Die for Me

Chapter Six

Monday, January 15, 8:15

A.M.

Lieutenant Liz Sawyer sat at her desk staring at the map of the four-by-four matrix of graves, her brow crunched into frown lines. “This is unbelievable.”

“We know,” Vito said. “But the archeologist says we have nine bodies buried in that field. She’s been right on every one so far.”

Liz looked up. “You’ve confirmed these seven are empty?”

“Empty, but covered with plywood, just like Sophie said,” Nick replied.

“So what’s our status?”

“Three bodies in the morgue,” Vito said. “The Lady, the Knight, and the guy that’s missing half his head. The fourth body is in transit. Jen’s working on the fifth.”

Nick went on. “The fourth body is male, older. The first three look like they may have been in their twenties. This guy might be in his sixties. No obvious anomalies.”

“No posed hands, missing entrails, or dismembered arms?” Liz asked sarcastically.

Vito shook his head. “The fourth body appeared to be a garden-variety victim.”

Liz sat back, her chair creaking. “So what are our next steps?”

“We’re going to the morgue,” Nick said. “Katherine promised to give us priority and we need to identify these people. When we start getting names we might see a pattern.”

“Jen has the lab analyzing the soil,” Vito added. “She’s hoping to find out where it came from. The lab will sift through all the fill dirt to see if they can find anything to point to the perp, but it doesn’t look like he left anything behind.”

Liz looked down at the map. “Why the empty graves? I mean, we could guess he’s not finished yet with whatever this scheme is, but why leave these two empty?” She pointed to the two graves on the far end of the second row. “He’s filled the entire first row, then the first two on the second row. Then he skips down to the third row.”

“We have to believe he had a reason,” Vito said. “He’s planned this down to the nth degree. I don’t think he’d just skip two graves for kicks, but we need to get all the bodies out of there before we start formulating any theories.”

Liz gestured to her office door. “Keep me apprised. I’ll get to work on freeing up another team to work any leads you come up with. Needless to say, the mayor is chomping at the bit. Don’t make me look stupid, guys.”

Vito took the map. “I’ll make you a copy. Try to keep the mayor from going to the press too soon, okay?”

“For now we’ve been lucky,” Liz said. “The reporters haven’t found out about our secret garden, but it’s just a matter of time. Too many bodies showing up to the morgue and too many CSU techs coming in for overtime. One of the reporters is bound to grab the scent. Just stick with ‘no comment’ and leave the rest to me.”

Vito’s laugh was grim. “That’s one order we’ll be glad to follow.”

Monday, January 15, 8:15

A.M.

The Albright Museum was housed in what had once been a chocolate factory. It had been a definite consideration as Sophie had considered Ted the Third’s job offer six months before. It was fate, she’d thought. The museum boasted one of the greatest private collections of medieval European artifacts in North America and it was in a chocolate factory. How could she possibly go wrong accepting?

That had become one of the questions for the ages, she thought darkly as she let herself in the museum’s front door. Like the secret of life or how many licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop. The world would never know.

Because she had, of course, gone wrong. Accepting Ted the Third’s job offer had been one of the stupidest things she’d ever done in her life. And I’ve done some really stupid things, she thought, even more darkly. Vito Ciccotelli’s handsome face popped into her mind and she shoved it away. At least she’d found out his cheating ways before she’d done something really stupid, like sleep with him.

“Hello?” she called.

“In the office.” Ted’s wife, Darla, sat behind the big cluttered desk, a pencil stuck in her graying hair. Darla managed the books, which meant the most important function of the museum-her paycheck-was in capable hands. “How was your weekend, dear?”

Sophie shook her head. “You really don’t want to know.”

Darla glanced up, her eyes concerned. “Did your grandmother take a turn?”

It was one of the reasons that Sophie liked Darla. She was a nice person who really cared. And she seemed fairly normal, which made her the odd Albright. With the exception of Darla, Ted’s family was… just plain off.

There was Ted himself with his bizarro-world approach to running a history museum and his son, who Sophie always thought of as Theo Four. Theo was nineteen, a sulky, angry boy who played hooky more than he showed up. That wouldn’t have been such an issue, but Theo’s new job was to run the Knight tour and when he played hooky, the responsibility fell to Sophie who was the only other one big enough to fit the suit. Darla was barely five-two and the Albrights’ daughter, Patty Ann, even smaller.

