Die for Me

Chapter Sixteen

Wednesday, January 17, 5:20

P.M.

Sophie was breathing hard as she rushed into the library. Vito was across the lobby, talking with a woman in a dark sweater. He looked up and smiled and her heart shot off like a rocket. She managed to cross the lobby with some decorum, when she really wanted to launch herself into his arms and take up where they’d left off that morning.

From the flash of his dark eyes, he was thinking the same thing. “So, what’s the big mystery?” she asked with what she hoped wasn’t the dazzled smile of a teenaged fan-girl.

“I need you to translate for me. Sophie, this is Barbara Mulrine, the librarian here.”

She nodded to the woman. “It’s nice to meet you. What do you need translated?”

Barbara pointed to an old man washing windows. “Him. His name is Yuri Chertov.”

“He’s a witness,” Vito said. “Make sure he knows he’s not in trouble.”

“Okay.” She approached the old man, noticing his hands right away. Oh, no. Still she kept her smile respectful as she switched her brain to Russian. “Hello. I’m Sophie Alexandrovna Johannsen. How are you?”

He looked to Barbara who gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s all right,” she said.

“Do you have an office with a homey sofa or someplace that at least doesn’t look like an interrogation room?” Sophie asked the librarian.

“Marcy, mind the desk for a while. This way.” She led them to the back.

When the four of them were in Barbara’s office, Sophie switched back to Russian. “Let’s sit down,” she said. “I don’t know about you, but I have had a long day.”

“As have I. This is my second job. When I have finished here, I will go to a third.”

His Russian was of the higher class. This man was very educated. Sophie could only guess at the path that had brought him to work three menial jobs. “You work hard,” she said, choosing her dialect more carefully. “But hard work is good for the soul.”

“Very good for the soul, Sophie Alexandrovna. I am Yuri Petrovich Chertov. Tell your detective to ask his questions. I will answer to the best of my ability.”

“Ask him if he knew Claire Reynolds,” Vito said when she told him to begin.

The man nodded, his eyes darkening. “Claire was not a good person.”

Sophie relayed it and Vito nodded. “Ask him why not?”

Yuri frowned. “She treated Barbara with disrespect.”

“And you as well, Yuri Petrovich?” Sophie asked him, and his eyes darkened more.

“Yes, but I was not her employer. Barbara is a kind person, very loyal. Claire often took advantage of Barbara’s trust. I once saw her take money from Barbara’s purse. When Claire saw that I’d seen, she threatened to turn me in to the police for the theft.”

As Sophie translated, Barbara’s mouth fell open. “How did she know how to threaten you, and why were you afraid?” Vito asked. “Barbara says you’re here legally.”

Sophie translated Vito’s question, but the librarian’s shock needed none. Yuri looked down at his hands. “Claire had her computer with her and used one of the translation websites to translate her threat. It was a very rough translation, but still I understood. As for fear of the police…” He shrugged. “I take no chances.” He looked at Barbara sadly when Sophie had finished. “I am sorry, Miss Barbara,” he said in English.

Barbara smiled. “It’s all right. It can’t have been much money. I didn’t miss it.”

“Because I replaced it,” Yuri said when Sophie told him what she’d said.

Barbara’s eyes grew moist. “Oh, Yuri. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Vito looked touched as well. “Ask him about the man he spoke with.”

Sophie did. “He was about my age,” Yuri answered. “I am fifty-two.”

Sophie’s eyes widened before she could stop herself. Fifty-two. He looked as old as Anna, who was almost eighty. Sophie’s cheeks heated when his brows lifted. She dropped her eyes. “I am very sorry, Yuri Petrovich. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It is all right. I know I look much older. This man you seek was nearly two meters tall, perhaps one hundred kilos. Thick gray hair that waved. He had robust health.”

Sophie looked at Vito. “About six-four, two-twenty, mid-fifties. Thick gray wavy hair. And… healthy.” She turned back to Yuri, curious. “Why did you notice his health?”

“Because his wife looked ill. Near unto death.”

Vito’s eyes flashed as she relayed that information. He drew two sketches from his folder. Sophie remembered Vito saying his brother Tino had sketched some of the victims’ faces. Sophie knew she was looking at two of the nine victims right now. “Are these the people he saw?” Vito asked.

