Die for Me

Chapter Nineteen

Philadelphia, Thursday, January 18, 5:15

P.M.

She looked the same, Daniel thought as she passed through the train station’s revolving door. Petite and fragile. The men in their house had been big, the women small. I needed your protection then.

He’d believed he was protecting her. Obviously he’d been remiss. He got out of his rental car and stood, waiting until she saw him. Her step slowed, and even from where he stood he could see the stiffness in her shoulders.

He walked around and opened her door. She stopped in front of him and lifted her eyes. She’d been crying. “So you know,” he murmured.

“My boss called me on my cell after I’d already boarded the train.”

“My boss called me, too. The lieutenant who called him was Liz Sawyer. I have the address for her office.” He sighed. “I was too late.”

“But you know something that will help find who did this?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Or destroy us both. Get in.”

He slid behind the wheel and put his key in the ignition, but she put her hand over his. Her gray eyes were huge and flashed fire. “Tell me.”

He nodded. “All right.” He gave her the envelope that had been waiting for him at the mailbox store and waited as she slid the contents to her lap.

She gasped, then slowly, mechanically looked at each page. “Oh my God.” She looked up at him then. “You knew about these?”

“Yes.” He started up the car. “‘I know what your son did,’” he quoted softly. “Now you know, too.”

Thursday, January 18, 5:45

P.M.

Sophie stood in the middle of her warehouse, fists on her hips. She’d unpacked a dozen crates since Lieutenant Sawyer’s call that afternoon. Keeping herself busy had kept her from dwelling on the fact that Kyle and Clint were dead.

That Kyle and Clint were connected to the killer was without doubt. They’d been killed with the same gun used to murder one of the nine she’d found in the graveyard.

That the killer knew about her had been a possibility this morning when she’d allowed herself to be driven to the museum by a cop with a gun. Now it was more than a possibility, but still it wasn’t an eventuality. However she chose to balance nuance with her carefully chosen words, it was still damn scary. So she’d kept busy until Liz could free up an armed body to take her back to the precinct. To Vito.

She hoped he’d had success today. Now more than ever.

“Sophie.”

With a gasp she wheeled, pressing her hand to her heart. Once again in the shadows stood Theo Four. In his hand he held an ax, as effortlessly as if it had been a feather. Controlling her breathing she fought the urge to take a step back. To flee screaming. Screaming. She closed her eyes and got hold of herself. When she opened them he was still watching her, his face expressionless. “What do you want?”

“My dad said you needed some help opening crates. I couldn’t find the crowbar you were using yesterday, so I brought this.” He extended the ax. “So which crates?”

She exhaled as quietly as she could. Get a freakin’ grip, Sophie. She was seeing threats that didn’t exist. “Over here. I think these are from Ted the First’s travels to southeast Asia. I’m thinking about an exhibit about the Cold War and communism and wanted to include his artifacts from the Korean peninsula and Vietnam.”

Theo Four came into the light, his dark eyes oddly amused. “Ted the First?”

Sophie’s cheeks heated. “I’m sorry. That’s how I think about all you Theodores.”

“I thought you were going to do an interactive exhibit. A dig.”

“I am, but this warehouse is big enough for three or four exhibits. I think this Cold War exhibit will touch people deeper. You know. Freedom isn’t free.”

He said nothing more, but stripped the tops off the crates as if they were crepe paper instead of heavy wood. “There. It’s done.” He then left as silently as he’d come.

Sophie shivered. That boy was either deep or just plain off. How “off” could he be? How much did she know about Theo or Ted, for that matter?

She laughed at herself. “Get a grip, Sophie,” she said out loud. It was time to go anyway. Liz had said her ride would be at the museum at six. It was almost that now. She locked the warehouse door and stood inside the front door waiting, then laughed again when Jen McFain approached with a grin.

“Good night, Darla!” Sophie called, then pushed the door open. “So you’re my bodyguard?” she asked, looking way down at Jen.

Jen looked way up. “That’s right, Xena. You got something to say about it?”

Sophie zipped up her coat, chuckling. “It seems silly. I should be protecting you.”

Jen pulled back the lapel of her jacket. “A nine-mil adds a lot of inches, Xena.”

“Stop calling me that,” Sophie said as she got into Jen’s car. She waited until Jen was in and buckled up. “‘Your majesty’ will suffice.”

Jen laughed. “Then let’s go, Your Majesty. Your prince awaits.”

Sophie couldn’t stop the smile that warmed her whole face. “Vito’s back?”

Jen’s smile went grim. “Yeah, they’re back.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The two guys they went looking for are missing, but they ID’d another one of the bodies from the graveyard. And…” Jen blew out a breath. “They found someone who can ID the motherfucker who started all this.”

Thursday, January 18, 6:25

P.M.

“Tino.” Vito gripped his brother’s arm in an abbreviated hug. “Thanks again.”

“No problem. You get anywhere with the picture of the old man from the bar?”

Vito shook his head. “I haven’t even seen a picture of the old man yet. Nick and I just got back from New York fifteen minutes ago.”

“Here’s another copy. I went home and did some more work, shadowing, hatching. It’s a better representation than the quick sketch I did for your lieutenant this morning.”

Vito stared down at the man who’d met Greg Sanders on Tuesday afternoon. “Man, he really is old. Hunched. It’s hard to believe.”

