The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3)

by Lawrence Kelter

  The plates were still empty. Ricky was rolling moo shu wraps for the three of us, and doing a skillful job of it. Ma was silent. I saw her watching him, her eyes wet, fighting back tears. When I held her hand under the table, she looked at me. She let one tear go and then wiped her eyes dry. “What are we doing here,” she said. “Everyone’s starving. Give out some food already.”

  “Here’s the moo shu,” Ricky said, transferring the wraps from his dish to ours. “I put the plum sauce inside already.”

  I took a bite. It was really good, sweet, salty, and moist, all at the same time—just the kind of food I normally avoid like the plague. But this was one of those days, when it was easier to go with the flow than fight the world. Did I actually hear Ma say that I looked like a noodle with boobs? And I let it go? I was about to revisit the subject when Ma struck preemptively.

  “You look pretty without your makeup on, just simple and clean.” She grabbed my hand under the table and squeezed it. “You work too hard.” She was misting up again. She was looking at me and remembering Dad. “Remember, it’s only a job. Don’t let it take over your life.”

  “I’m fine, Ma.” This was the one thing I couldn’t explain to her. It was one thing being a policeman’s wife, and another being on the job yourself. This wasn’t just a job, this was the job of jobs; NYPD homicide, it’s if you’re fighting a war for God himself. She would never be able to understand that, looking from the outside in.

  “Isn’t your sister pretty, Ricky?”

  Ricky nodded. He had a huge grin on his face and was stuffing an egg roll into his mouth. He looked up and grinned. The boy had an appetite as big as all outdoors. I know that most men prioritize food above almost all else. Ricky apparently was no exception.

  I looked back at Ma. She seemed thoughtful as she ate, as if she was truly appreciative of the time she had with her family and was taking stock in the axiom, life is too short. Perhaps that was just me, projecting my feeling onto her. Spending the day with Damien Zugg had given me a fresh perspective on life, and how precious it truly was.

  Twenty-Four

  5:00 AM. The night’s yield had come to nothing: no clues, no suspects, no runs, no hits, and no errors. Lido and I were sitting in a coffee shop named the Dugout, hence the baseball analogy—I felt like you were due an explanation.

  There’s nothing quite as uncomfortable as knocking on someone’s door in the middle of the night, waking them from a sound night’s sleep, holding photographs in front of their red, watery eyes, while they’re yawning, only to leave with a little less hope than you had the moment before you knocked on their door. In law enforcement as in life, anticipation is everything. It’s what keeps driving you forward when all seems lost. Lido and I were exhausted and low on hope and life sustaining nutrients.

  Breakfast smelled as you’d imagine it would at one of those hole-in-the-wall joints with a bright yellow $1.99 Breakfast Special sign in the window. My scrambled eggs were served on an oval dish that had been in and out of the dishwasher so many times that the pattern had worn off the china, and the inside of my coffee mug had a thousand hairline fractures in the surface, stained brown from coffee too deeply imbedded to ever come out. But the eggs were fresh and the coffee was hot—more than that, I couldn’t ask for.

  “So what’s with that guy, Zugg?”

  “You mean the FBI’s consultant?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  I was hoping that Lido hadn’t picked up on Zugg’s eccentricities, but Lido was after all a cop, and a good detective to boot. He was certainly capable of reading between the lines, and Zugg read like elementary school paper, the kind with the wide spaces. It seemed like a good time to fill him in on the details before Zugg had another episode. You’re nuts though if you think I’m going to give him the gory details. “Zugg’s a brilliant forensics specialist. He’s retired from the Bureau on permanent disability and Ambler wanted his involvement in the case. He found a chemical on Kevin Lee’s skull that the FBI technicians missed.” My eggs needed salt and my whole wheat toast needed…well taste. The home fries were frying pan burnt, but they were seasoned with everything imaginable. I put my hand on Lido’s. “Zugg’s in really poor health, Gus. He’s got brain cancer. That’s why the baseball cap never comes off. The top of his head looks like a suture roadmap, but it was good of you to engage him in a Yankee’s then and now conversation. I’m sure you made him feel right at home.”