Yuri awkwardly took the sketches in his gnarled hands. “Yes. Her hair was different. Longer and darker, but the faces are very similar.”

“Ask him when they came in, what they said, and if they gave him their names.”

“They were here before Thanksgiving,” Yuri said when she translated. His smile was wry. “They said quite a lot, but I understood very little. The man did all the talking. The woman sat. He asked about Claire Reynolds. Had I seen her? Did I know her? He had an accent. How do you say…” He said a word Sophie didn’t know.

“Wait.” She pulled her Russian dictionary from her backpack. She found the word, then looked back up at Yuri, puzzled. “He had a dangerous accent?”

“Not dangerous.” Yuri blew a frustrated breath. “He said Yawl. Like… Daisy Duke.”

Sophie blinked, then laughed. “Hazardous. Oh, like the Dukes of Hazzard.”

Yuri nodded, a gleam in his eye. “I saw the movie. You’re far prettier than that Jessica Simpson.”

Sophie smiled. “You’re very kind.” She looked up at Vito. “They were southerners.”

“Did they give their name?”

Yuri frowned. “Yes. It was like D’Artagnan from The Three Musketeers, but with a V. He said his name was Arthur Vartanian, from Georgia. I remembered that clearly because I am also from Georgia.” He lifted an ironic brow. “Small world, is it not?”

One corner of Vito’s mouth lifted as he wrote down the man’s name and the state of Georgia. Yuri’s Georgia was, of course, half a world away, both geographically and philosophically. “A very small world indeed,” she said to Yuri. “Please, pardon my rudeness, but would you tell me what you did in Georgia?”

“I was a surgeon by profession. But in my heart I was a patriot, and for this I spent twenty years in Novosibirsk. When I was released I came to America, with the help of sponsors like Barbara.” He lifted his broken hands. “I paid a high price for my freedom.”

Sophie’s throat closed and she found she had no words. Novosibirsk was the site of several Siberian prisons. She couldn’t imagine what he’d endured.

He saw her distress and awkwardly patted her knee. “And what do you do, Sophie Alexandrovna, that you have such an expert command of my language?”

I’m an archeologist, a linguist, a historian. But what came out was none of those things, because in her mind she suddenly saw the rapt faces of the children as she’d taught them medieval history through Ted’s tours. This man’s history was every bit as relevant. No, she thought looking at his hands. More.

“I work in a museum. It’s small, but we get good attendance. We try to bring history to life. Would you come and talk to people about your experiences?”

He smiled at her. “I would like that. Now, your detective looks eager to leave.”

Sophie kissed both his cheeks. “Stay well, Yuri Petrovich.”

Vito shook Yuri’s hand, gently. “Thank you.”

“The two people,” Yuri said in English, pointing to Vito’s folder. “They are not well?”

Vito shook his head. “No, sir. They’re not well at all.”

Wednesday, January 17, 6:25

P.M.

Vito waited as Sophie parked her grandmother’s car in the precinct lot. When she got out, he slipped a hand through her hair and kissed her the way he’d been wanting to since she’d crossed the library lobby. When he lifted his head, she sighed.

“I was afraid I’d imagined this.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “You.”

They stole a few moments to just look at each other, then Vito forced himself to step away. “Thank you. You saved me hours waiting for a translator.” He took her hand and led her toward the precinct entrance.

“It was my pleasure. Yuri Petrovich said he would come and talk at my museum.”

Vito looked down at her, surprised. “I thought it was Albright’s museum and you were just biding your time till you could leave,” he said, and her lips curved.

“Things change. You know, Vito, interpreters get paid good wages. Overtime even.”

“I’ll try to find some money in the budget.” If I can’t, I’ll pay her myself.

She frowned at him as they walked. “I said helping you was my pleasure.” Her brows winged up. “I was hoping my payment would also be.”

Vito chuckled. “I’m sure I can think of something. So tell me about your day, Sophie Alexandrovna. Any more nasty gifts from Brewster’s wife?”

“No.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “It was actually a very nice day.”

