No. I have to be honest. I knew who it was. And I knew it was for me.
“Yeah.”
“I have her.”
“Son of a bitch.” I clenched the receiver so tightly my fingers turned white. “Why Rachel?”
“I needed her. She’s the Vessel.”
“You said you cared about me, you bastard!” I shouted, feigning a toughness I did not feel. “If you do anything to her, anything like what you did to me-”
“Please calm yourself, dear. This is pointless.”
“I’ll make your god Poe look like an unimaginative grandma when you see what I can do. Have you hurt her?”
“Of course not.”
“What is it you want?” I cried. “What is it you want from me?”
“Now? Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Then why-”
“I just called to tell you that you needn’t worry. I have Rachel, and I will take good care of her, after my fashion. There’s no chance that you’ll catch me or recover her. So relax and enjoy what little time is left.”
My head felt thick and unresponsive. There must be something I should do, something I should say. But what was it? “What do you mean, what little time is left?”
“I’ve told you before, Susan. The end times are upon us. I have everything I need now. Everything.”
“Let me talk to her. If you really haven’t hurt her, let me talk to her.”
A long sigh. Followed by: “Five seconds.”
The phone passed. “Oh, my God, Susan, it’s him. It’s really him. I haven’t been this scared since that day when we rented a video just after my parents-”
“Time’s up.”
“Bastard!” I wailed, my voice hoarse. “You could at least let her finish the sentence.”
“I’m afraid we must go, just in case you’re tracing.”
“Can I talk to her again tomorrow?”
“I… doubt she’ll be… able to communicate clearly.” I heard him sigh. “I wanted so much to save you, Susan. But I couldn’t do it. And who else is going to try?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you know. Good night, Susan. Try not to make a mess of it this time.”
The line disconnected.
While they were all babbling about the trace and the recording and what it meant, I stumbled to my car and drove away, fast, before Patrick got up the strength or numbers to stop me. My heart was pounding and my brain was racing. A thousand thoughts cruised through my head at once. It was like being drunk without being drunk. Was this what they called a dry drunk? I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t get a grip on myself, on anything.
Except one thing. I knew where I was going. Gordy’s. Back where this all began. It was appropriate, no? Symmetrical.
Had I ever really thought for a minute I could give up drinking? Who was delusional now? The bartender would still serve me, I thought, and if he didn’t, there was a liquor store next door. Hell, that might be quicker. What did it matter? No shortage of places to get drunk in Vegas.
Soon as I got there, I parked, popped open the car door, put one leg out-and froze.
Not voluntarily. I wanted to move. I kept telling myself to move. It was as if I’d lost all control, as if some alien being had taken over my body.
I closed my eyes and saw Darcy-Darcy, of all people-in my mind’s eye. The autistic savant, the boy who didn’t comprehend emotion, but who nonetheless had given me so much emotional support. He was just staring at me. He liked me, I’d have to be blind not to see that, but he wasn’t happy to see me. He was sad. So sad.
Rachel wasn’t sad. Worried, not sad. I saw almost everyone I knew, Lisa, Patrick, Granger, the chief, my parents, my suspects, all of them, all of them, all of them.
David.
They were so sad.
That’s what he wants you to do.
I somehow managed to get my leg back inside the car and close the door, but that was such a strain that I decided to forget about trying to move again for a while.
Try not to make a mess of it this time.
My wrist throbbed. Throbbed, like an aching in the hollow of my heart.
“Don’t let him win, sugar bear.”
“It’s so… hard,” I said, even though I knew I wasn’t speaking.
“Naturally,” David replied, with his understanding smile. “It’s meant to be.”
“I wish you hadn’t done it, David. I wish you hadn’t.” I folded over on the seat, hands tucked into my lap, cradling like a fetus. “I just wished you’d loved me enough to stay.”
David looked at me with heavy eyes. “I’m sorry, Susan. It’s hard to admit, but-there are times when love has nothing to do with it.”
I lay on the seat like a pathetic baby, which is exactly what I was. “I don’t forgive you, David. Not now, not ever. I will not forgive you.”
His eyes only deepened. “This is my last visit, Susan.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you need to get on with it. And you won’t, as long as I’m around.”
And then he was gone. And I lay across the front seat of my beat-up car, crying into the vinyl, hurting, hurting so much.
But I was still inside the car.
34
When I woke up, I didn’t know how much time had passed. Somehow, all the smoke and cobwebs that once had fogged my brain had cleared, like someone had gone in with a mini-vac and sucked it clean. The aching, the craving, was still there. But it was manageable. I could make it. I knew that I could make it.
Rachel needs you, the voice in my head insisted. You have no more time to waste.
And yet I didn’t immediately start the car. I sat up straight and stared into the mirror. All I could see were my eyes, but somehow, that was enough.
I could catch this man, I told myself, looking right into those red, tired, mismatched eyes. I had the means, the gift. If only I could put it all together…
I tried to let my mind drift, free-associate. I thought if I opened things up enough, I might spark a connection, discover whatever it was I knew but my conscious mind had not yet seen.