Patty emerged from the ladies’ room, wearing a very conservative blue suit, and Sophie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Patty Ann looks nice today. How come?”

Darla smiled without looking up. “I’m just glad it’s not Wednesday.”

Wednesday was Patty Ann’s goth day. Any other day you never knew how she’d show up for work. A struggling actress, Patty Ann hadn’t yet found her persona, so she imitated everyone else’s. Usually not well.

Sophie questioned the wisdom of assigning her to the reception desk and wondered how many visitors took one look at Patty Ann and went on to the Franklin Institute or some other real museum, especially on Wednesdays. But Sophie kept her mouth shut because as much as she hated doing the tours, she hated the thought of cheerily greeting visitors even more. I miss my pile of rocks.

Darla looked up, reluctantly. “Theo’s got a cold.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “And we have a knight tour scheduled. That’s just great. Dammit, Darla… I’m sorry. I really wanted to do some real work today.”

Darla looked distressed. “The tours will bring in a lot of money, Sophie.”

“I know.” And she wondered if she was whoring herself for that money, participating in an enterprise that cheapened history. But as long as Anna was alive, she needed the money. Sophie hoped she needed the money for a long time. “So what time am I on?”

“The knight tour is at twelve-thirty, Viking at three.”

Oh joy, oh rapture. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

Monday, January 15, 8:45

A.M.

“You got lucky, boys,” Katherine said as she pulled the Knight’s body from cold storage. “This guy has a tattoo. May make identifying him a little easier.” She pulled the sheet away, revealing the man’s shoulder. “Can you guess what it is?”

Vito crouched down and stared at the tattoo through narrowed eyes. “It’s a man.”

“Not just any man. If you look at him as closely as you watched Sophie yesterday, you’ll figure it out.”

Vito’s cheeks heated. He hadn’t realized his scrutiny of Sophie Johannsen had been so obvious. Feeling squirmy, he turned back to the victim’s shoulder, but not before he caught Nick’s look of amusement. It wouldn’t have been so bad had Sophie not turned him down cold. It still stung. “It’s a yellow man,” Vito said flatly.

Nick looked over Vito’s shoulder. “It’s Oscar. You know, the movie award statue.”

Vito squinted. “Not a particularly good rendition, but it could be.” Straightening, he looked at Nick. “Maybe our Knight’s an actor?”

Nick shrugged. “It’s a place to start. It’ll narrow down the missing persons reports.”

Vito took his notebook from his pocket. “Cause of death was the hole in his gut?”

“That seems likely. I’ll start the autopsies today. So far I’ve only done external exams on the three victims from yesterday.” She looked back at the Knight and sighed. “But this one suffered, I can tell that right now.”

“Being disemboweled has got to hurt a little,” Nick said sarcastically.

“I can only hope he was dead at least for part of it, but I don’t think he was. I’m fairly certain he was alive when every major bone in his body was dislocated.”

Vito and Nick flinched. “My God,” Vito murmured. “How would…? He’s a big guy.”

“Six feet three, two hundred twenty-five,” Katherine confirmed. “And he fought hard. There are deep abrasions on his wrists and ankles where he was tied with rope. And yeah, I sent a sample of the rope fiber to the lab, but that’s a long shot, kids. Other than the dislocations and an empty abdominal cavity, he appears to have been in good shape.” She held up a hand. “And yes, I’ve already started a urine tox. I can’t see how he could have been overpowered without being drugged. I don’t see any head trauma.”

Nick blew out a breath. “Anything on the woman?”

“Official cause of death is a broken neck.” She pulled out another drawer, their female victim, the sheet forming a tent over her folded hands.

“You need to see her back.” Katherine lifted the sheet and carefully pushed the woman’s hip so that the back of her thigh was visible. “A pattern of contusions, regularly spaced and very deep.” She looked up, her face grim. “I’m thinking nails.”

Vito’s eyes were already beginning to water. Blinking, he focused on the pattern on the woman’s skin. Each hole was round and small. “Is it only on her legs?”