“So tell me.” She did, and her stories of her tours had him chuckling again as the elevator opened to his floor. “Hey,” Vito said to Nick as he and Sophie came into the bullpen. “We hit the jackpot with the library. We were able to get an ID on the old couple.”

“Good,” Nick said, but there was no energy in his voice. “Hey, Sophie.”

“Hello, Nick,” she said warily. “Good to see you again.”

Nick tried to smile. “I see you’re official this time. The badge,” he added.

Sophie looked at the temporary badge they’d issued her at the downstairs desk. “Yeah, now I’m part of the club. I get to know the password and the secret handshake.”

“That’s good,” Nick said quietly and Vito frowned.

“Please don’t tell me there’s another body. That would totally ruin my day.”

“No, not that we know of anyway. It’s that answering machine tape, Chick. It’s bad.”

“Bad like you can’t hear it?”

“No. Bad like you can,” Nick answered heavily. “You’ll hear it soon enough.” He sat up, forced a smile. “So, don’t keep me in suspense. Who are two-one and two-two?”

Vito had been on the phone with Records as he drove back from the library. “Arthur and Carol Vartanian, from Dutton, Georgia. And get this-he’s a retired judge.”

Nick blinked. “Whoa.”

“Sit,” Vito said to Sophie, pulling out his desk chair for her. “I’ll see if we have that photo of the brand on the victim’s cheek. Then you can go to your grandmother.”

She caught the sleeve of Vito’s coat as he pulled away. “And then?”

Nick perked up, genuinely. “And then?” he repeated cagily.

Vito smiled down at Sophie and totally ignored Nick. “Depends on how late I get out of here. I still want to meet your grandmother if I can.”

“Meeting the grandmother,” Nick said. “Does that have some double meaning?”

Sophie laughed. “You sound like my uncle Harry.”

Liz came out of her office. “You’re back. And you must be Dr. Johannsen.” She shook Sophie’s hand firmly. “We’re very grateful for all you’ve done.”

“Please call me Sophie. I was glad to help.”

“Did you get the photo of the victim’s cheek, Liz?”

“No, Katherine said she’d bring it to the meeting. They’re all waiting for us in the conference room, so let’s go. Sophie, can you wait for us in the cafeteria? It’s on the second floor. Hopefully Vito can keep this meeting short. My sitter’s on overtime.”

“Sure. I have my cell, Vito. Call me when you’re ready to show me the pictures.”

Sophie went down the elevator and Liz glanced up at Vito with what might have been a smirk. “You never said she was so young.”

“And pretty,” Nick teased in a singsong.

Vito wanted to scowl, but found he could only grin. “Yeah, she is, isn’t she?”

White Plains, New York, Wednesday, January 17, 6:30

P.M.

It had been a gratifying day. Perhaps he’d had a rocky start, but the end was looking quite fine. He’d started the day with loose ends. As of this moment, he’d snipped all but one. Only one person could keep a secret, a truth his antique dealer had illustrated with dazzling clarity that morning. He didn’t regret utilizing the dealer’s services. After all, one couldn’t just walk into Wal-Mart and buy an authentic broadsword, circa 1422. Special purchases required special connections. Unfortunately his dealer had a supply chain, which increased his exposure considerably.

And since only one man could keep a secret, the whole chain had to go. They’d gone nicely and without much fuss. Now, should the police continue asking about chairs with lots of spikes, they would find no answers. His dealer had been silenced.

“How are you doing back there, Derek?” he called to the back of his van, but there was no reply. If Harrington was awake, it would be a miracle. In hindsight he probably should have cut Derek’s dose. He’d given him the same amount he’d given Warren and Bill and Gregory, and they’d all been twice Derek’s size. He did hope Derek wasn’t dead. He had plans for him.

Just as he had for Dr. Johannsen. He definitely didn’t want to kill her, at least not at the outset. She’d die, but at a time and method of his choosing. She was big enough that he didn’t need to worry about the dose. By midnight he’d have all his loose ends snipped, his queen secured, so that he could focus on what was important.

Finishing the game. Making oRo, and by extension himself, a household name. His dreams were finally within his grasp.

Wednesday, January 17, 6:45

P.M.