  “I knew something was up. He looked kind of okay when we met, but he crashed within a couple of hours. I think Ambler arranged for him to be driven home.”

  “That’s right. Ambler offered to put Zugg up at a hotel, but he refused. He’s got medication at home he probably needs access to—you know how it is.”

  “Is he strong enough to work?”

  “Yes and no. He has his good days and his bad. I guess we’ll get to see him both ways. The important thing is that he wants to stay active and assist us with the investigation, and I’m happy to have his help at whatever level he can offer it.” There, I had fulfilled my obligation to bring Lido up to speed without divulging too much, giving Lido grave concerns about Zugg’s credibility—not that I didn’t have concerns of my own, but I was prepared to deal with the setbacks as they arose.

  “So, what did Zugg find?”

  “A trace amount of gentian violet.”

  “I know what that is. That’s the stuff they use in fingerprint ink.”

  “Correct, I see you still remember your police academy training. According to Zugg, it’s got 1001 uses, and is found in every crime lab in the world. So the real question is whether it was on the skull when we recovered it, or did it accidentally find its way onto the skull somewhere in the FBI crime lab?”

  A man was sitting next to me at the counter. His eggs had been prepared sunny side up. He placed his fork under the yolk to lift it off the plate. Then he placed his lips on the eggs and sucked out the yolk—as if I wasn’t having enough trouble choking down my breakfast already. “I think it’s time to get back out on the street.”

  “But I haven’t finished yet.”

  I directed Lido to glance at my yolk-sucking friend. He had yolk on his nose and was going in for number two. “No, I’m quite sure we’re both finished.” I grabbed the check and stood. Lido wolfed down as much as he could while I waited to pay the bill, and then met me outside.

  “Got grossed out, huh?” he asked.

  “I got grossed out—yes.”

  “Nothing bothers my appetite.”

  “You ate spam before we started dating. I guess you can choke down almost anything. Aren’t you glad you started dating a nice Italian girl whose mother cooks from dawn to dusk?”

  “I’m glad I met you.” Gus faked a yawn and grazed my butt as he brought his hand to his mouth. “For everything you bring to the table.” He gave me a sexy wink. “Wanna get a room?”

  “Just like a man to think about sex at a time like this. It’s five AM. We’ve been up all night and haven’t come across a fresh lead. God knows, Shearson’s going to come down on us like a ton of bricks if we don’t crack this thing wide open soon.

  “What can I say? I’m a good healthy boy, with all kinds of appetites. Besides, I just read in Men’s Health that a man’s testosterone level peaks early in the morning.”

  “You should’ve quit while you were ahead. You had a chance before, but bringing up the word testosterone? I can’t possibly think of a bigger turnoff. Just so you know for next time, any mention of male specific fluids is a buzz kill for the female libido.”

  “Sorry. I made a lot of overtime last month—we can get a really nice room.”

  Gus was teasing me. He was a guy all right, but a guy who knew how to press a woman’s buttons. “Sure, take me to the finest hourly rate hotel in the city, someplace where they actually launder the sheets.” I whispered in his ear. “We’ve got work to do. Find me a killer and I’ll—” That last part of that sentence was omitted intentional
ly. I didn’t want to embarrass either of us. Back to the conversation of pushing buttons--Gus looked a little flush. He was still leering at me when an RMP screeched to a halt in front of us. The cop leaning out the window looked familiar. I recognized him from the police academy and called out his name, “Lipscomb.”

  Lido had a queer expression on his face. He pulled me aside. “Did you say lip scum?”

  “Lipscomb, Lipscomb, what’s the matter with you?”

  “I wasn’t sure what you said.”

  “You can be such a jerk.” Lip scum, what a visual. I had to pinch myself as I walked over to the car just to keep it in check.