“No.” Katherine slid the drawer back into the wall. “It’s deepest on the backs of her thighs, but the same pattern is visible on her back, calves and the backs of her arms. From the depth of the thigh punctures, I’d say she was sitting up, all of her body weight driving her down onto the nails.”

Nick’s expression became strangely strained. “A chair of nails?”

“Or something like that. Her gluteus was severely burned. No skin remains.” Katherine cocked her jaw, anger in her eyes. “And she was alive the whole time.”

Vito’s stomach churned as the extent of this killer’s cruelty became clearer. “We’re dealing with a creative sadist here. I mean, how the hell would anybody even conceive of a chair of nails?”

Nick sat down at Katherine’s computer. “Come here, Chick. Look at this.”

Vito frowned at the screen. It was the chair he’d envisioned, covered in spikes. Restraints were attached to the chair’s arms and front legs. “What the hell is that?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night-kept thinking about the way he’d posed their hands. So I got up and Googled medieval effigies. Sophie was right, by the way. The poses of our victims are exactly like the tomb effigies I found online.”

Vito didn’t want to think about Sophie right now. He’d done enough of that during the night while he tossed and turned. “That’s nice,” he scowled, focusing on the screen. “But what about the chair? Please don’t tell me this is available on eBay.”

Nick looked back at the screen, troubled. “It might be. But this site belongs to a museum in Europe that specializes in medieval torture.”

“A torture museum?” It was real, then. That chair existed in a museum. One also existed right here in Philly. “I can’t begin to imagine how she suffered. How both of them suffered. And we haven’t even started on the others.” He pressed his fingers into the back of his skull, a headache forming there. “How did you find this site?”

“I thought about what Sophie said about disembowelment being used as torture during medieval times. I Googled ‘medieval torture’ and this is one of the top results. This chair has over thirteen hundred spikes.”

“That would induce the pattern of injury on the victim,” Katherine agreed tightly.

Vito ran a hand through his hair. “So we have poses like statues on medieval crypts, a chair of spikes, a disembowelment and, what, a stretching on a… rack? This is not normal, people.”

“A killer with a theme,” Nick mused. “Except for the body that’s on its way in. It didn’t appear to have anything funky like this.”

Katherine stepped back from the computer. “I thought I’d seen everything on this job, but I keep being proved wrong.” She squared her shoulders. “I do have two other things so far.” She handed Vito a glass jar containing small white crumbs. “I scraped it from the wire on the male victim’s hands. I found what looks like the same substance on the female victim’s wires.”

Vito held it up to the light, then passed the jar to Nick. “Best guess?”

Katherine frowned. “I sent a sample to the lab, but it looks like something in the silicone family. I’ll let you know when I get the results.”

“What’s the second thing you have for us?” Nick asked.

“All three of these victims were washed thoroughly. Blood should have been caked all over the three of them, but there was none. That tells me that originally the two posed victims had a lot more of whatever’s in that jar all over them.”

“We’ll try Missing Persons to match the Knight’s tat,” Vito said. “Thanks, Katherine.”

“Then let’s call Sophie,” Nick said when they were out in the hall. “I want to follow up on those torture devices. If that’s what he used, he had to get them somewhere and maybe she can give us an idea of where to start looking. We should have gotten her number from Katherine.”

It was a good idea, Vito had to admit. She’d been right about the posed hands. She obviously knew her stuff. And it might give him a chance to find out what he’d done to earn that flash of fury he’d seen in her eyes just before she’d ridden away. More than that, he just wanted to see her again. “She works at the Albright Museum. We can go when we’re done at Missing Persons.”

Dutton, Georgia, Monday, January 15, 10:10

A.M.

“Thanks for coming down,” Daniel said. “Especially on your day off.”

Luke’s eyes were glued to Daniel’s father’s computer screen. “Anything for a pal.”

“And the fact that there’s a lake down the road with prize bass didn’t hurt,” Daniel said dryly and Luke just grinned. “Did you find anything?”

Luke shrugged. “Depends. Before mid-November, there are no e-mails.”

“What do mean, none? You mean they never existed or they were erased?”

“Erased. Now, since November we’ve got e-mails. Acknowledgments for electronic bill pays, mostly. Aside from the usual spam, most of your dad’s legit e-mails have been replies to a guy named Carl Sargent.”

