“Don’t you have to show me a search warrant?” Gibbs said.
“Not so long as you consent.” Cardozo drew back the green metal swivel chair and sat at the desk. He slipped on a pair of evidence gloves and tried the drawer. Locked. “Do you have a key to the desk?”
“I do not.”
Cardozo took out his penknife, snapped the lock, and pulled the drawer open. Inside were two leather cases, a man’s medium-length brown wig, a simple clip-on gold earring, and a contact lens kit. The kit contained a pair of dark brown soft plastic lenses floating in clear solution.
The smaller leather case held a hypodermic syringe and eight replacement needles. The larger contained nineteen glass ampoules of a clear liquid. Cardozo held one up to read the label: Somanabol (somatotropin) Human Growth Hormone (Synthesized). “Tell me, Doctor, is this the anabolic steroid you refused to get for him?”
Gibbs stiffened. “I have no idea where he got that.”
“How long would he have to inject this stuff before it altered his behavior?”
“If he injected two of those a day for eight weeks, you’d see some problems with rage.”
“And violence?”
Gibbs nodded.
Cardozo turned his attention to the answering machine. A zero glowed solid in the read-out window, indicating there’d been no messages. He pressed replay just in case an old message hadn’t been erased.
There was a click followed by silence.
He raised the lid and saw that the incoming message tape had been removed. But not the outgoing. He punched the test-outgoing-message button. The tape whirred past the sound head, blank.
But in a moment a rapid series of electronic blips sounded and then a second phone was ringing.
“He’s forwarding his calls automatically.” After eight rings, it was clear no one was going to pick up. Cardozo took out his notebook and jotted down the number on the telephone. “When did you last see the man you call Catch Talbot?”
“I don’t recall,” Gibbs said. “He can come and go as he likes. He’s not a prisoner.”
“Not yet.”
Riding down in the elevator, Mark adjusted a necktie that needed no adjusting. “At least we’ve established one thing. He’s not hiding Toby in his room.”
“Then where has he put him?” Anne said.
“I’ll contact the phone company,” Cardozo said. “They’ll trace where he’s forwarding his calls. In the meantime, I wouldn’t worry. Toby was a negotiating chip for the trial. There’s no reason to harm him now.”
Anne couldn’t be that calm about it. “There was no reason to kill Kyra either, was there?”
“He couldn’t risk leaving her alive after he had the note. She would have phoned the school. Killing her was a rational choice.”
“He’s not rational.” Anne shook her head. “Juliana said he was a madman. She said he and Toby were fighting.”
“Over what?”
She tried to recall Juliana’s exact words. “She said Toby was playing with his modem and going stir-crazy, and—” She broke off.
“And what?” Cardozo said.
“She said Toby left a message on my computer.”
The police had placed a strip of yellow crime-scene tape over the lock and across the crack between the door and door frame. Using the edge of his MasterCard, Cardozo cut through the tape and pulled it off the lock.
Anne took out her key. “Why do I feel like a housebreaker?”
Cardozo rolled the tape into a tight yellow ball. “It’s your own home. Go on.”
She turned the key. The door swung inward. She flicked the light switch. As she crossed the room, her leg struck a stool that had no business being there. Pain jolted a nerve in her knee.
She sat down at the worktable. The surface had a changed, scattered feel. The cup of markers and the paper cutters and the ruler all lay in wrong places.
“Your people have been searching. Don’t they need a warrant?”
Cardozo shook his head. “Not at a crime scene.”
My home—a crime scene. Kyra’s dead.
An image of Kyra flashed through her mind—a serious, curly-haired girl four years of age serving tea to her dolls. Miniature steel cups, real tea, real cookies broken into quarters. And she’d refused to invite Anne to the party.
She pushed the thought away and booted the computer. It kicked into life, sending out a humming beat like an overadrenalized heart. An amber glow came up on the monitor.