“Sorry, everyone,” Vito said, closing the door behind them. They were all there, Jen, Scarborough, Katherine, Tim, and Bev. Brent Yelton from IT had also joined them, which Vito hoped meant good news. “Thanks for waiting.”

Jen looked up from her laptop. “Did you get an ID for the couple?”

“Yeah, finally.” Vito went to the whiteboard and wrote their names in the first two blocks of the second row on the grave diagram. “Arthur Vartanian and his wife, Carol. Ages fifty-six and fifty-two. Come from a small town in Georgia called Dutton.”

“And he’s a freakin’ judge,” Nick added, slumping into the chair beside Jen.

“Interesting,” Scarborough said. “Arthur Vartanian was the one murder of passion. Maybe he sentenced the killer to prison.”

“But why did he kill them here and not in Dutton, Georgia?” Katherine asked. “And why leave those two empty graves?”

Vito sighed. “We’ll add those questions to the list. Let’s cover the tape first.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Scarborough said. “Nick wanted me to hear it.”

Nick handed Jen a CD and she put it in her laptop, positioning the small speakers she’d connected and turning the laptop to Nick. “I’ve listened to this four or five times already,” Nick said. “There are periods of dead tape, so we’ll fast-forward through those. Electronics cleaned it up as best they could. Part of the static is that it’s a cell phone. The other part is that the phone is covered, probably in a pocket or something.”

“We checked Jill Ellis’s LUDs.” Jen said. “She made a call to Greg’s cell phone at 3:30 yesterday afternoon. She received this call at 4:25.”

Nick hit play and the CD began with a ragged moan that made everyone flinch.

“Scream all you want. No one can hear you. No one will save you. I’ve killed them all.” It went on, the killer promising to make Greg suffer and Greg pleading pitifully. “It’s time for your ride in my time machine. Now you’ll see what happens to thieves.”

Nick fast-forwarded. “He drags him for a minute, then there’s a bang, like a door being opened too hard. And then this.” He hit play and they heard squeaking that echoed softly. “There’s about five minutes of dead space. And then…” He hit play.

There was a scraping sound, then the killer’s voice. “Welcome to my dungeon, Mr. Sanders. You will not enjoy your stay.”

Another thud, then the volume dropped. “We think he took off Greg’s coat and dropped it next to him. Greg’s cell phone’s still connected, but it gets hard to hear in some places.” Nick’s jaw tightened. “In others it’s way too loud.”

“You are a thief and… subject to penalties… law.” More dragging and crashing and fevered pleas from Greg Sanders that nauseated Vito. Then more squeaking.

“He’s rolling something,” Nick said, then closed his eyes tight, waiting.

The scream left sweat beading on Vito’s forehead. “What the hell was that?”

“Don’t worry,” Nick said grimly. “You’ll get to hear it again.”

And they did, as Greg Sanders screamed again. “You bastard. You fucking bastard. Oh, God.” A big crash, then Greg’s screams became moans.

“See what you’ve made me do. What a mess. Sit up. Sit up.” There was scraping and more dragging and the labored breathing of exertion. “Now we can proceed.”

“You… you bastard.” It was Greg’s voice, very faint. “My hand… My…” A broken sob of anguish.

“And… foot. See, you… common thief… stole… church… special punishment.”

More words followed. Vito leaned forward to hear them, but jerked back when Greg shrieked again. It was a hideous wail, part agony, part terror. It didn’t sound human.

Liz lifted her hands. “Nick, turn it off. That’s enough.”

Nick nodded and stopped the CD, leaving a thick silence broken only by the sound of their own heavy breathing. “It pretty much ends there,” Nick said. “Greg screams some more, then I think he passes out. After five minutes of dead space the tape ends. One of the guys in Electronics is trying to place the sounds, the squeaks and bangs.”

Scarborough exhaled quietly. “I’ve been a psychologist for twenty years. I’ve never heard anything like this. Your killer showed no remorse, and beyond the slamming and banging, I heard no real rage in his voice. There was only disdain and contempt.”

Jen took her hand from her mouth where it had been clamped throughout most of the tape. “He said ‘Stole… church,’” she said unsteadily. “Greg stole in a church, from a church? Maybe he killed Greg in a church?”