“Sargent runs the union at the paper mill that employs half the town. Dad met with him before he went away. Yesterday I found out Dad was going to run for Congress.”

Luke read the remaining e-mails. “Sargent keeps asking your father to make his candidacy public, and your father keeps putting him off. This one says he’s tied up. This one says he’ll schedule a press conference when he finishes some urgent business.”

“With my mother,” Daniel murmured. “She has cancer.”

Luke winced. “I’m sorry to hear that, Daniel.”

Once again he was gripped by the need to see her just once more. “Thanks. Do you see any kind of itinerary? Anything that would give me an idea of where they might be?”

“No.” Luke tapped at the keyboard and brought up the online banking screen. “When you find your father, tell him not to save his passwords in a Word file on his hard drive. It’s like leaving your front door key on a silver platter for the thieves.”

“Like I could tell him anything,” Daniel muttered. Luke’s mouth quirked in sympathy.

“My old man’s the same. Doesn’t look like your dad made any major cash withdrawals, not in the last ninety days. That’s all the records they keep online.”

“What I don’t understand is why he’s doing his e-mail and banking remotely. If he has access to a computer wherever he is, why not just do it from there?”

“Maybe he wanted to access documents on his hard drive from the road.” Luke continued to tap keys. “That’s interesting.”

“What?”

“His Internet history’s been wiped.”

“Completely wiped?”

“No. But it’s pretty sophisticated.” He typed for another minute. “This is a surprisingly good wipe. Most computer techs wouldn’t know how to get past this.” He looked up, his eyes serious. “Danny, somebody’s been in your dad’s system.”

A new wave of uneasiness rippled through him. “Maybe, maybe not. My dad’s a computer person from way back. He was also super-paranoid about security. I can see him being worried about leaving a trail.”

Luke frowned. “If he was so concerned with security, he wouldn’t have left his passwords on his hard drive. Besides, I thought your dad was a judge.”

“He was. Electronics is his hobby-ham radios, remote-controlled rockets, but especially computers. He’d take them apart, build his own upgrades. If anyone would know how to keep his system clean, it would be my father.”

Luke turned back to the screen. “Funny how some things get passed on and others don’t. You don’t have a computer bone in your body.”

“No, I don’t,” Daniel murmured. All that expertise had been diverted to another branch of the family tree. But it was unpleasant to remember, so he briskly closed the door on that dark corner of his memory. “So can you get through the wipe?”

Luke looked offended. “Of course. This is interesting. With all those travel brochures, I expected a few travel websites, but there’s nothing like that in his cache.”

“What sites did he go to?”

“The weather forecast for Philadelphia two weeks before Thanksgiving. And… a search for oncologists in the Philadelphia area. Was Philly one of the brochures?”

Daniel leaned in for a closer look at the screen. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Well, that’s where I’d start if I were you. Looks like they wanted to be prepared in case your mother needed a doctor.” He bent his mouth in sympathy. “I’ve got a meeting with a lake and a bass. You want to come?”

“No, but thanks. I think I’m going to look around here a little more. Check out this Philly angle. Thanks for your help, Luke.”

“Any time. Good luck, buddy.”

Philadelphia, Monday, January 15, 10:15

A.M.

“Oh dear God.” Marilyn Keyes lowered herself to the edge of a faded paisley sofa, every ounce of color drained from her face. “Oh, Warren.” Pressing one arm to her stomach, she raised a shaking hand to her mouth and rocked herself.

“Then this is your son, ma’am?” Vito asked gently. They’d gotten a hit from the Missing Persons file right away. Their knight was Warren Keyes, age twenty-one. He’d been reported missing by his parents and his fiancée, Sherry, eight days before.

“Yes.” She nodded, her breath shallow. “That’s Warren. That’s my son.”

Nick sat next to her. “Is there someone we can call for you, Mrs. Keyes?”

“My husband.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “There’s a book… in my purse.” She pointed to the dining room table and Nick went to make the call.

Vito took Nick’s place on the sofa. “Mrs. Keyes, I’m so sorry, but we need to ask you some questions. Do you need a glass of water or something?”