Her fingers positioned themselves over the keyboard and typed in the command to retrieve electronic mail. She hit a wrong key. The computer gave an electronic yelp. She canceled and tried again.
A message came up.
Sunday, September 22. Hi, Aunt Anne! Could you do me a favor and be sure Mom knows I’m okay? Sorry I can’t say more. Thanks. Love, Toby.
And that was all.
She could feel Mark leaning close, his breath warm on her neck. “Does that blinking line mean there’s more?”
“You’re right.” She entered the command to go to the next e-mail. A second message came up. Her eye dove to the signature. Love, Toby. Then back to the date: Tuesday, September 24. “Toby’s alive!”
“He was alive Tuesday,” Mark corrected.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t be a lawyer.”
Hi, Aunt Anne! I’m at Grandpa’s—lots of adventures—a real horror movie. Remember to ask me about my night in jail. Where’s Mom? Haven’t been able to get hold of her. Please tell her I’m okay and give me a ring when you get in.
She grabbed the phone and dialed Leon’s number. Four rings. And then Tim Alvarez’s voice: “Brandsetter residence.”
“Tim—it’s Anne.”
“Well, hello.”
“Is Toby there?”
“Since Monday. He’s probably asleep now, but if you want to talk to him—”
“No. Let him sleep. I just wanted to be sure he’s okay.”
“Very much okay. He’s having the time of his life playing Robinson Crusoe in the cabin. We tried to phone you, but something’s wrong with your answering machine. It does a lot of beeping and hangs up.”
“I forgot to rewind the tape.”
“You should come on up. Anytime. We’ll all be here.”
“I’ll be up as soon as I can.” She laid the receiver back in the cradle. It was the first time in seven days that she’d been able to draw a full breath. “Toby’s there and he’s all right.”
“Thank God,” Mark said.
“I want to talk to that boy,” Cardozo said. “Tonight.”
FORTY-FOUR
11:10 P.M.
AFTER SIX PUSHES ON the buzzer, something flashed behind the darkened bubble-glass window and Tim Alvarez opened the front door.
“Anne.” He was wearing a crimson Harvard sweatshirt. When Anne introduced Mark and Lieutenant Cardozo, his face registered surprise, quickly covered. “What a great treat for your dad—he loves unexpected visitors.” He led them into the house. “Leon’s relaxing with his hot milk. He thinks it helps him sleep. The doctor says it doesn’t do him any harm.”
Leon was in the study, watching a Court TV rerun. Toby was sitting on the sofa beside him, pushing keys on a laptop computer.
“Aunt Anne!” Toby bounded up. “Did you get my message?”
“I got them both. And I was so happy. And so relieved.” Anne hugged him and whirled him around. “But I thought you were in bed. Isn’t it late for you to be up?”
“Stop being a mother,” Leon said. “You’re his aunt. Aunts are supposed to be fun.”
Anne deposited a kiss on her father’s forehead. “You remember Mark Wells.”
“Sure I remember Mark—your old beau.” Leon held out a hand, half-rising. “The stockbroker, right?”
“I’m afraid I’m just a lawyer, sir.”
“Glad you’re back in her life, Mark.”
“Mark gave Lieutenant Cardozo and me a lift.” Anne turned to make the introduction. �
��Leon, this is Lieutenant Vincent Cardozo, from our local precinct in New York.”
Leon tilted his head. “I take it you’re Annie’s police protection?”
“Come on, Leon, I don’t need police protection.”
“Oh, no? Haven’t you been watching the evening news?”
“No. What’s happened?”
“Norton Stanley announced that you’re going to write a tell-all about sneaking onto that jury. When Judge Bernheim heard that, she went on the warpath and revoked your bail. She’s been phoning all night, asking if I’ve seen you.”
“Lord, does that make me a fugitive?”
Leon shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to squeal. I’ve had it with Gina.” His eyes came around to Cardozo. “What about you, Lieutenant? Are you planning to arrest my little girl?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you’re kind of far from your beat, aren’t you? What brings you all this way?”