“Before he started cutting his foot, he was chanting. I heard ‘ecclesia,’” Tim said.

“I heard it, too. It’s Latin for ‘church,’” Vito said. “I was an altar boy,” he added when Nick looked surprised. “Really. I was.”

Tim dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. “Same here. I heard that word more than enough times during mass. The question is, why did he use it?”

“I’d like to know what he did with Gregory’s hand and foot,” Katherine said quietly. “They weren’t with the body.”

“Or anywhere near the scene,” Jen added. “I even brought in cadaver dogs.”

Vito looked at Thomas. “He said Greg was going to ride on his time machine, then welcomed him to his dungeon. Is he crazy?”

Thomas shook his head forcefully. “In a clinical sense, almost certainly not. He’s acquired instruments of torture, whether he bought them or made them himself. He’s lured his victims with planning and forethought. He’s not crazy. I think the time machine reference is part of his… fun.”

“Fun,” Vito said bitterly. “I can’t wait to find this guy.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that Greg’s phone had a GPS,” Liz said.

Nick shook his head. “Throwaway. His old cell was disconnected for nonpayment.”

Beverly cleared her throat. “He found Greg through the model site. Greg’s résumé is posted, but his Septic Service ads aren’t listed. I guess he wasn’t proud of them.”

“So Munch didn’t know he was a local icon,” Nick said. “Coupled with his charmin’ drawl”-Nick accentuated his own-“we can assume he’s not from ’round here.”

Vito nodded. “Munch has a southern accent, as did the Vartanians. Coincidence?”

“At the risk of making myself a suspect,” Nick said dryly, “no, not a coincidence.”

“The Vartanians were from Georgia,” Katherine said, her brows crunched in thought. “So was Claire Reynolds.”

“You’re right,” Vito agreed. “Again, not a coincidence. In fact, it’s our first solid link between victims other than the UCanModel website. Perhaps the Vartanian family can tell us if Claire and Arthur and Carol knew each other. How about the autopsy reports?”

“I autopsied Claire Reynolds and the elderly lady on the first row. I got nothing more to help you identify the old woman. She had a broken neck, just like Carol Vartanian and Claire. I did get the final report from the lab on the silicone spray. It’s a special blend. They didn’t know who made it.”

From his folder Vito pulled the magazine that he’d gotten from Dr. Pfeiffer that morning. “Claire’s doctor said companies advertise their lotions in the back. Claire definitely would have used lotion, but her doctor said she bought it from him.”

Jen took the magazine. “She could have bought it from one of these, too. I’ll work on tracking the special formula to one of these manufacturers.”

“Thanks. Here are the Claire letters. One’s from Pfeiffer, the other from the library.”

Jen took the letters, as well. “I’ll get them to the lab, along with examples of Claire’s handwriting. We’ll see if anything shakes.”

“Good. Bev and Tim, what did you find at UCanModel dotcom?”

“Nothing for a while,” Bev said. “We were searching models who’d either gotten hits on their résumé or e-mails from E. Munch. Interestingly, Munch only e-mailed four people-Warren, Brittany, Bill, and Greg. Nobody else.”

Vito frowned. “That’s hard to believe. How could he be sure they’d accept?”

“It’s like he knew something else,” Nick mused. “Blackmail?”

“More like financials,” Brent Yelton said. “All the victims had overdrawn checking accounts, owed thousands on their credit cards, and had credit scores in the toilet.”

“So we still have nothing,” Nick said darkly, but Beverly was smiling.

“No, we said he didn’t e-mail anybody else as Munch,” she said, “but we kept thinking about what Jen said this morning. That E. Munch meant something. So we Googled and came up with this.” She pulled an art book from under the printouts. It was open to a painting Vito recognized.

It was a surreal, ghoulish-looking character whose mouth yawned open hideously. Just like Greg Sanders’s had this afternoon. “The Scream,” Vito said.

“Edvard Munch,” Scarborough added. “How apropos, given the way he made Gregory scream. This guy is one scary, very thorough sociopath.”

Beverly flipped to another picture, an even scarier one in a medieval style, with demons wreaking havoc on lost souls in grisly, macabre ways. “This is Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights. A model named Kay Crawford got an e-mail from one H. Bosch yesterday afternoon. She hadn’t answered the e-mail yet.”