She drew a deep breath. “No. But thank you. Before you ask, Warren has had a drug problem in the past. But he’d been clean and sober for almost two years.”

Vito pulled his notebook from his pocket. It wasn’t the question he’d planned to ask, but he’d learned long ago when to go with the flow. “What kind of drugs, Mrs. Keyes?”

“Cocaine and alcohol mostly. He… fell in with some bad kids in high school. Started using. But he got clean and since he met Sherry, he’s changed.”

“Mrs. Keyes, what did Warren do for a living?”

“He’s an actor.” She swallowed. “Was an actor.”

“A lot of actors have second jobs. Did Warren?”

“He waited tables at a bar in Center City. Sometimes he modeled. I can get you his portfolio, if that would help.”

“It might.” He gently caught her arm when she started to rise. “I have a few more questions. Where did Warren live?”

“Here. He and Sherry…” Vito sat quietly as she dropped her face into her hands and wept. “Who would do this?” she demanded brokenly, her words muffled by her hands. “Who would kill my son?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, ma’am,” Vito said, still gently. Nick came in from the kitchen, a box of tissues in one hand, a framed photo in the other.

“Mr. Keyes is on his way,” he murmured.

Vito pressed a tissue in the woman’s hand. “Mrs. Keyes? He and Sherry what?”

She wiped her eyes. “They were saving up to get married. She’s a nice girl.”

“Did you get the idea that Warren was worried or afraid of anyone?” Nick asked.

“He was worried about money. He hadn’t had any acting jobs in a long time.” Her lips bent into a painful smile. “His agent told him if he moved to New York, he could find lots of work, but Sherry’s family is here. She wouldn’t leave and he wouldn’t leave her.”

Nick turned the photo so that it faced Mrs. Keyes. “This is Warren with Sherry?”

New tears flooded her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “At their engagement party.”

Vito put his notebook back in his pocket. “We need to go through his room,” Vito said. “And we’ll bring in a fingerprinting unit.”

She nodded dully. “Of course. Anything you need to do.”

He stood, aware that he had no words that would bring her comfort. Before Andrea, he’d have asked if she was all right. But this grieving mother was not all right. She was in pain and would be for some time. When he got to the end of the hall, he looked back. Bowed forward, she clutched the photo of her son to her breast, rocking as she wept.

“Chick,” Nick said softly. “Come on.”

Vito exhaled. “I know.” He opened the door to Warren’s room. “Let’s get to work.”

They began going through Warren’s things. “Sports equipment,” Nick said from the closet. “Hockey, baseball.” There was a clunk of metal. “Lifted some serious weights.”

Vito found Warren’s portfolio. “Handsome guy.” He flipped through the pages of photographs and magazine clippings. “Looks like he mostly did magazine ads. I’ve seen this one. It’s for a local gym. Keyes was a big, strong guy. I can’t imagine he would have been easily overpowered.”

“Chick, look.” Nick had powered up Warren’s computer. “Come and look at this.”

Vito stood behind him, staring at the blank screen. “What? I don’t see anything.”

“That’s the point. There’s nothing here. When I open his ‘My Documents,’ nothing. Nothing in his e-mail. Nothing in the recycle bin.” Nick looked up over his shoulder, his brows lifted. “This computer has been wiped clean.”

Monday, January 15, 12:25

P.M.

“You sure Sophie works here?” Nick asked, frowning. He stood next to the front desk of the museum, looking around impatiently. “I don’t think anybody works here.”

Vito nodded, his attention on the photographs of the museum’s founder on the wall of the lobby. “Yes, she works here. Her bike was parked at the end of the parking lot.”

“That was Sophie’s?”

Vito was a little annoyed at the sudden interest on Nick’s face. “Yeah. So?”

“Just that it’s just a nice bike, Chick.” Nick’s lips twitched. “Easy, boy.”

Vito rolled his eyes, but the ringing of his cell saved him from having to reply.

Nick sobered. “Is that Sherry?” They’d been unsuccessful in contacting Warren Keyes’s fiancée after leaving his parents’ apartment. She wasn’t at her own apartment nor was she due to show up at the factory where she worked until seven.