  “Chalice,” he called back. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been looking for you. We found a crime scene.”

  “How’ve you been, Lipscomb?” Okay, I’m sorry, this is terrible, but I couldn’t say his name with a straight face, and likely would never be able to do so again.

  “You’re looking good, Chalice—come a long way since we went through the academy together.”

  Lipscomb was a hunk of sorts, with rugged good looks and an overdeveloped body. He was fun to look at but I never saw him as the kind of guy I’d ever want to get close to. He had that cocky macho thing going, twenty-four/seven. He was the kind of guy you’d wake up next to one day, spot a hickie on his neck, chamber a round, and blow his brains out. I winked at him just to be flirtatious and play to his ego so that he wouldn’t suspect that Lido and I were a couple. “What’d we find?”

  “Courtyard behind a restaurant; broken window, loose gutter—the crime scene guys just got there. They think it may be related to your John Doe case. We’ve got the area cordoned off—no one’s getting in or out until you arrive.”

  “Let’s move.” Gus and I jumped into the back of the car. This may not have been the kind of excitement Gus had been looking for, but the news drove any thoughts of sex right out of our minds. Anticipation was high and there would be plenty of the good stuff for Gus when we solved this case. Not that it had ever been bad, but it certainly made a strong argument for solving the case and enjoying a little down time—details to follow.

  Twenty-Five

  A restaurant named The Nine Circles conjures up many kinds of images, not all of them good. The restaurant whose name bore reference to Dante’s Inferno was located on the ground level of a three-story brick structure. Apartment dwellings were located above. I took it all in as the RMP pulled up in front of the restaurant. The façade was black with concentric neon rings backlighting the name. I was guessing about the type of food a restaurant with such a name might serve. Well, for the record only, I was spot on—the Nine Circles served Thai. A Zagat’s review was framed in the window. The caption read: The Spiciest Thai in Town.

  The restaurant’s early morning staff was already on site, preparing for the day’s trade. NYPD had taken charge; police and specialty teams were moving in and out of the restaurant’s doorway. A second front door, which led to the upstairs apartments was likewise NYPD secured.

  “Take a quick look,” the RMP’s driver said. “We think the upstairs units are abandoned. We didn’t want to go in until you arrived.”

  Likely they were. NYPD and FBI personnel had surrounded the building. Chaos like that would have normally drawn the curiosity of everyone inside, especially at this early hour when the streets were normally quiet.

  Lido and I walked straight through the eatery to the rear courtyard.

  The yard behind The Nine Circles was a common court, providing access to several buildings, shops, and restaurants. There was also a common access driveway, through which, I imagined the stores took deliveries and had their sanitation removed. There were several technicians already at work, but the only one I noticed was Damien Zugg. Damien Zugg was already back on the job. I saw him kneeling to examine something on the ground. He was picking up a glass fragment with a pair of tweezers and slipping it into a plastic evidence bag.

  “Dr. Zugg, back so soon?”

  “Couldn’t sleep, Chalice.” The bags under his eyes corroborated his statement.

  “You drove in on your own?”

  “Sleep deprivation’s not so bad once you get used to it.” He stood and held the plastic evidence bag at eye level. “You see?”

  The jagged glass fragment was about three inches long. It was red at the very tip. “Blood?”

  Zugg nodded and then pointed behind us, back toward the building over the restaurant. The corner window was shattered. Below the window, the gutter was broken away from the building. A crime scene tech was in the process of pulling it free. “This must be the place,” Zugg mused. “Dollars to donuts, this is John Doe’s blood on the glass. Up yonder is where he was held captive.”

  “He went out the window and tried to use the gutter to break his fall—pretty brave effort.”

  “Whatever took place in that room mandated drastic action.”

  “Care to have a look?”

  Zugg followed me to the front of the building where the police had secured the front door. We picked up Lido along the way.

  “This the place?” Lido asked.