“That’s how the waitress saw him, but you know how accurate eyewitnesses aren’t.”

“Yeah, but I really want her to be right. But I may have something better-I brought back a guy from New York who knew the artist that made the cut scenes in Behind Enemy Lines. He’s waiting in the conference room. I was hoping you could…”

Tino grinned. “Lead the way.”

Vito took him to the conference room where Nick waited with Tony England. “Tony, this is my brother Tino. He’s a sketch artist.”

“I’m a sketch artist,” Tony said with frustration, “but I can’t get any more from my mind than that.” He pointed to a paper on the table. “My mind is frozen or something.”

It was a bare-bones sketch that could be almost anyone. Additionally, it had a cartoon quality that made Vito remember what Brent had said about Harrington’s expertise-cartoons and dragons. Van Zandt had brought in someone more skilled than he at the game physics. Perhaps he’d chosen this Frasier Lewis because he was more skilled at faces than Harrington and England.

Tino opened his sketchpad. “Sometimes it takes telling it to somebody else.”

Vito left them with Nick and went back to his desk. Jen and Sophie were back, he saw as he entered the bullpen. Jen had gone into Liz’s office and Sophie stood at his desk, her back to him. His heart thumping like a teenager’s, he quickened his pace, intending to surprise her with a kiss to the side of that long neck of hers. She liked that, he’d found. In two nights he’d found a lot of places she liked to be kissed. She jumped when he touched his lips to her skin, then settled back against him, like warm honey.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah. I’ve been good, stayed with my bodyguards. Even Thumbelina over there.”

Vito chuckled. “Jen’s little, but she’s feisty.” He drew back reluctantly. “Wait here. I need to go talk to Liz for a minute, but I’ll be right back.” He’d gotten a few steps away when she called his name, her voice suddenly strange.

“Vito, who is this?” She was holding the sketch Tino had made of the old man.

Dread gripped his gut. “Why?”

His dread became her fear. “Because I’ve seen him. Who is this?”

Jen had been standing in Liz’s doorway and turned at the panic that had crept into Sophie’s voice. A moment later Liz was at Jen’s side, watching with concern.

“We think that’s the man who met Greg Sanders on Tuesday,” Liz said slowly.

Sophie sank into the chair at his desk. “Oh, God,” she whispered.

Vito crouched down in front of her. “Where did you see this man, Sophie?”

She raised her eyes to his, green and horrified and his blood ran cold. “At my museum. He was at the Albright. He stopped me and asked for a private tour.” She pressed her lips together hard. “Vito, he was as close to me as you are now.”

Breathe. Think. He took her hands in his. They were ice cold. “When, Sophie?”

“Yesterday, after I’d finished the Viking tour.” She closed her eyes. “I had a feeling, a creepy feeling about him. But I laughed it off. He was just an old man.” She opened her eyes. “Vito, I’m scared. I was nervous before. Now I’m terrified.”

So was he. “You don’t leave my sight,” he said harshly. “Not for a second.”

She nodded unsteadily. “Okay.”

“Vito.”

Vito twisted to see Tino rushing into the bullpen. He was holding his sketchpad out so that Vito could see the picture he’d drawn. “Vito, Frasier Lewis is the old man. The eyes are the same as the old man the waitress saw with Greg Sanders.”

Vito nodded. It felt like every breath had been sucked from his lungs. “I know.” He stepped aside, revealing Sophie who still sat behind him. “This is Sophie. The old man visited her at her museum yesterday.”

Tino let out a breath. “Shit, Vito.”

“Yeah,” Vito muttered. He looked over at Liz. “Encore?”

Liz shook her head, grim. “I don’t think my heart could take another curtain call.”

“Where’s Tony England?” Vito asked his brother.

“On his way downstairs with Nick. Nick’s gonna get him a cab to the train station.”

Liz perched on the side of Nick’s desk. “Let’s call the troops together, Vito. We have some debriefing to do. But first, everybody take a deep breath. Sophie’s safe and we now know the face of our killer. That’s a hell of a lot more than we had this morning.”

For a full minute everyone did as she asked, breathing and focusing. Then once again the peace was shattered. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Lieutenant Liz Sawyer.”

A couple stood in the doorway. She was five-three and dark. He was six-four and blond. The man had spoken.

Liz lifted her hand. “I’m Sawyer.”

“I’m Special Agent Daniel Vartanian with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. This is my sister, Susannah Vartanian with the New York City DA’s office. We understand you have our parents. We believe we know who killed them.”

There was silence. Then Liz sighed. “There’s your encore.”

Thursday, January 18, 7:00

P.M.

Van Zandt was already seated when he arrived at the upscale seafood restaurant located inside his hotel. “Frasier, please join me. Would you like some wine? Or perhaps some of this lobster Newburg. It’s really quite wonderful.”

“No. I’m busy, VZ. I’m working on your new queen and I want to get back to it.”

Van Zandt’s mouth turned up in a strange smile. “Interesting. Tell me, Frasier, where do you get your inspiration?”

If he’d had hairs on the back of his neck, they would have lifted. “Why?”

“Well, I was just thinking that you have such a realism to your art. I was wondering if you based your characters on anyone? Live models, maybe?”

