"Was he recognizable?" Casey asked.
She shook her head. "I can't imagine he would have been, but I never saw pictures of him from before. He made it clear that he wasn't interested in looking like himself again."
"Did that strike you as odd?" Jordan asked.
"Not really. You'd be surprised how many people want to look totally different. Before I worked there, I would've thought people might want a new nose or chin, but a whole new face—" She frowned. "How would your family know you?" She paused and stared down in her cup. "But probably one in ten want a whole new look."
Jordan poised his pen. "Tell me what you remember about him."
"He was strange—right from the start. First off, he was nearly healed by the time he came to Dr. Ballari."
"What's strange about that?"
"Usually we get patients right from the hospital's OR. As soon as the patient is stabilized, he would be brought to us. But McAllister waited almost four full weeks before coming."
"Do you know why he waited?"
She nodded and stared at her coffee for a minute. Jordan let her take her time. Leonardo scared him almost as much as he appeared to scare Nina Rodriguez.
When she looked back up, she answered, "Wanted to make sure Dr. Ballari was the best. Which he is—" She caught herself. "Was. McAllister had done his homework. He knew about all of the doctor's clients, where Ballari had studied, his technique, everything. It was almost eerie. McAllister had also checked out most of us, too. Said he wanted to know what he was paying for.
"Ballari was an artist. He could sketch a face and then etch it from flesh and bone the same way a sculptor does from clay. And McAllister knew all of it."
"Was there other stuff?"
She nodded. "It was everything, really. When it came time to decide on his new face, he picked up a magazine, flipped through it for a couple of minutes at the most, and then pointed to a man. The one he chose wasn't anything special. A model with a strong jaw, but nothing spectacular—sort of a generic appearance. All that research to find the right doctor, and he didn't even care what he ended up looking like.
"I was surprised. McAllister seemed very vain, very sure of himself. I couldn't understand why he hadn't taken the time to figure out what he wanted to look like. Everything about it was weird."
Jordan pulled his sketches out and laid them across the table, setting his coffee on the floor to make room. "Do any of these pictures look familiar?"
Nina looked at each one and then shook her head. She pointed to the one Officer Jones had done. "The face is okay—the eyes and nose. But the chin is all wrong. The chin he chose was really squared, sculpted."
Casey nodded.
Casey had been right about the fake chin. Jordan was amazed at how she figured these things out. He took the napkin from his lap and tore it into long strips, then laid them across the pictures as Casey had done in the hospital cafeteria, leaving only the noses showing. "You're sure about the nose, though."
Pointing to Jones's sketch, she nodded. "It's this nose." She turned to the sketch from Billy. "This one's too wide." She touched Elizabeth Weisman's. "This one's right, too." Picking up the napkin, Nina rearranged them to leave his eyes. "The eyes are definitely right." She looked up as if to explain. "There's not a whole lot you can do with someone's eyes. Ballari always said the windows to someone's soul are difficult to redress." She smiled softly and shook her head.
"I know this is difficult, but can you confirm any of the other features?" Casey asked.
She pointed at the cheeks in one sketch and nodded. "Those look right." Then, pushing the napkin aside, she studied all three again. "The chins are what's wrong, but it's definitely him. I'd know those eyes."
Jordan looked back at Nina. "What about the surgery? Were you there?"
She nodded. "I was there. It was awful. McAllister wanted minimal anesthesia—insisted he didn't need it at all."
"No anesthesia? What did Ballari do?"
"He insisted, of course. But McAllister fought him on it, so Ballari agreed and administered the minimum dose. McAllister hardly seemed affected by it. He was in and out through the entire procedure, mumbling." She shivered. "It was so eerie. Made everyone nervous. Of course, Ballari still did wonderful work.
"Then, when the surgery was done, he wanted to see his face." She shook her head and stared, her gaze that of someone who had encountered evil and realized what it could do. "He'd wanted to wear his contacts—he was meticulous about his sight. He argued, but Ballari refused to do the surgery if McAllister was wearing contacts. Of course, it made perfect sense. But McAllister wanted to see what Ballari was doing.
"So, as soon as the surgery was over, he demanded that I set his glasses over his eyes and show him a mirror so he could look at the work before we bandaged. It was really not a pretty sight, but McAllister actually seemed genuinely pleased. It was so creepy."
"What about after the surgery?"
"We were all so relieved it was over, but he didn't go away. As soon as he was out of the hospital, he started calling the office all the time. Said he wanted his chart and his file. He wouldn't leave us alone."
"Did he follow you outside of work?" Casey asked.
Nina's gaze shot up to meet Casey's, and she blinked hard before nodding.
"We read the police report about the stalker," Jordan said.
She exhaled. "I started getting strange calls and then threats in the mail. They didn't say anything about work, so I didn't make the connection. But I was having trouble concentrating at work. I called the police and asked for help. They told me it was a kid, playing a prank. But I didn't think so."
"And how did you end up leaving your job?"
