nick ordered. “Until we have a reason to think otherwise, there’s no reason to believe Simon will do anything more than stick to his routine.”

Vito stood up with a hard nod. “Okay, we’re going to split these lists and figure out which of these people have property in the USDA soil areas that match the grave fill dirt. Then we find out which of those are homes with more than one story.”

“The elevator shaft,” Nick said. “Don’t forget about the old woman’s dental fillings. Check for anyone who lived in Europe before 1960.”

“Daniel called me last night,” Liz said. “He and his sister are back in town and want to help. I’ll put them on call to give us information if we end up in a hostage negotiation.”

Vito made himself breathe. “Then let’s move. He’s had Sophie eleven hours now.”

Sunday, January 21, 4:50
A.M.

Simon leaned away from his computer, stretching his shoulders. Alan Brewster had been a lot heavier than he looked. Carrying him out to the barn for the filming had been the right choice, though. The mess from Brewster’s exploding head would have been bad enough, but percussion from the grenade had blown part of the barn wall away. Had he executed the film inside, he might have damaged his studio.

He’d planned to leave Brewster’s body outside, but discovered the lighting in the barn hadn’t been sufficient to achieve the level of detail he required while filming. The video was grainy and the camera lens had been dirtied by flying debris of the human variety. So he’d brought Brewster back inside to get a closer look at what remained. Of course, carrying Brewster back indoors had been a tad easier. He estimated Brewster’s head alone had weighed a good ten pounds.

With a click of his mouse Simon replayed the changes he’d made to Bill Melville’s death by flail. As much as he hated to admit it, Van Zandt had been one hundred percent correct. Seeing the knight’s head explode made playing
Inquisitor
a far more exciting experience. Not authentic, but damn exciting.

Simon rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Sophie would provide both authenticity and excitement and he couldn’t wait. He checked his watch. Another few hours and his leg would be fully charged and ready to roll.

As would parts of Sophie.

Sunday, January 21, 5:30
A.M.

“Dammit.” Vito stared at the USDA soil map, pock-marked with nearly forty thumbtacks representing each old woman who lived in the identified soil area and held an account with Rock Solid Investments. And the clock continued to tick. Almost thirteen hours had passed through their fingers.

“There are still too many names,” Nick muttered. “And not one of them German.”

“The old woman could have a German maiden name,” Jen said. “We have to start making calls. It’s the only way.”