He sat back and viewed Van Zandt through narrowed eyes. “No. Why?”

“I was just thinking that if you did use live models, it would be patently foolish to choose local faces. That a truly wise man would go elsewhere. Bangkok or Amsterdam come to mind. Culturally diverse. Interesting clientele in Amsterdam’s Red Light District. Seems an artist could find his pick of models from a population no one would miss.”

He drew a breath. “Jager, if you have somethin’ to say, then just spit it out.”

Van Zandt blinked. “‘Spit it out’? Frasier, that sounds so… provincial. Very well.” He handed him a large envelope across the table. “Copies,” he said. “Of course.”

It was pictures. The first was Zachary Webber. “Derek gave you this. He’s insane.”

“Perhaps. Keep going.”

Gritting his teeth he flipped to the next picture in the stack and went still. Claire Reynolds’s face stared up at him. Van Zandt knew.

Van Zandt sipped his wine. “The resemblance is uncanny, wouldn’t you agree?”

“What do you want?”

Van Zandt chuckled. “Keep going.”

The next photo had his heart racing, but with rage. “You sonofabitch.”

Van Zandt’s smile was unpleasantly smug. “I know. I really just wanted Derek watched. If he attempted to go to the police… about you… then my head of security would merely attempt to dissuade him. Imagine my surprise when I saw that.”

It was him, with Derek. He was the old man, but he stood upright. The photo didn’t show it, but his gun had been pressed into Derek’s back. Carefully he put the pictures back in the envelope. “I repeat. What do you want?” Before you die.

“I didn’t come alone, Frasier. My head of security is at one of those tables over there, ready to call the authorities.”

He drew a frustrated breath. “What… do… you… want?”

Van Zandt’s jaw tightened. “I want more of what you’ve been giving me. But I want it untraceable.” He rolled his eyes. “What kind of idiot kills people that can be identified?” He pulled a smaller envelope from his coat pocket. “This is a cashier’s check and a plane ticket to Amsterdam for tomorrow afternoon. Be on that plane. And when you get there, you change the faces of every character in the Inquisitor or our deal is off.” He shook his head, furious now. “Are you that arrogant? Did you believe no one would find out? You have jeopardized everything I own with your stupidity. So fix it.” He drained his wine glass and slammed it to the table. “That’s… what… I… want.”

He had to laugh, despite the fury boiling in his gut. “You would have really liked my father, Jager.”

Van Zandt didn’t smile. “Then we have a deal?”

“Sure. Where do I sign?”

Thursday, January 18, 7:35

P.M.

“Please, sit down.” Vito Ciccotelli gestured to a large table in a conference room. Daniel did a quick count. Six people already sat around the table. Ciccotelli closed the door and pulled out a chair for Susannah, who was still shaking like a leaf.

Daniel had offered to do the ID of their parents himself, but Susannah had insisted she’d stand with him, and she had. The medical examiner had come back with them from the morgue and now sat at the end of the table, next to the tall blonde that Ciccotelli had introduced as their consultant, Dr. Sophie Johannsen.

“Do you need more time?” This came from Ciccotelli’s partner, Nick Lawrence.

“No,” Susannah murmured. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You’ve got our attention, Agent Vartanian,” Ciccotelli said. “What do you know?”

“I hadn’t seen my parents in many years. Our family is… was… estranged.”

“How many in your family?” Sawyer asked.

“Now, just Susannah and me. We hadn’t talked in a while, not until this past week. The sheriff in our hometown called, said my parents had gone on a trip, but they hadn’t returned. My mother’s oncologist had called to check on our mother when she missed several appointments. It was the first either my sister or I had heard about her cancer.”

“Hell of a way to find out,” Nick murmured. He would be the good cop, Daniel thought.

“Yeah. Anyway, the sheriff and I searched the house. My parents had closed it up and taken all their suitcases. I found brochures in my father’s desk for destinations out west. I thought it was my mother’s last trip before she died.” He tried to block the picture of his mother on that metal table in the morgue. Susannah squeezed his hand.

“Do you need a minute?” Jen McFain asked kindly.

“No. The sheriff and I were ready to leave when I realized my father’s computer was still running-in fact, it was being controlled remotely at that moment.” He’d been watching Ciccotelli and was rewarded with a flicker of interest in the man’s dark eyes.

“Why didn’t you report them missing then?” Sawyer asked.

“I almost did. But the sheriff thought my mother should be able to keep her privacy, and it looked like they really had gone on vacation.”

“The remote computer thing didn’t concern you?” Nick Lawrence asked.

“Not so much at the time. My father was a computer person. He liked to play with networks and motherboards and such. So… I got a leave of absence. I wanted to find her, to make sure my mother was all right.” He swallowed. “To see her again.”

He took them over his search, ending with the hotel safe and the mailbox store, but not mentioning the envelope his mother had left for him. He wasn’t sure he could. “I knew I had to report the blackmail. Susannah agreed. So here we are.”

“So the last time your father made a withdrawal was when?” Sawyer asked.

“November 16.”

Ciccotelli noted it. “What did you do when you got to the mailbox store?”

“More than I should have, less than I wanted. I thought if I knew who was doing the blackmailing… I asked the kid behind the counter who rented the box. I wanted him to give me the contents of the box, but I knew I’d pushed too far as it was.”