Relax, I told myself. Breathe in, hold it, release. Breathe in, hold it, release.
I had been so sure I had him, back at the Transylvania. I could almost feel him in my grasp. But I’d come up short.
Pull back, Susan. Let your mind wander…
Had the three cheerleaders come to the Transylvania? Had the others?
Helen is a good girl. She would never do something like that…
Annabel was brilliant, an honor student even at MIT. I made sure she knew how to apply herself, how to turn heads…
The most important facet of the narcissistic personality is the absolute certainty of his own superiority, that he’s right and everyone else is wrong…
He’s smart, phenomenally smart. Deranged, but smart…
She made scrapbooks, just like I did as a girl. She even posted some of her art on her personal Web page…
My eyes opened.
Uniforms.
That was the key, damn it. Uniforms.
What did Helen have on the walls in her bedroom? What did she have pasted into her scrapbook, on her Web page? Not rock stars. Not TV hunks. Cops, firemen, doctors, pilots…
And what did they have in common? Uniforms. Where did she sneak out to in her black leather bad-girl getup? A biker bar? The teen stud club? No. The Army grunt hangout. Because that’s where she would find men in uniforms.
Helen had a thing for uniforms. She liked them.
She trusted them.
Tiffany admired policemen, firemen. She dreamed of one day being a cop herself, because she admired them so.
She trusted them.
There’s more, I heard a voice within me saying. Keep working it, keep digging…
Darcy had shown me the burn mark where the door had been forced, the door to the ballroom where Helen Collier was found. But why was that significant?
Because it p
ointed away from the room, not toward it. Because the chain had been torched from the inside.
Edgar had already been inside when he brought out his acetylene torch. He’d had access to the room. Breaking the chains andforcing the lock had been just another clever trick to throw us off his trail.
My respiration spiked. I was breathing hard and heavy, my heartbeat racing. I was getting there. I knew I was getting there.
I stormed into headquarters, taking them all by surprise. The feds appeared to be reorganizing our offices into an FBI hostage crisis center. Which wasn’t a bad idea, in theory. But I knew that by the time they were finished, it would be too late for Rachel.
Patrick was in the chief’s office, conferencing. Darcy sat silently behind O’Bannon’s desk.
“Susan!” O’Bannon bellowed. “Where the hell have you been?” He looked at me suspiciously.
“Go ahead, sniff my breath. I haven’t been drinking.”
“Then what? Damn it-this is your own niece.”
“I know that,” I said firmly. “I also know he won’t kill her. Not yet. He might… do things to her. But she’s strong. She’ll survive. I did.”
“Susan, our investigators have a thousand questions-”
“And I’ll answer them. But in exchange, I want five plainclothes answering to me and complete freedom.”
They stared at me, all of them, speechless.
“And I’d like Patrick, if the Feebs can spare him. And Darcy,” I added. “Most importantly, Darcy.”
O’Bannon stared at me uncomprehendingly. “Have you taken complete leave of your senses?”
“Just the opposite. Regained them, finally.”
He looked as if he were about to burst a blood vessel. “Even given the bizarre assumption that I said yes, what do you think you’d do?”
“Go back to the Transylvania.”
“You already played that hunch! It was a good theory. But it didn’t pan out. None of the guests-”
“He isn’t a guest. He works there.”
Patrick stepped forward. “Susan, I looked at the employee rolls. I didn’t see anyone who-”
“Then we need to line them up and let me look. I’ll recognize the rat bastard.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. It’s obvious, once you know.”
“Know what? What do you think he does?”
“I’m not sure. But I know he wears a uniform.” I paused. “I think there’s a good chance he’s a cop.”
He frowned. “A cop?”
“Or something like a cop. Don’t they have security at the Transylvania? I thought I remembered seeing some.”
“Of course they do. But they might contract the security out, like most of the big houses.” He snapped his fingers. “Which would explain why he didn’t turn up on the employee rolls.”
“I need to get over there immediately.” I turned to O’Bannon and looked him square in the eyes. “With your permission.”
He barely hesitated a second. “Consider yourself back on the case.”
“Good. I’ll stay in touch.”
“You won’t have to. I’m coming with you.” He pulled out his desk drawer and tossed something onto his desk. A gun. My gun. “I think you may need this.”
“I don’t know. If you’re not-”
He pressed it into my hand. “I insist.”
“We need to blanket the hotel,” Patrick said. “Make sure he doesn’t slip out before we identify him. How much time do we have till this Day of Ascension?”
I checked my watch. “Only a few hours.”
“Hours? Then the Day of Ascension-”
“When else?” I led the way to the door. “Today. Halloween. At the witching hour.”
35
“You think this place will be ready in time, Ernie?” Martin asked.
He was calm and confident. “I don’t see why not. The grand opening isn’t until midnight.”