"I wanted to take a couple of weeks off, go see my sister in Chicago just to get away. Ballari was under a lot of stress, too. He needed me to be there. He said if I had to go, I shouldn't come back." She shook her head and pushed the coffee away. "I went. I figured that I would be able to talk to Dr. Ballari when I got back. I never imagined..."
Jordan nodded. "You did the right thing."
Nina looked up with surprise. "I feel like I let them down. Michelle, one of the other nurses, was my best friend."
Casey laid her hand on Nina's. "There's nothing you could've done."
She stared at her for a minute and then exhaled, a long, deep breath. "I know. I just can't help blaming myself for not doing something else—" Nina smoothed her dark hair back. "We were all in danger, and I think I sensed it more than the others."
"What about the fire?" Jordan asked.
"I heard about it from Chicago. I'd tried to call Michelle and reached her mother, who had come from Detroit to deal with her things. I came right home, of course. But as soon as they said arson, I knew what had happened."
"Did you tell the police?"
She met his gaze and looked away.
"It's okay."
"I was too scared. He was already following me. The police weren't helping. I thought if I told them, he'd kill me."
"You think he was the stalker," Casey said.
"I know it was him," she said. Her voice held the edge of someone who had been doubted before.
Jordan knew what the police were facing, though. They got so many phony reports. It was sometimes hard to tell the imagined situations from the real ones. "Did you see him?"
She shook her head, looking upset.
"Then, how did you know it was him?"
"Because when he attacked me from behind, he whispered in my ear."
"You recognized the voice?" Casey asked.
"That was partially it. But it was more what he said."
"What did he say?" Jordan prompted.
"He said, 'If you think that fool Ballari was an artist, wait until you see what I can create.' I was scared, terrified, but I thought it was him. I just had to be sure. So, I asked, 'Who are you?'" Nina looked up and met Jordan's eyes. Her expression showed the strength of someone who had survived.
"
What did he say?" Jordan pressed.
"He laughed and said, 'I'm da Vinci.' "
Chapter 30
Casey stared down at the plate the waiter had set before her. She thought about the fear she'd seen in Nina Rodriguez's face the day before. It was all fitting together. Officer Jones had discovered the apparent stressor for the killing of George Allister's mother and sister. Three days before their murders, Indiana University had sent a letter of rejection to George Allister for their premed program.
According to a nurse who had worked with Karen Allister, she had been going home to celebrate her birthday with her mother. Casey still didn't quite understand the significance of birthdays, but somehow she was sure it tied in with the party hats.
After disposing of his mother and sister, George Allister became Roy McAllister and worked somewhere successfully for almost five years. Nina had told them he had confessed to driving recklessly because he'd been fired from his job. Again, it made sense. The stressor of losing his job might have spurred him to kill again. Either that, or the freedom the reconstructive surgery had brought him. After unsuccessfully stalking Nina Rodriguez, he'd gone to Cincinnati and hunted easier prey. That was when Casey had been called into the picture. All of it fit. The only missing piece was the present. What the hell was he up to now?
"Are you going to eat that or just stare at it?" Billy asked.
Casey focused on the burger and pushed Leonardo from her mind. "I can't believe I ordered this," she whispered.
"Why? You've been craving a burger for months."
She nodded. "I have, but how the hell am I going to eat it?"
A couple at the next table glanced over at her and began whispering. Casey did her best to ignore them. The popular restaurant hummed with Sunday afternoon traffic. Waiters wore starched white shirts and aprons. Linen dressed the tables, yet the TV blaring a game and the easy banter of the bar gave the restaurant a casual, relaxed feel.
"Pick it up," Billy prompted.
Casey scowled in his direction, then focused on the plate. The hamburger patty sat open-faced, and the smell was killing her. After retrieving the ketchup from the center of the table, Casey fought to open the bottle, using the center of her palm, and poured the red sauce over the fries.
With the fork held awkwardly in her fist, Casey stabbed at the mound of fries.
"Use your fingers."
She ignored him, wishing it were so easy.
"Try it," Billy pushed.
Laying her fork on the table, she glanced around to be sure no one was watching. The couple at the next table seemed to be occupied watching a man and woman make out at the bar.
Like a child eating finger food for the first time, Casey pushed the fries around on her plate and then caught one between her forefinger and thumb and lifted it to her lips. A french fry had never tasted better.
"Ha! I told you," Billy exclaimed.
"Will you shut up," she hissed. "I feel like a fool as it is."
The couple glanced over at her again. Casey sent them a scalding stare.
"Now try the burger," Billy said.
Casey scowled.
"You've done a lot tougher things than eat a burger."
"Don't push," she warned, smiling.
Billy grinned. "Pushing's my job."
Casey smoothed her hands over her napkin, wiping off the ketchup. With both hands, she reached for the burger, gripping it in an awkward clutch and bringing it to her mouth. A dollop of mustard landed in her lap, missing the napkin by a full inch. "Shit."
"Ignore it," Billy said, watching her. "Half the people here have dripped mustard in their laps."
She brought the cheeseburger to her mouth and took a bite.
"Good?"