Ciccotelli gestured impatiently. “Drumroll, Agent Vartanian?”

“The name on the box was Claire Reynolds. She was blackmailing my parents and probably killed them. That’s all I know.”

This time Ciccotelli’s eyes did more than flicker. He blinked once, then sat back and looked at his partner, then his boss. Everyone at the table looked stunned.

“This sucks,” Nick Lawrence muttered.

For a moment Ciccotelli said nothing, then looked again at his boss. Sawyer lifted a shoulder. “Your call, Vito,” she said. “I checked them out while you were all at the morgue doing the ID. They’re both legit. I’d bring them in.”

Daniel searched every face. “What? What’s going on here?”

Ciccotelli frowned. “Claire Reynolds is an issue.”

Susannah stiffened. “Why? She was blackmailing our parents and now they’re dead. What’s stopping you from finding her and bringing her in?”

“Finding her isn’t the issue. It’s arresting Claire Reynolds for your parents’ murder that’s problematic,” Ciccotelli said. “She’s dead. She’s been dead for more than a year.”

Stunned, Daniel looked at Susannah, then shook his head. “That’s impossible. She’s been blackmailing our father for the last year. The kid at the mailbox store said she’d paid her account on time just last month. In cash.”

Ciccotelli sighed. “Well, whoever paid her bill wasn’t Claire Reynolds. You don’t know who else could have been blackmailing your father?”

Susannah shook her head. “No. I don’t know.”

“Do you know how or why?” Lawrence asked softly.

Daniel shook his head mutely. But it wasn’t true. He knew. It was bad enough that it haunted him. So he held his counsel. Besides, he knew Ciccotelli wasn’t telling him everything and until he did, and maybe even if he did, Daniel would not reveal what should have been his father’s greatest shame.

And through him, mine.

Ciccotelli took a sketch from his folder and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this man?”

Daniel stared hard at the picture. The man had a hard face, rigid jaw, prominent cheekbones. His nose was razor sharp, his chin blunt. But his eyes made Daniel shiver. They were cold, and the sketch artist had imparted to them a cruelty that Daniel knew too well from years in law enforcement. Still, there was a familiarity about the man’s eyes that gave him pause. The mailbox had dredged up all the old ghosts. But they were ghosts. This man was real and had murdered his parents and left them to rot in an unmarked grave. “No,” he finally said. “I don’t. I’m sorry. Suze?”

“No,” she echoed. “I was hoping I would, but I don’t.”

“They should listen to the tape,” Nick said. “Maybe they’ll recognize the voice.”

“All right, but just the first part, Jen,” Ciccotelli said.

McFain opened her laptop. “This part isn’t very loud, so you’ll need to listen.”

“Scream all you want.”

Daniel’s blood ran cold. His heart froze and he stared at the sketch again. At the man’s eyes. And he knew. But it was impossible.

Susannah’s hand went lax, but he could hear her panting and knew she knew, too.

“No one can hear you. No one will save you. I’ve killed them all.”

He closed his eyes, clawing at denial. “Not possible,” he murmured. Because he was dead. They’d buried him, for God’s sake.

“They all thought they suffered, but their suffering was nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you.”

But it was him. Dear God. Bile rose in his throat.

“Stop it,” Susannah snapped. “Stop the tape.”

Jennifer McFain did so instantly and Daniel felt every eye watching them. The room was suddenly too warm, his tie too tight. “We didn’t lie,” Daniel said hoarsely. “It is just the two of us now. But we had a brother. He died. We buried him in the family plot in the church cemetery.”

“His name was Simon,” Susannah whispered, horror making her voice shake.

“He’s been dead for twelve years. But that was his voice. And those are his eyes.” Daniel met Ciccotelli’s dark eyes and choked out the words past the dread that closed his throat. “If that’s truly Simon on that tape, you have a monster on your hands. He’s capable of just about anything.”

“We know,” Ciccotelli said. “We know.”

Thursday, January 18, 8:05

P.M.

Vito dragged his palms down his face, his stubble scratching his skin. Daniel Vartanian told them about his brother’s death in a fiery car crash and the subsequent burial. That their brother had been a cruel person who’d taken pleasure in tormenting animals, but who’d also been a gifted student with a broad base of talent. Everything from art, literature, and history to science, math, and computers.

Simon Vartanian was a twenty-first-century Renaissance man of sorts. But knowing all that brought them no closer to putting the monster in custody.

“I think we’ve got more new questions than answers,” Vito muttered.

“But now we have his real name,” Nick said. “And his face.”

“It’s not the way he looked before,” Daniel said.

“But his eyes are the same,” his sister said, still staring at Tino’s sketch, her expression a mixture of pain and horror and grief.

Vito put the sketch back in his folder. “We’ll need to exhume the casket that’s buried in your family’s plot.”

Daniel nodded. “I know. Part of me doesn’t want to know what’s inside. My father took care of everything when Simon ‘died.’ He identified the body, bought the casket, had Simon prepared, and brought him home to be buried.”

“It was a closed-casket funeral,” Susannah Vartanian added. She was dangerously pale but sat straight in her chair, her chin lifted as if she expected the next blow to be personal, and Vito wondered what these two knew that they weren’t telling him.