“And we got her computer before it fried,” Brent added with satisfaction. “Bosch wanted to hire her for a documentary.”

“She’s agreed to help us,” Tim said. “We could set a trap for this bastard.”

A smile started across Vito’s face. “I like it. A lot. I think her help will mainly be her silence, but let’s get her in here first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, if you’ve got her computer, can you answer the e-mail and say you want the job?”

Brent nodded. “I made a full sector image of Kay Crawford’s hard drive, so if the virus’s timer is triggered by a reply like I think it is, then we’ll have a backup.”

“Excellent. And Liz.” Vito turned to her. “You said you’d gotten a hit from Interpol.”

“It might mean nothing to us.” She slid some faxed pictures from an envelope. “Apparently the guy in Europe who died, Alberto Berretti? He owed huge back taxes to the Italian government and they were watching his assets at the time of his death. They expected his children to try to divert some of his collection for their own private sale. They’ve had agents watching Berretti’s grown children for quite some time. This is one of Berretti’s sons with an American of unknown identity.”

Vito looked at the pictures. “His face is clear enough, but until somebody recognizes him it doesn’t help us. But it’s a start.”

Bev and Tim gathered their printouts. “Vito, we’re calling it a night,” Tim said. “We got no sleep last night, and we’re seeing double from all these printouts.”

“Thanks. Can you leave that art book? I want to look at it later.”

“I’ll write up a detailed profile for you,” Thomas said. “This killer used some very specific language. I’ll see if any patients like this have been documented.”

“And I’ll do the gunshot, the shrapnel, and Greg Sanders’s autopsies tomorrow,” Katherine said. “Oh, here’s the photo you wanted of the brand on Sanders’s cheek.”

Vito took it and put it on the table. “Thanks, Katherine. I didn’t want Sophie to have to go to the morgue.”

“’Cause he likes her,” Nick said slyly, and Katherine smiled.

“Of course he does. She’s my little girl.” She slanted a look up at Vito. “Remember that, Vito. She’s my little girl.” With that warning, Katherine left with Thomas.

“I’ll get Sophie back up here so she can look at the picture, then we’re headed out,” Vito said. He went to the door and stopped short. “Oh, shit.”

Wednesday, January 17, 7:10

P.M.

Sophie and Katherine sat side by side on a bench outside the conference room.

Vito crouched in front of Sophie, who looked pale. “What happened?”

She looked down at him, her eyes stark. “I was on my way to the cafeteria and got a call on my cell, something you needed to know. When I came up to knock on the door…” She shrugged fitfully. “I heard the screams. I’m all right now. Just shaken up.”

Vito took her hands, found them cold. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible thing to hear.”

Katherine urged her to her feet. “Come on, honey. I’ll take you home with me.”

“No, I need to see Gran.” She saw the others watching and scowled, embarrassed. “Stop it. I was just shocked. Where’s the picture you wanted me to look at?”

“Sophie, you don’t need to do that tonight,” Katherine said.

“Stop it, Katherine,” Sophie snapped. “I’m not five anymore.” She caught her temper and sighed. “I’m sorry, but don’t treat me like a child. Please.” She pulled away and went into the conference room, leaving Katherine looking hurt and forlorn.

“It’s hard when your babies grow up,” Liz murmured and Katherine chuckled weakly.

“Maybe I do treat her like she’s five, but that’s how I remember her best.” She looked at Vito. “I have sharp implements at my disposal. Don’t make me use them.”

Vito winced. “Yes, ma’am.” He went to the conference room where Sophie was looking at the photo from Interpol. “That’s not Sanders.” He started to move the Interpol photo from the table, but her hand came down to clamp his wrist like a vise.

“Vito. I know him. This is Kyle Lombard. Remember Monday night, when I gave you Brewster’s name, I gave you Lombard’s, too.”

“I know. We’ve been searching for him but haven’t found him yet. Liz,” he called, “come here, please. Are you sure, Sophie?”