She nodded. Setting the burger down, she wiped up the mustard stain, feeling strangely triumphant. As she rubbed at the yellow spot, she noticed her fingers obeyed her.
"It's easy, isn't it?"
"Not easy."
Billy smiled. "You got hungry enough to do it."
Casey rolled her eyes and reached for the burger again. Billy was right about one thing. She was starving. She took another bite and swallowed, setting the burger back down and reaching for her iced tea.
The waiter stopped beside her. "How is everything here?"
"Great," Casey answered, picking up her glass.
"Can I get you anything else?"
The glass slipped, and Casey tried to right it, but her fingers couldn't catch it quickly enough. The glass went over, pouring the full iced tea down the waiter's front.
"She could probably use some more iced tea," Billy said, laughing.
* * *
"You should drive us home," Billy said, dangling the keys.
Casey laughed and shook her head. "No way."
"You did a great job—once you put your mind to it."
Casey rolled her eyes to downplay his enthusiasm, though they both knew this was a small triumph.
"We should have ordered cake to celebrate. You could've eaten it with your fingers."
"You're intolerable."
Billy grinned. "You sure you don't want to drive?"
"Positive," she insisted, fighting her hands to pry the passenger side door open and then collapsing on the seat from the effort.
Billy got in and started the engine, the Volvo stirring to life. "I think that waiter thought we were insane."
"Hey, it was your idea. I told you months ago eating out with me would be trouble."
"You were great." He touched her hand.
"Thanks." She pulled the seat belt across her lap and fumbled to get it into place, noticing how Billy watched her from the corner of his eye but made no move to help her.
When she was safely belted in, Billy pulled out of the parking spot. Though he looked better than he had, Casey noticed he was still pale and seemed more than a little lethargic, especially for someone who normally had the energy of a dozen ten-year-olds on M&Ms. "You should lie down when we go home. Take a nap."
Billy waved a finger. "You're not getting out of your exercises that easily."
"I can do them on my own. You look tired."
He nodded. "A little. What I'd really like to do is take some bread to the park and feed the ducks."
Casey smiled. "You're getting transparent, Billy."
"What do you mean?"
"Going to the park means breaking up the bread and that means finger exercise—I know what you're up to."
With a smile, he shrugged. "It was worth a try." His smile, even his shrug, lacked his normal enthusiasm. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he added, "I am a little tired."
"Maybe we shouldn't have gone out."
"No," Billy said. "It was wonderful. I've heard great things about Crogan's. I appreciate you treating." He glanced over at her. "And it was time for you to get out, Casey. You're ready to get back."
Casey waved the comment off. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm serious. You're ready. You don't need me anymore. It's like you said—you can do the exercises yourself."
"Stop talking like that, Billy."
"Casey, it's the truth. I see it in your eyes. Whether or not you admit it to yourself, you want to get back to work. Inspector Gray's been good for you. As scary as this killer is, the situation has proved that you can do it."
She shook her head. "I still can't do it, Billy. All I can do is sit at a table and think about a killer's M.O., give my suggestions about what he will do, and maybe why." She paused and thought about Cincinnati. There was no way she would ever be that strong again.
As much as she hated to admit it, he had destroyed parts of her she couldn't even remember. She pushed the thought from her mind. "I can't hunt like I used to. It's not the same."
"Because you've convinced yourself it won't be. I've seen you when you're determined. You can do anything you want to. You've started to run on that knee. And look at your boxing."
Casey stared out the window. She wasn't ready to go back. She nev
er would be. How could she be a profiler? She couldn't tie her shoelaces, or drive. Even boxing was nothing like it had been.
And most importantly, she couldn't shoot a gun. The Bureau had shooting requirements she would never pass again. Despite the access Jordan had gotten her to the shooting range, she still couldn't shoot. The three times she'd gone to the range, she'd tucked herself in the far stall and stood, hands shaking while she tried to get her fingers to cooperate. She'd gotten a few shots off, but none had come close to a target. Beyond that, she was just plain weak, and in her job weak meant vulnerable. And vulnerable meant dead. There was no future for her with the Bureau. She still didn't see much of a future at all. Working with Jordan was a distraction from her life over the last year. But it was only that—a distraction.
"I mean it, Casey. The only barrier you have has nothing to do with your hands."
She looked at him and frowned.
"It's between your ears."
She turned away, waving him off.
"You can put it off, but we're going to have to talk about it soon." Billy exhaled hard, and she turned to see him press the palm of his hand to his chest.
Something in his expression scared her. "Are you okay?"
He nodded as he pulled into the driveway. "Looks like we have company."
Casey frowned at the unfamiliar white Ford Taurus sitting in the driveway. "Who the hell's that?"
"Should we stop?"
Hesitating only a second, she nodded. Leonardo wasn't going to park in her driveway and ring the doorbell.
As Billy stopped the car, Casey peered through the windshield. She didn't see anyone. Maybe it was someone visiting one of her neighbors, she thought, noticing the rental-looking car. But then why would they park in her drive?
Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) Page 23