Vito checked the caller ID and his pulse kicked up a notch. “No, it’s my dad.” He flipped open his phone, praying for good news. “Dad. How’s Molly?”

“Stable. She’s got some strength back in her legs and her tremors are less frequent. The doctor’s trying to figure out what triggered this attack.”

Vito frowned. “I thought he said she had a mini-stroke.”

“He’s changed his mind. They found high levels of mercury in her system.”

“Mercury?” Vito was sure he’d heard wrong. “How did she get exposed to mercury?”

“They don’t know. They’re thinking she was exposed to something in the house.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What about the kids?”

“They didn’t have any symptoms. But he wanted them all to come in for testing, so your mother and Tino brought them in. They were pretty scared, especially Pierce.”

Vito’s heart squeezed. “Poor little guy. How long before we know if they’re okay?”

“By tomorrow morning. But the doctor doesn’t want any of the boys to go home until they know for sure where Molly got exposed. Dino wanted me to ask you if-”

“For God’s sake, Dad,” Vito interrupted. “You know the kids can stay with me as long as they need to.”

“Well, I told him that, but Molly was worried they were causing you trouble.”

“Tell her they’re fine. Last night they made cake and played war in my living room.“

“Tess is coming to help you and Tino take care of them,” his father said and Vito felt a spurt of joy, despite his worry. He hadn’t seen his sister in months. “That way your mother and I can be here for Dino. Tess’s flight gets in at seven. She’s renting a car so she can get around while she’s here, so you don’t need to get her at the airport.”

“Is there anything else we can do?”

“No.” Michael Ciccotelli drew a deep breath. “Except pray, son.”

It had been a long time since he’d done so, but it would hurt his dad to know it. So Vito lied. “You know I will.” He slipped his phone back in his pocket.

“Will Molly be okay?” Nick asked quietly.

“Don’t know. My dad says to pray. In my experience that’s never good.”

“Well, if you need to go… just go, okay?”

“I will. Look.” Grateful for the diversion of work, Vito pointed to the back wall, where a tall door was opening. A woman appeared and walked toward them. She was petite, in her mid-thirties, and wore a sensible blue suit with a skirt that stopped at her knees. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat twist, making her look professional and… boring, Vito realized. She could use some big hoop earrings and a red bandana. She moved behind the desk, obviously sizing them up.

“Can I help you two gentlemen?” she asked, her accent crisp and British.

Vito showed his badge. “I’m Detective Ciccotelli and this is my partner, Detective Lawrence. We’re here to see Dr. Johannsen.”

The woman’s eyes took on a speculative light. “Has she done something wrong?”

Nick shook his head. “No. May we see her?”

“Now?”

Vito bit his tongue. “Now would be good.” He looked at her nametag. “Miss Albright.” Up close Vito realized she was much younger than he’d thought, probably in her early twenties. Apparently his age-guesser needed a tune-up.

The woman pursed her lips. “She’s giving a tour right now. If you’ll come this way.”

She led them through the tall door into a large room where a small crowd of five or six families had gathered. The walls themselves were dark wood, one covered with a faded tapestry. From the other wall hung large banners. The far wall was the most impressive, however, covered with crisscrossing swords. Below the swords stood three suits of armor, completing a grand effect.

“Sweet,” Vito murmured. “My nephews would love this.” It would certainly keep their minds off Molly. He decided to bring them here as soon as he could.

“Look.” Nick surreptitiously pointed to a fourth suit of armor, standing toward the right side of the hall. A sour-faced boy about Dante’s age stood a foot from the armor, loudly complaining about the wait. He stomped his foot and sneered.

“This is so boring. Crummy suit of armor. I’ve seen better in a junkyard.” He started to kick at the armor when it abruptly bent at the waist in a clatter of metal. Visibly frightened, the boy scrambled back, his eyes wide and his face pale. The crowd went silent and Nick chuckled softly. “I saw it move a second ago. Served the brat right.”

Vito was about to agree when a booming voice thundered from inside the armor. It took him a second to realize the knight was speaking French, but it didn’t take a linguist to understand the meaning. The knight was royally pissed.

The boy shook his head in fear and took two steps back. The knight drew his sword with dramatic flair and matched the kid step for step. He repeated the question more loudly and Vito realized it was the voice of a woman, not a man. A smile tugged at his mouth. “That’s Sophie in there. She said they made her dress up.”