“Yes. And it’s also why I came up to talk to you. I got two calls, actually. The first was from Amanda Brewster. She was screaming that she knew Alan was with me. Apparently he didn’t come home for dinner. I hung up on her. Then not two minutes later, my cell rings again. This time it’s Kyle’s wife.”

“Kyle’s wife?”

“Yes.” Sophie sighed. “She accused me of having an affair with Kyle.”

Vito narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“She said she’d heard Kyle on the phone, talking about me, and said she’d be damned if she let me steal her husband like I tried to steal Amanda Brewster’s.” She shrugged when he lifted his brows in question. “Amanda was very vocal about the hussy who tried to break up her happy home. There, um, weren’t a lot of people who didn’t know. Kyle’s wife said that Amanda had called yesterday to tell her I was back in the picture. They’ve circled the wagons to protect their happy marriages.”

“I guess Kyle and Clint learned a lot more from Alan Brewster than archeology,” Vito said dryly, and was rewarded with a wry smile from Sophie.

“I talked to Clint Shafer on Monday. You saw Alan on Tuesday. Tonight Kyle didn’t show up for dinner, so his wife checked his caller ID and saw he’d talked to Clint. She called Clint’s wife, who went through his caller ID and gave Kyle’s wife my number at the museum. Incidentally, Kyle’s wife says Clint didn’t come home for dinner either.”

“But both wives called you on your cell.”

She frowned. “You’re right. How did she get my cell? Well, you’ll figure that out. My point is, now you have a photo of Kyle Lombard taken… where?”

“Bergamo, Italy, was what Interpol said,” Liz answered from behind him.

“That’s less than a half hour by train from where Berretti lived. You now have Kyle’s photo, who doesn’t come home two days after I asked a question. Coincidence?”

“No.” Vito looked at Nick and Liz. “Let’s get an APB for Clint Shafer in-”

“Long Island,” Sophie supplied.

“And one for Kyle Lombard wherever the hell he is.”

“His wife called me from an 845 area code,” Sophie said. “But if you can’t find Kyle through his wife’s number, maybe you can find him through Clint’s phone records.”

Vito nodded hard. “Good, Sophie. Very good.”

“No, Vito.” Nick shook his head. “Bad. Very bad. If Lombard traces to Sophie and Lombard traces to Berretti of the missing medieval torture artifacts, and if Lombard isn’t out cattin’ around on his wife but maybe lying in a gulley somewhere?”

Vito’s blood ran cold. “Shit.”

Sophie sat down hard. “Oh, no. If Kyle’s involved and he’s really missing…”

“This killer could know about you,” Vito said grimly.

“We’ll have to get you protection, Sophie,” Jen said.

Liz nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” She squeezed Katherine’s arm. “Breathe, Kat.”

Katherine lowered herself into the chair next to Sophie. “I should never have-”

“Katherine,” Sophie gritted through her teeth. “Stop.”

“I can’t. This has nothing to do with you being five or fifty-five. This is you being in the sights of the monster who did this.” She grabbed the photo of Sanders as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Who tortured and murdered nine other bodies in my morgue.”

Sophie’s expression changed in an instant and she put her arms around Katherine as the ME’s shoulders shook. Vito and Nick looked at each other, stunned. They’d never seen Katherine shed a tear in the past, no matter how bad the bodies got.

But this wasn’t a body. This was her little girl and Vito understood her terror.

Sophie patted Katherine’s back. “I’ll be fine. Vito will watch out for me. And I have Lotte and Birgit.” She looked up at Vito. “On second thought, I think you’re it.”

Katherine shoved her away, furious. “This is not funny, Sophie Johannsen.”

Sophie wiped at Katherine’s tears. “No, it’s not. Nor is it your fault.”

Katherine grabbed Vito’s shirt and yanked him down with a strength that surprised him. “You’d better not let anything happen to her, too, or so help me God…”

Vito stared at the woman he thought he’d known so well. Katherine stared back, serious and very angry. Too. She knew about Andrea, what he’d done. He pried her fingers from his shirt and straightened. “Understood.”

Katherine took a deep shuddering breath. “Just so we’re clear.”

“Crystal,” Vito bit out.

Sophie was staring at them both. “Did you just threaten him, Katherine?”

“Yeah,” Vito said. “She did.”