“The lieutenant would like to ask Toby some questions,” Anne said.
“Don’t tell me this renegade has been breaking laws too.” Leon’s eyes glowed. He tousled Toby’s hair. “That makes three generations of us felons under one roof.”
“Why don’t we go to the living room,” Anne suggested, “so Leon can watch his show.”
Anne hung back in the corridor with Lieutenant Cardozo. “Toby doesn’t know his mother is dead. I don’t want you to be the one to tell him.”
Cardozo nodded. His eyes were grave. “I understand.”
In the living room, Toby was jabbing a poker at the birch logs smoldering in the fireplace.
Cardozo squatted beside him. “When did you last see your mother?”
“Saturday morning.”
“Where was that?”
“Aunt Anne’s. We spent the night there.”
“Why did you spend the night in your aunt’s apartment?”
“Mom said we had to water the plants.”
“Did your mom have any plans to take you on a trip last weekend?”
Toby shook his head.
“Toby—are you sure?”
“Are you going to tell Mom?”
“No.”
“Well … she was planning a trip—but she made me swear not to tell anyone.”
“Do you have any idea why she sent a stranger to Mademoiselle with a note?”
Toby was silent, wounded. “I guess something came up and she wasn’t able to pick me up herself.”
“Did you know the man she sent?”
“He was a stranger,” Toby said quietly, resentfully.
“Do you have any idea how your mom happened to know him?”
Toby looked down at the floor. “Mom knows a lot of people.”
“Toby, do you remember a policewoman who spoke to you a week ago last Wednesday at school?”
“Sure I remember.”
“What did she speak to you about?”
“There was a man in a car. Watching the kids. Taking photographs. She wanted to know if I’d ever seen him before.”
“And had you?”
“I told her I hadn’t.”
“Did you see the policewoman talk to him?”
Toby reflected for a moment. “I saw her go over to the car. I guess she was talking to him—but I couldn’t exactly see.”
“Did she leave with him?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Was it the same man who picked you up from school last Saturday?”
Toby hesitated. Almost shrewdly. “Did something happen to that policewoman?”
Cardozo glanced at Anne. “Someone hurt her.”
“How badly?”
“Very badly.”
Toby was silent a moment. “It was the same man.”
Cardozo handed Toby the photograph from Britta’s wallet. “Is this him?”
Toby frowned. “The hair’s different. I can’t be sure.”
Cardozo showed him the sketch. “And this man?”
“Kind of, I guess.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“He told me to call him Dad.”
“But you knew he wasn’t your dad. Why did you go with him?”
“He showed Mademoiselle a note from Mom.” Toby shrugged. “I figured, Mom wants me to go with him. He must be going to marry her. Maybe they’ve already married.”
“Did your mother ever tell you she was planning to remarry?”
“She mentioned it sometimes. And last weekend I knew she was planning something secret and important.”
“Did the man offer you anything? Promise you anything? Threaten you?”
“He said we’d go hiking. And then he took me to an old house in New Jersey with the windows covered up.”
“Did he do anything to you? Hurt you?”
“Not till Sunday.”
“What happened Sunday?”
“We had a fight. The cops took us in. They kept me overnight and I ran away Monday.”
“Where’s the man now?”
“I don’t know.”
“How would you feel about sheltering a fugitive from justice?” Anne said. “Can I stay up in the cabin?”
Leon’s eyes went to Lieutenant Cardozo. “What’s the point hiding up there if your lieutenant friend knows?”
“He says he’s not going to tell.”
“Is that the truth, Lieutenant? You’re not going to spill the beans on my little girl?”
Cardozo shook his head. “Federal problems aren’t my province, sir.”
“The lieutenant strikes me as an honorable man. Sure, if you don’t mind sharing with Toby, you can have the cabin.” Leon stretched out his left leg and pulled up his trouser cuff. A three-inch steel band had been locked above his ankle. “With this gizmo on my leg, God knows I’m not using the place anymore.”