“That’s normal when the body is badly disfigured,” Katherine said. “This body was in a car accident and burned badly. If you had seen the body, there’s nothing to say you wouldn’t have thought he was your brother, too.”

Daniel’s mouth lifted, just barely. “Thank you. But I’m not worried about the body we’ll find inside, per se.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “You’re worried the casket will be empty, that your father knew your brother wasn’t really dead.”

Daniel just lifted his brows. Beside him, his sister stiffened a little more. This was the blow she’d been expecting, Vito thought.

“Why would your father fake an entire funeral and burial?” Jen said.

Daniel smiled bitterly. “My father was in the habit of fixing Simon’s messes.”

Vito had opened his mouth to probe when Thomas Scarborough cleared his throat.

“You said your family was estranged,” Thomas said. “Why?”

Daniel looked at his sister, for support, for guidance. For permission even, Vito thought.

Susannah’s small nod was almost indiscernible. “Tell them,” she murmured. “For God’s sake, tell them all of it. We’ve lived in Simon’s shadow long enough.”

Thursday, January 18, 8:15

P.M.

Van Zandt thought he was smooth, instructing his hired gun to follow him from the restaurant. Of course that would never do, allowing VZ to know his true address. It would just give the Dutchman one more thing to hold over his head.

Taking pictures of me… Van Zandt had one hell of a lot of nerve. Although it was, in its own way, damn ironic, he supposed.

Van Zandt’s security man had parked in an alley, his eyes fixed on the door of the Chinese restaurant across the street through which he’d had entered, waiting for him to return to his vehicle the same way. Instead, he approached from behind and tapped on the driver’s side window. Startled, VZ’s man swung around to look at him, then relaxed. He rolled down the window. “What do you want, buddy?”

The man’s tone was belligerent, but he only smiled. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but my organization is selling calendars to-”

“No. Not interested.” He started to roll up his window, but the man was a second too late. His knife had found its target, and now Jager’s head of security was bleeding like a stuck pig. The man’s eyes widened, flickered, then went dead, treating him to yet another moment of death.

“That’s okay,” he murmured. “It was last year’s calendar anyway.” Leaving his knife behind, he exited the alley and headed for his vehicle, parked conveniently right outside the Chinese restaurant’s front door. He navigated the street with ease, passing all the poor motorists who’d been forced to find parking blocks away. Just another side benefit to his current mode of… personal transportation.

He was well below the line of sight of anyone who might later be asked if they’d seen anything related to the murder of the man they’d found dead in the alley. If anyone can describe me, it would be in only the most general of terms.

Not that he had to worry. It was a rare person who met his eyes when he traveled this way. There was something about imperfection that made people look away. Leaving him free to move as freely as he chose.

Thursday, January 18, 8:30

P.M.

Daniel stared at his hands for a long moment before he spoke. “Simon was always a cruel bastard. Once I stopped him from drowning a cat and he was furious. I tried to whale the tar out of him, but he beat me to a bloody pulp. He was ten.”

Katherine frowned. “At ten Simon could overpower you? You’re not a small man, Agent Vartanian.”

“Simon is bigger,” Susannah said, far too quietly.

Daniel looked at down at her, a combination of tightly bound fury and pain in his eyes. But he went on. “Time passed, Simon got worse. My father became a judge. Simon’s activities were embarrassing to his career, so Dad pulled strings to smooth feathers. You’d be surprised what people are willing to overlook for a buck. When he was eighteen, Simon ran away. Then we heard about the car accident.”

“And we buried him,” Susannah said.

“And we buried him,” Daniel repeated with a sigh. “I moved to Atlanta and became a cop, but I was still coming home then. That last time I saw my parents, I’d come home for Christmas.” He paused for a long moment, then his shoulders sagged. “When I walked into the house I found my mother crying. She didn’t cry often. The last time had been at Simon’s funeral. But she’d found some pictures. Drawings Simon had made.”

“Of animals he’d tortured?” Scarborough asked.

“Some. But mostly people. He cut out pictures from really hard-core, violent magazines. He’d made drawings from the pictures. Simon was a gifted artist, but he always had a dark side. He kept posters of dark paintings on the wall of his bedroom.”

“Like?” Vito asked.

Daniel frowned. “I don’t remember.” He looked down at Susannah. “There was the Scream painting.”

“Munch,” she said. “And he liked Hieronymus Bosch. He also had a poster of a Goya depicting a massacre. Another of a suicide. Dorothy somebody.”

Daniel was nodding. “And there was the Warhol print. ‘Art is what you can get away with.’ That pretty much summed Simon up.”

“What summed him up,” Susannah murmured, “was what he kept under his bed.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “You saw the pictures?”

She shook her head. “Not the pictures. I have no idea where he hid them.”

“What, Miss Vartanian?” Vito asked sharply. “What was under the bed?”

“His copies of serial killer art. John Wayne Gacy’s clown paintings. And others.”

Simon Vartanian had copied other people’s pictures, revered dark artists. Now he created his own art. And his own victims. There was a tension around the table, and Vito knew the others understood it, too. For a moment he worried someone would blurt it out. But no one did and Vito was relieved. There were still things the Vartanians hadn’t told them. Until they did, the flow of information couldn’t be complete.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone, Miss Vartanian?” Thomas Scarborough asked gently.