Nick was grinning. “My high school French is rusty, but I think she basically said ‘What is your name, you bad little boy?’”

The boy opened his mouth but no sound emerged.

From a side door a man appeared. The size of a linebacker, he wore a dark blue suit and tie. He was shaking his head. “Whoa, whoa. What seems to be the problem?”

The figure in the armor regally pointed to the boy and uttered something scathing.

The man looked down at the kid. “She says you’re rude and you’re trespassing.”

The kid’s face heated in embarrassment as the other children laughed.

The man shook his head. “Joan, Joan. How many times have I asked you not to scare the children? She’s sorry,” he said to the kid.

The knight shook her head emphatically. “Non.”

The children’s laughter grew louder and all the adults were smiling. The man sighed dramatically. “Yes, you are. Let’s just get on with the tour. S’il vous plaît.”

The knight handed the man her sword and lifted the helm from her head, revealing Sophie with her long hair braided in a golden crown around her head. She stuck the helm under one arm and lifted the other to gesture to the walls.

“Bienvenue au musée d’Albright de l’histoire. Je m’appelle Jeanne d’Arc.”

“Joan,” the man interrupted. “They don’t speak French.”

She blinked and stared down at the children who now stared up, mesmerized. Even the rude boy was listening. “Non?” she asked, disbelieving.

“No,” the man said and she rattled off another question.

“She wants to know what language you speak,” he told them. “Who can tell her?”

A little girl of about five with golden curls raised her hand and Vito saw Sophie’s jaw tighten, so very slightly that he might have missed it had he not been watching. But she quickly smoothed her expression as the child spoke. “English. We speak English.”

Sophie grew comically horrified. This was part of her act, but he was certain her expression a moment ago was not and found his curiosity aroused once again. Along with the rest of him. He hadn’t realized a woman with a sword would be such a turn on.

“Anglais?” Sophie demanded and grabbed her sword in a pretend rage. The little girl’s eyes went even wider and the man sighed again.

“Joan, we’ve been over this before. Don’t frighten the guests. When American children come in, you speak English. And no insults this time, please. Just behave.”

Sophie sighed. “The things I must do,” she said, her words heavily accented. “But… it is a living. Even I, Joan of Arc, must pay my bills.” She looked at the parents. “You understand bills, do you not? There is the rent and the food.” She shrugged. “And the cable TV. Essentials of life, non?”

The parents were nodding and smiling, and once again Vito found himself intrigued.

She looked down at the children. “It’s just that, well, you see, we are at war with the English. You understand this word war, do you not, petits enfants?”

The children nodded. “Why are you at war, Miss Of Arc?” one of the fathers asked.

She shot the father a charming smile. “S’il vous plaît, call me Joan,” she said. “Well, it is like this-” It was at that moment she saw Vito and Nick standing off to the side. The smile stayed pasted to her mouth but disappeared from her eyes and Vito felt the frost from half a room away. She looked to the man in the suit and tie. “Monsieur Albright, we have visitors. Can you help them?”

“What the hell did you do to her, Chick?” Nick muttered.

“I have no idea.” He followed her with his eyes as she rounded the children up and led them to the wall with the banners, starting her tour. “But I plan to find out.”

The man in the suit approached, smiling. “I’m Ted Albright. How can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Lawrence and this is Detective Ciccotelli. We’d like to talk to Dr. Johannsen as soon as it’s possible. When will her tour be completed?”

Albright looked worried. “Is there some kind of trouble?”

“No,” Nick assured him. “Nothing like that at all. We’re working a case and have some questions for her. History-type questions,” he added.

“Oh.” Albright perked up. “I can answer them.”

Vito remembered Sophie saying that Albright just played at historian. “We appreciate it,” he said, “but we’d really prefer to speak with Dr. Johannsen. If the tour will be more than fifteen minutes, we can go have our lunch and come back.”

Albright glanced over to where Sophie was now telling the children about the swords mounted on the wall. “A tour runs an hour. She should be free after that.”

Nick slipped his shield back in his pocket. “Then we’ll be back. Thank you.”