Cardozo took a startled step forward. “Is that a transmitter?”
“They claim it’s a transmitter. For all I know it’s just another piece of overpriced Gulf War scrap.”
Toby chose that moment to pipe up. “It has a two-mile range. It broadcasts down to the police station.”
Cardozo frowned. “You’re under house arrest?”
“House-and-garden arrest.” Leon smiled. “It’s part of my plea bargain. I’m allowed to go as far as the flowerbeds. But not one step beyond.”
“They’ve put sensors in the roses,” Toby said. “You want to go see, Aunt Anne?”
“Careful you don’t set off any alarms,” Leon said, “or I’ll be in the hoosegow.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Cardozo said, “what was the alleged offense?”
“Nothing alleged about it.” On the table beside Leon’s chair, the telephone made a soft electronic cooing sound. “I broke some interstate telephone laws that needed breaking.”
“Seems kind of a severe penalty,” Cardozo said.
Leon lifted the receiver. “Hello?” He covered the mouthpiece. “For you, Lieutenant. A lady by the name of diAngeli.”
“Is there a phone where I could speak without disturbing you?”
“I’ll show you.” Anne led him to the phone in the hallway.
He lifted the receiver. “Tess?”
“It would be a lot easier to reach you if the precinct would stop garbling area codes. What are you doing in Connecticut?”
“Long story. What’s happening?”
“I finally got through to my contact at Justice. We’ve located Mickey—he’s been staying with his girlfriend at her place on the Upper West Side.”
“Maybe part of the time. But he’s also been using Catch Talbot’s name and hanging out in a room at the Gibbs Clinic over on East Sixty-second.”
“He denies knowing anything about Toby Talbot.”
“You spoke to him?”
“On the phone.”
“Maybe a face-to-face meeting with Toby will jog his memory.”
“You’ve found Toby?”
“An hour ago.”
“Than
k God. How is he?”
Cardozo had to wonder if her concern was for the boy or for her own career. “Upset. He’s been through a lot. But he’s safe now and he’ll make a good witness.”
“What are you planning?”
“I want to bring Mickey in for questioning in connection with the kidnapping and the murders of Britta Bailey and Kyra Talbot.”
A shocked silence whooshed out of the phone. “Why would Mickey have killed Kyra Talbot?”
“It could be he thought she was Anne. She had the kid, he wanted the kid. Where is he now?”
“He’s with his girlfriend. They’re seeing a movie.”
“Better keep an eye on him till I can get a warrant for his arrest.”
Tess sighed. “How soon can you get the warrant?”
“Couple of hours. Are you going to bed?”
“I wish. I’ve got work to do. You won’t be waking me.”
“Okay. I’ll be in touch.”
Mark looked at his watch. “Way past my bedtime. What about yours, Lieutenant?”
“Mine too.”
Anne walked with them to the front door and opened it. Cool, moist air floated into the house.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” Cardozo said.
“You’re welcome, but there was no hospitality.”
“Yes, there was.” Mark kissed her. “Will you be okay?”
“Of course I’ll be okay. Toby will take care of me. Won’t you, Toby?”
Toby nodded. “Absolutely.”
The men’s footsteps crunched across gravel. Mark turned at the door of the Mercedes and waved. He looked tired but very fit, very handsome, and very smart. The combination was not unusual but the verys were.
Two car doors slammed. Anne and Toby stood a moment, watching the taillights vanish around the turn at the end of the drive.
He took her hand. “Aunt Anne—are you in bad trouble with Judge Bernheim?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Is there any way I can help?”
“That’s sweet, but you mustn’t worry about it. It’ll straighten itself out. If your grampa will help.”
“What do you need from Grampa?”
“His client’s name.”
“Which client?”
“Mathis v. Doe.”
Somewhere out on the thruway, an automobile horn sent a Dopplered moan through the night.
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