Again her chin came up, but in her eyes was shame. “Daniel was gone, and I had to sleep sometime. Then Simon was dead and the paintings disappeared. I didn’t know about the pictures from the magazines or his drawings of them. Until tonight.”

“Agent Vartanian, your mother had found these drawings and magazine clippings. So why did you fight with your father?” Vito asked.

Daniel looked at his sister. “Tell him, Daniel,” she said tightly.

“There were other pictures-snapshots. The magazine pictures were staged, but the snapshots looked real. Women, being raped… Simon had done drawings of these, too.”

There were a few beats of silence, then Jen cleared her throat. “I’m surprised Simon didn’t take the pictures with him,” Jen said. “Where did your mother find them?”

“In one of my father’s safes. He had several hidden through the house.”

“So your father knew about Simon’s secret stash?” Jen asked.

“Yes. My mother confronted him, and he admitted he’d found them in Simon’s room after he’d run away. Now I wonder if they weren’t the cause of Simon’s leaving. Maybe my father had finally had enough. I’ll never know. Once I saw the pictures, I said we had to report it. That the people in the snapshots had been victimized by someone. My father was outraged. Why should we dredge it all up now? he said. Simon couldn’t be punished. He was dead. It would only bring the family shame.”

His sister covered his hand with hers, her face grimly accepting of what was to come, but Daniel’s was distant as he remembered.

“I was so angry. It was like years of watching my father clean up after Simon came to a head and something in me snapped. My father and I almost came to blows so I left the house and took a walk. When I came back I’d decided to take the pictures and report it myself, but I was too late. I found the ashes in the fireplace.”

Nick shook his head, disbelieving. “Your father-a judge-destroyed evidence?”

Daniel looked up, his lips bent in bitter scorn. “Yes. I was furious, and I did hit him then. And he hit me back. We did some damage to each other that day. I walked away and promised them I would never come back. And I didn’t until last Sunday.”

“What did you do about the pictures?” Liz asked.

He shrugged. “What could I do? I obsessed over it for days. In the end I didn’t do anything. I had no evidence. I’d only gotten a glimpse of the pictures. I wasn’t even sure a crime had been committed or if the pictures were staged or real. And at the end of the day, it was my word against his.”

“But your mother saw them, too,” Jen said carefully.

“She wouldn’t have crossed my father,” Susannah said. “It simply wasn’t done.”

“Did you think these pictures were what Claire Reynolds was using to blackmail your father?” Vito asked.

“It crossed my mind at the beginning, but I didn’t know how she’d know about them, and I wondered if there weren’t other things that even I didn’t know about. I needed to know what the blackmail was. My sister’s career could be damaged.”

Susannah’s chin lifted again. “My career will stand on its own merits. So will yours.”

“I know,” he said. “When I got to the mailbox store, I found my mother had opened a box for me. She left these.” He pulled a thick envelope from his laptop case.

Vito knew what he’d find inside. Still he cringed when he saw the pictures and the drawings a younger Simon Vartanian had created. “Your father didn’t destroy them.”

Daniel cocked his jaw. “Apparently not. And I don’t know why he kept them.”

Vito passed the photos to Liz and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s connect some dots, shall we? First, Claire Reynolds. How did she know your parents?”

“I don’t know,” Daniel said. “Neither of us remembers that name from Dutton.”

“She wasn’t from Dutton,” Katherine said. “She was from Atlanta.”

“Our father went to Atlanta from time to time,” Susannah said. “He was a judge.”

Jen frowned. “But that doesn’t explain how Simon got involved. Did he know her?”

“The only time Simon ever went to Atlanta was when he had to be fitted,” Daniel said. “He was an amputee, and his orthopedist was in Atlanta.”

“Yes,” Jen hissed. “Claire was an amputee.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that before?” Liz asked.

Daniel’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t even suspect he was even alive until an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Liz murmured. “This has been a shock for you.”

Daniel’s eyes flashed again, angrily. “You think so?” he said sarcastically.

Susannah squeezed his hand. “Daniel, please. So Claire knew Simon from the orthopedist. But how would she know about my father? And these pictures?”

“Plus there is the issue of Claire’s continuing the blackmail a year after she was dead,” Vito pointed out.

Nick grimaced. “Small problem, that. Maybe Simon picked up where she left off when he killed her. Maybe he wanted the money from your folks.”

“But the guy at the mailbox store said a woman had paid the bill,” Daniel said. “And we can’t check the store’s security tapes. They only keep them for thirty days.”

“Accomplice?” Jen asked.

Thomas shook his head. “Doesn’t fit the profile. I’d be shocked if Simon would trust anyone enough to be an accomplice. A pawn, maybe. But not an accomplice.”

“So we need to find out who this other woman is,” Liz said.

A piece of the puzzle clicked in Vito’s mind. “Claire had a girlfriend. Dr. Pfeiffer and Barbara at the library said Claire was gay.”

Liz’s brows furrowed. “And of course the library ladies didn’t have a name.”

Vito felt a small surge of energy. It was second-wind time. “No, but there was a newspaper photo-Claire kissing another woman. If we could find that picture…”

“You don’t know which newspaper, do you?” Jen asked.

“No, but it was taken during a march. Claire only moved here four years ago and she’s been dead a year. How many marches could there have been in three years?”

