The Dead Man

Chapter Sixty

"We're all dressed up with no place to go," Lucy said. "We've got to work this thing before we go running off half-cocked to nowhere." She took my arm, pulling me off the bed. "Let's go. Downstairs."

I threw my coat on the sofa as she paced around the living den, studying the Post-its on the walls. My muscles quit twitching as I watched her think. She was right about us. We were both beat up, too many of our wounds self-inflicted. We needed more than a little slack from one another. We needed a hand up and she'd given me hers.

"Okay," she said, stopping in the middle of the room. "What do we know that we didn't know yesterday?"

"Start with the article in today's paper."

I handed it to her, giving her time to read it, then told her about my conversation with Rachel Firestone.

She tucked the paper under her arm, took another lap around the living den, stopping across from me.

"Working theory-Corliss is responsible for the disappearance of Maggie, Janet, and Gary. Worst case- they're dead. Best case-they will be soon if we don't find them."

"Agreed," I said.

"It's pretty tough to snatch three people all at once," she said. "Especially when two of them are young and could put up a fight, like the research assistants."

"Even if Corliss had a gun, he's got to put them in a car and drive somewhere. He can't do that and watch them at the same time. If he lets one of them drive, he's still got control problems."

"He could tie them up, duct tape them, but that's the kind of thing people in other cars would notice-three people all bundled up and gagged. You can get one, maybe two people in the trunk, but three's a crowd."

"So, he grabs them one at a time," I said.

"Possible, but not likely. Janet and Gary were probably together. Two people are easier to handle than three, but not that much easier. Makes it more likely that he talked them into meeting him somewhere they were familiar with, someplace that wouldn't raise any red flags."

"Could have gone down that way."

"What else makes sense?" she asked.

"He takes them out separately. Kills them where he finds them."

"The most likely place he would have found them is where they live which means the cops would have found their bodies by now," Lucy said. "Besides, that's too spontaneous and Corliss is a planner. Look at how much trouble he went to with Walter Enoch and Tom Delaney, taking the videos where they lived and then going back to kill them. And what about the way he staged Anne Kendall's body?"

"You're right," I said. "Anne came to him about the dream project last Wednesday and she was killed the following Monday. Maggie and I left the institute at the same time on Tuesday. If Janet and Gary were gone by then, I think she would have mentioned it."

"So, he doesn't grab them. He invites them."

"More like he gives them an order. He's their boss."

"He's Janet and Gary's boss, not Maggie's."

"Then he invites her and orders the others," I said.

"That would work. But where's the party?"

"Someplace private, no walk-in traffic."

"Not one of their houses. The cops have been there," Lucy said. "Then where?"

"I don't know but I know where to look. Grab your coat. If Corliss persuaded Maggie, Janet, and Gary to meet him somewhere, there might be something in his office about that location, maybe a calendar entry or a handwritten note like the one with the victim's initials on it. "

The lobby was quiet, as if Tuesday's turmoil had taken place in another dimension of time and space. Nancy Klemp was on duty, nodding as we passed her desk, the starch in her back replaced with a defensive crouch across her shoulders, afraid and ready. Her comparison of the institute to the valley of the shadow of death had been prophetic.

I swiped my master key card across the lock sensor for Corliss's office and swung the door open. It had been stripped bare, desk drawers, file cabinets and bookshelves empty, and his computer gone. There was nothing left but the furniture. I picked up the phone on the desk and called Sherry Fritzshall's office.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"In Anthony Corliss's office. What happened to all of his stuff?"

"The police took it."

"When?"

"This morning. What are you doing in his office?"

"My job. Were you here when they took everything?"

"Yes. They had a search warrant. There was nothing I could do."

"Did the warrant cover anything else besides Corliss's office?"

"Yes. It included the offices of Maggie Brennan, Janet Casey, and Gary Kaufman. They took everything that wasn't nailed down."

"Next time, call me."

"If there's a next time, it will be too late to call you."

We checked Maggie's office and the one Janet and Gary used to be certain no scraps had been left behind. A swarm of locusts couldn't have done a more thorough job stripping a field.

"What now?" Lucy asked.

"The IT department. If Corliss is like most of the rest of the world, he exists as much in cyberspace as he does on the ground. It's impossible to cover all those tracks."

We found Frank Gentry at his desk. He stood, stifling the impulse to salute, instead straightening and tightening his regimental striped necktie.

"I need your help," I said.

"Then you've got it."

"I assume all the institute's computers are networked."

"They are. Desktops, laptops, Blackberries and iPhones, anything that's wired or wireless. If we provide it, it syncs to the network."

"What about backup?"

"I won't bore you with the details, but if it was done on one of our machines in the last twelve months we've got it."

"Except for everything Sherry Fritzshall told you to dump," Lucy said.

Gentry's face burned but he didn't flinch or duck Lucy's shot. "Except for that."

I said, "The police took Anthony Corliss and Maggie Brennan's computers and the ones that Janet Casey and Gary Kaufman used. I need you to print their calendars for the last year."

"What are you looking for?"

"Meetings they may have had somewhere besides at the institute."

"Then I'll check expense records too. If they spent any money for it, there will be an expense voucher and a reimbursement record."

"Great. How long will all that take?"

He glanced at his watch. "Give me an hour."

It took him fifty-three minutes.

"Here you go," Gentry said, handing me a sheaf of papers. "Calendars and expense records."

"Anything jump out?" I asked, knowing that he would have studied the records before giving them to me.

He plucked Corliss's calendar for October of last year from the middle of the stack and put it on top, reading the entry for the twelfth. "Art gallery, noon, lunch."

"What art gallery?"

"It's not really an art gallery, at least not one open to the public. We just call it that. It's where Mr. Harper keeps the pieces of his art collection that aren't on display here or in one of his homes or that aren't on loan to a real gallery or museum. He also uses it for off-campus meetings and retreats."

"Where is it?"

"In the Crossroad's District near Twentieth and Oak. It used to be a brewery," he said, jotting the address down on the calendar.

"Would Corliss have been allowed to use it?"

"Sure, subject to availability. It's one of the perks for the project directors. All he had to do was make a reservation. There's also an expense record for that day," Gentry said, thumbing through the pages. "Lunch for four people, thirty-eight dollars."

"How would Corliss get in?"

"You need a key card, just like here. There are several of them. Ms. Fritzshall's secretary keeps them."

I called Sherry. "How many keys are there to Harper's art gallery?"

"Why? What's this about?"

"I'll explain later. How many keys?"

"Four."

"Where are they?"

"My secretary keeps them. She hands them out if someone reserves the gallery."

"Ask her if anyone reserved it in the last day or two."

"Hold on," she said, coming back on the line a moment later. "Anthony Corliss reserved the gallery for yesterday. Gary Kaufman picked up the key Tuesday afternoon and hasn't returned it."