“But there’s so much still to do.” Both pairs of eyes scanned the ballroom. The façade of the Notre Dame cathedral was largely in place, but some of the surrounding decorations were in pieces on the floor, waiting to be assembled. Exposed scaffolding occupied a corner of the room. “I hear the hunchback is still experimenting with his makeup. And what’s with these bells?” He gestured toward the huge six-foot bells that were being hoisted into place at the front of the cathedral. “Those mothers are huge. And heavy. Why would the hotel lay out so much for bells?”
“You can’t do The Hunchback of Notre Dame without bells.”
“Hey, I been meaning to ask-what were you doing in the ventilation shafts last night?”
He stiffened. “Last night?”
“Yeah. I saw you crawling out of that shaft over at the north end of the casino. I didn’t even know that was big enough to get into. What were you up to?”
“One of the patrons reported smelling smoke. I didn’t detect it myself, but I thought it best to be certain.”
“Huh. Well, they never covered that when I came on. Maybe you can show me how to get in there later tonight.”
He touched the syringe in his pocket. He could take this man out if necessary. Quickly and quietly. “Tonight would not be a good day, what with all the work going on. Perhaps after the Halloween celebration.”
“Good point. Okay.”
His hand relaxed. Just as well. Another dead security officer would draw more attention to the hotel-and he had directed too much attention here already. “If you’ll excuse me, I, uh, need to check on something in the storeroom.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time in there lately.” Martin chuckled. “You got a naked girl up there?”
He smiled. “Yeah. Four of them.”
He left the ballroom and headed for the elevator bank. There was still much to be done, so many arrangements to finalize. Everything had to be right, just perfect. But soon he would be able to cordon off the ballroom so he could finish his preparations. Rachel would not participate willingly, but the other three would, and they would help him with her. He had put so much time and effort into this, not just with the offerings, but everything. Obtaining the C4 on the Vegas black market. His unbroken brown study of radio signals and electronics and incendiary agents. Everything that was required.
The hotel had spent thousands advertising this event, generating publicity for the grand reopening of this ballroom. But they would be celebrating ever so much more than those dullards imagined.
This celebration would be a cataclysmic event. An apocalypse for some, an ascension for others. The end of days.
“No, it can’t wait until tomorrow!”
I pounded my fists together for emphasis. I wasn’t trying to threaten the man-well, actually, I was, wasn’t I? If I couldn’t convince him of the urgency of the situation one way, I was prepared to try another.
“But today is a very special day,” Bloomfeld insisted.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“All our resources are taxed to the limit.” This guy had annoyed me when I was investigating the first crime scene and he hadn’t grown on me any in the interim. He was probably perfect for micromanaging the organizational details of a hotel but he was useless to me. “Our hotel is booked to capacity. Our Halloween celebration is generally considered the best anywhere. Thousands of people come to the Transylvania from all over the world.”
Patrick stepped between us. “I don’t give a damn about your tourists getting their ghost and ghoul fix. Four girls have been kidnapped.”
“My staff is already being pulled six ways at once,” Bloomfeld continued.
I shot him the harshest look I could muster. “I’m chasing a serial killer here, a killer who-unless he’s stopped-is going to try something very bad tonight, probably at midnight, which is less than three hours away. I think that’s a little-”
This was where Bloomfeld did his best to pretend he had a backbone. “I have a responsibilit
y to my guests. They expect a party that-”
“I’ll cancel the damn party if you don’t cooperate with me! I’ll shut the whole hotel down.”
He froze, his face more horrific than any of their gargoyles. “You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will. I won’t let another girl die because you were too busy entertaining to help. Now you can deal with me, and we can go through your security contractor’s employment records, or I can shut the whole joint down. What’s it going to be?”
As if he had a choice. I held all the cards. And I had to admit-it felt good to be effective again, to be back on top of my game. Or getting that way.
Bloomfeld started gathering the records.
“Great technique,” Patrick said quietly. “Where’d you study, Nazi Germany?”
I suppose I should’ve been more respectful to Bloomfeld, since we were in his office in his hotel. Well, next week, I’d send him a Hallmark. Right now, I had a job to do. And some lives to save.
By eleven P.M., I had winnowed it down to five names. Five possibles who fit most of the criteria. The women were eliminated, of course. All the men of the wrong age group. Everyone who was physically too large to be Edgar. I classified them by economic group, by educational background, by family relationships. Anyone who listed a parent as a Person To Contact in an Emergency was eliminated. And in the end, I had five names.
One of them was Edgar. I was certain of it. But which one?
I peered at the pictures, the files, everything that was known about them. Darcy hunched over my shoulder. I had seen this man, damn it. I had talked to him. I should be able to pick him out of a photo lineup. Shouldn’t I?
Three of them were private security, where we had focused this search, but I was also considering a part-time tennis instructor and an actor who worked in the evening Spookapalooza show playing Edgar Allan Poe. I phoned Madeline and told her to run Net checks on all of them-to learn as much as she could as quickly as possible. I instructed Bloomfeld to round up all the suspects. And I let my mind do what it did best. From here on out, I knew finding Edgar would not be a matter of logic or analysis. Intuition had to take over. My instincts had to tell me which of these men kidnapped Rachel. And how to get her back.
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