“So Claire just happened to end up at the same orthopedist here in Philadelphia?” Susannah asked. “The chances seem possible, but remote.”

“Pfeiffer was recruiting patients for a study to upgrade the microprocessor in the artificial knee,” Vito said. “Maybe that’s what brought both of them together.”

Daniel nodded. “If Claire knew Simon from the Atlanta doctor, she’d have known he was supposed to be dead. Several of the amputee patients came to his funeral.”

“She must have blackmailed Simon, too,” Katherine said. “That’s why he killed her.”

“And the other woman took up where Claire left off.” Nick shook his head. “Cold.”

“Why now?” Thomas Scarborough asked. “Whoever this second blackmailer is, she continued for a year after Claire died. Why did your father wait a year to come here?”

“He was running for public office,” Daniel answered, in a way that made Vito believe he’d answered this question himself days before. “He hadn’t made the announcement yet. In fact, his e-mails kept putting off the man who wanted him to run. I guess he figured as soon as he threw his hat in the ring the blackmail price would go up.”

“So who was controlling your dad’s computer last Sunday?” Jen asked. “Simon or this blackmailer number two? We should look at your father’s computer to find out.”

Daniel nodded. “I’ll have it priority shipped. How else can we help you, Detective?”

Vito stepped through the events in his mind. Several things weren’t adding up. “Your father came to Philly to find the blackmailer. But why did your mother come, too?”

Katherine nodded. “Good question. Your mother was very sick. No doctor should have permitted her to travel.”

“I don’t know,” Daniel said. “I’ve wondered that myself.”

“She would have come to see Simon,” Susannah said flatly. “It was always all about Simon.” Her words were tinged with brittle cynicism. “Poor, poor Simon.”

“How did Simon lose his leg?” Katherine asked.

Daniel shook his head. “My parents liked to tell everyone it was an accident.”

“But we knew better,” Susannah said. “We lived far out, past town. There was this old man who had a small place about a mile in back of ours. He had a collection of antique traps. One day a bear trap turned up missing. Everyone knew Simon had stolen it, but he had a silver tongue and convinced everyone he had no idea who’d taken it.”

“He got trapped in it,” Vito said. “Who found him?”

Daniel looked away. “I did. He’d been missing for a day, and we’d all split up to find him. I found him, bleeding, in terrible agony. Simon had no voice left. He’d screamed for hours, but there wasn’t anyone around to hear him.”

Vito felt a chill go down his back. There was the connection.

“And he blamed me,” Daniel continued heavily. “Until the day he left, he believed I’d known where he was and left him to suffer. I didn’t. But no one could make him see the truth. Simon was mean before he lost his leg, but after…”

Susannah closed her eyes. “After, Simon became a monster. He ruled our house. My mother became devoted to him, which I’ve never fully understood. But I’m certain if she thought he was still alive, she’d beg to be taken to him, no matter how ill she was.”

“Which means your parents either knew all along Simon wasn’t really dead or they found out and then made the trip.” Vito watched the Vartanians’ faces. “But you think at least your father knew all along Simon was alive, or you wouldn’t be worried about what you’d find in the casket once we dig it up.”

“Yes,” Daniel acknowledged evenly. “Now, we’re tired. If there’s nothing else-”

“I have two questions.”

Vito leaned forward to look at Sophie at the end of the table. She’d said not a single word the entire time. “What is it, Sophie?”

“Agent Vartanian believes his father came looking for the blackmailer. Miss Vartanian believes her mother came looking for Simon.”

Daniel was watching her with deliberation. “Yes.”

Susannah had narrowed her eyes, as if she’d just realized Sophie was there. “What is your connection to this investigation, Dr. Johannsen?”

“I located your parents’ bodies, and I assisted the police in discerning their identity.”

Daniel’s jaw cocked. “All right. So what are your questions?”

“You said you found your parents registered in the hotel under your mother’s name.”

“Our parents must not have wanted anyone to know they were searching for Claire Reynolds,” Susannah said stiffly.

“I’d be inclined to agree, except for a few things. First, you said the hotel staff remembered your mother spending a lot of time alone in the hotel room.”

“She was sick,” Daniel said, exasperated. “She stayed and he searched for Claire.”

“She didn’t stay behind the time your parents visited the library where Claire once worked. And there, your father gave his real name when he asked about Claire. Except, he didn’t ask the librarian or anyone else that could have helped him. Your father chose an old man who spoke no English. My first question is why did your father choose an old Russian man to ask about Claire Reynolds and have that Russian man be the only one to whom he revealed his real name?”

Vito wanted to kiss her. Instead he calmly asked, “And your second question?”

“Why did he bring the pictures to Philadelphia? I mean, if he was being blackmailed with the pictures, then why bring them and chance being caught with them? Why not leave them at home in his safe? For that matter, why did he keep them at all?”

Dark spots of color stained Susannah Vartanian’s cheeks. “Are you suggesting that our parents killed Claire Reynolds?”

Don’t mention the game, Sophie, Vito thought. Don’t mention Clothilde.

“Not at all, Miss Vartanian. I’m suggesting your father didn’t want anyone to know he was searching for Claire, so he hid his identity. And I’m suggesting that he wanted your mother to believe he was looking openly.”