  “Bingo.”

  Ambler was just getting out of his car. We threw on Kevlar and hit the doorbell. I could hear it chime from out on the street. I counted to five and then pressed on it continually. I doubted we were going to find anyone alive inside. Our perp had likely cleared out after discovering John Doe’s escape. I stepped aside and let the strong boys batter the door in. The old wooden door fractured. We cleared away the debris and moved cautiously up the stairs.

  Via the staircase, there was access to two apartments, one on each of the second and third levels. I took the top level where we assumed Doe had escaped from. “Open up, NYPD.” Lido gave it about two seconds and then kicked in the door. We began going room to room. There was a modest kitchen and a living room, both empty and unremarkable. I moved past the bathroom to where there were two empty bedrooms. They were both stark white.

  Nausea hit me in the pit of the stomach. I knew instantly that John Doe had been tortured here.

  The picture opened up in my mind—it was like some manner of horrific nightmare. I saw the broken window with Doe’s blood dried on the glass and window frame. There were holes in the wall around the window where Doe had freed metal lag bolts from the studs. The security bars that had once contained Doe were on the floor. In the corner of the room, a cabinet in the far corner of the room contained prescription bottles of every size and description. Heavy gauge piano wire had been secured to the ceiling above the single bed and the floor. The floor was covered with cigarette butts and the room stunk of cigarette smoke.

  Although I had been trained not to jump to conclusions, I knew in my heart that everything I envisioned about this tragic place was true, and it would be just a short matter of time until the crime lab validated my conclusions.

  Ambler, Zugg, and Lido entered the small bedroom. I monitored their expressions. I could see that they were seeing everything exactly as I had, and then Lido must’ve noticed something I hadn’t. I saw the pained expression on his face as he looked back at me and moved to block something from my line of sight.

  “What’s that, Gus?”

  “Um, nothing.” Lido shrugged, trying to appear that he didn’t know what I was talking about. Pigheaded detective that I was, I just couldn’t let it slide. I already knew that we were in the place where John Doe had been incarcerated and tortured. The room was crammed wall to wall with evidence, and I really didn’t need to see every God-awful item in it…but Stephanie Chalice, bloodhound detective just couldn’t leave any stone unturned.

  “C’mon, Gus, what’s there—I saw your face.”

  Gus looked at me and sadly shook his head. I wasn’t sure if he was registering abject disgust or attempting to communicate that I shouldn’t look. I beckoned for him to move aside and he reluctantly complied. Behind him on the floor was a large plastic bottle of drain cleaner pierced by a hypodermic syringe. I turned and walked slo
wly down the stairs and out to the front of the building to fill my lungs with fresh air.

  Twenty-Six

  Lido and Ambler followed me downstairs.

  “Are you alright?” Gus rubbed my arm. “I tried to warn you.”

  “I know. Thanks. That bottle of drain cleaner—it just took everything out of me, and the stench of cigarettes, it was as if we were inside a pair of unhealthy lungs.”

  “Real nice up there,” Ambler said. “I wonder if the landlord gets extra for all the B and D stuff.”

  “I noticed a reciprocating camera on the wall above the bedroom door. Either of you see any tapes while you were up there?”

  Lido shook his head. “The perp had enough presence of mind to remove it. Somehow in his warped mind, it’s the only truly incriminating piece of evidence.”

  Ambler looked concerned. “You look a little green, Chalice.”

  “Must’ve been all those fried crustaceans you fed me yesterday.”

  “Curly fries are not crustaceans.”

  “Don’t get cute. You know what I mean.”

  Ambler offered me a stick of chewing gum. “Peppermint, give it a try, it does wonders for me.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I took Ambler’s gum. I had eaten everything I’d been offered in the last twenty-four hours. I made a mental note to stop accepting meal invitations and start planning my own menus. I turned to Lido. “Are our crime scene guys cataloguing the evidence up there?”

  Lido nodded.