Understanding filled Susannah’s eyes. “Mother didn’t know about the blackmail,” she said woodenly. “She just thought they’d gone to search for Simon.”

“But your father never intended for her to see him,” Vito murmured.

“Because he knew Simon had been alive all this time and didn’t want Simon to tell our mother,” Daniel finished grimly. “And it has something to do with those pictures.”

“But she did see Simon,” Susannah whispered. “Because he killed her. My God.”

Vito looked at Liz, his brows lifted in silent question. She nodded, so he cleared his throat. “Uh… there’s one more thing you need to know. When we found your parents, we also found beside them two empty graves. We weren’t sure why then. Now…”

Susannah paled. “Daniel.”

Daniel put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Suze. Now we know. We can be watching.” He lifted his eyes to Vito’s. “Can we see that sketch again, please?”

Vito put the sketches of the old man and Frasier Lewis side by side on the table in front of the Vartanians. “I’ll make you copies.”

“Thanks,” Daniel said. “We appreciate-” But Susannah cut him off with a gasp.

With shaking hands she picked up the sketch of the old man. “I know him.” She looked up, her face now deathly white. “Daniel, I walk my dog every morning and night on a path in the park across the street from my apartment. This man…” She pointed to the sketch. “He sits on a bench sometimes.” Her voice shook. “We chat. He pets my dog. Daniel, he was as close to me as you are right now.”

Vito looked at Sophie. Her expression was one of pained understanding. He looked back to Susannah Vartanian. “For how long? How long have you known him?”

She closed her eyes. “At least a year. He’s been watching me for a year.”

“We can give you protection,” Liz said. “The one thing we can hope for is that he doesn’t know you know he’s alive. Come with me. I’ll get you both settled for the night.”

Thursday, January 18, 9:15

P.M.

“Vito, wait.”

Vito stopped outside the precinct’s front door. Katherine stood there, shivering, and his defenses went up. He’d managed to avoid her since the night before, but their avoidance dance was apparently over. “How long have you been waiting here?”

“Since the debriefing ended. I figured you’d come down sooner or later.”

Vito looked over his shoulder to where Sophie stood in the lobby with Nick and Jen.

Katherine followed his gaze. “You’re not letting her out of your sight.”

“No. Every time I think about him coming to her museum and touching her…”

“Vito, I’m sorry. I was out of line last night.”

“No, you weren’t. You were scared. And you were right.”

“I wasn’t right, and being scared doesn’t make it okay. I said I’m sorry. I would appreciate if you’d forgive me.”

Vito looked away. “Katherine, I haven’t even forgiven myself.”

“I know, and that needs to change. You didn’t do anything wrong. What happened to Andrea was tragic, but not your fault and not anything you could have prevented.”

He stared down at his shoe. “How did you know?”

“I was there when you saw the results of the ballistics report. I saw the look in your eyes when you realized one of yours had hit her. I saw the way you looked at her when she was first brought to the morgue. Vito, you loved her and she died.” Katherine sighed. “But that’s between you and your soul. I had no right to use that against you.”

“You were scared,” he said again. “Sophie’s your little girl.”

Katherine’s lips trembled. “I have known that girl since she was five years old.”

“How did you meet her? Why are you the mother she never knew?”

Katherine’s eyes filled. “She said that?”

“Yes, she did. So why?”

“She was my daughter Trisha’s best friend in kindergarten. One day Trisha came home in tears. There was going to be this big mother-daughter tea and Sophie wasn’t coming. She didn’t have a mom to bring her.”

Vito’s heart squeezed. “What about her grandmother or her aunt?”

“Anna was on tour. Freya had something to do that night with one of her own girls, which was Freya’s norm. Harry was going to bring her, but that kind of negated the whole mother-daughter tea idea, so I offered to pinch hit. I sat there with Trisha on one knee and Sophie on the other. Sophie’s been mine ever since.”

“What about her grandmother?”

“Anna cut way back on her touring schedule and bought a house in Philly so that Sophie could be close to Harry. But it was still years before Anna completely gave up her career, so Sophie spent a lot of time with me.”

“What made Anna finally stop touring completely?”

“She’d missed so much of her own daughters’ lives. I think she finally realized she’d been given another chance with Sophie and Elle.”

“Elle?”

Katherine’s eyes flared in alarm. Then she shook her head. “She’ll have to tell you about Elle. Vito, I’ve seen that girl through every major up and down of her life. I’d do anything to keep her safe. And happy.”

He looked back at Sophie again. “She’s safe now. I’d like to think she’s happy.”

“You’re a good man, Vito. I’ve watched you go through lots of ups and downs, too. We’re friends. I hope that one stupid comment on my part won’t erase the good years.”

“It doesn’t. It won’t. I’d take the bullet myself before I let anything happen to her.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “It’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. What happened with the body bag, Katherine?”

“That one she’ll also need to tell you herself.” She lifted on her toes, kissed his cheek. “Thank you for forgiving me. I won’t be so foolish as to risk our friendship again.”

“German chocolate cake would seal the deal,” he said and she laughed.

“When all this is over, I’ll make you two cakes. Now I’m beat. I’m going home.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Vito said. “You need to be careful, too.”

Katherine frowned. “I don’t suppose that was meant to be funny either.”

“No. Come on.”