“This is interesting,” Nell said, snapping a photo of the desk using her cell phone.
“Isn’t that evidence inadmissible?” Casey said.
“Right now, I’m more concerned about finding Elena and Rihanna. We’ll worry about evidence later.”
“Mamma mia,” Casey said, stepping back. “Are those real?” There were two rats perched on the desk—one on each side of the computer—standing on hind legs, with black fur and long, pink tails.
Nell turned back toward him. “Well, yeah, but they’re stuffed.”
Casey shuddered. “I loathe rats.” Stacked on the shelves were small texts on taxidermy, as well as larger, glossy books displaying works by hyperrealist sculptors George Segal, John De Andrea, and Duane Hanson. A thick book on Hanson, an American sculptor, lay on Hailangelo’s desk. Casey opened it and flipped pages. It depicted Hanson taking plaster molds of people’s entire bodies—including faces—to use for his statues. Hanson took realism to an extreme with his art. Not only did the statues measure life size, but Hanson had added hair, clothing, and other props to make them look alive. One of Hanson’s statues from 1981 depicted a dejected Miami Dolphins football player sitting exhausted on his helmet, the clear ancestor of Hailangelo’s Todd Narziss statue. Both were impeccable.
Another book showed a picture of Hanson’s apartment, where officials found more than 1,000 Polaroid photographs hung on his wall, pictures of people he had snapped as inspiration for his art. Hailangelo had placed a white paper in the back of the book. Casey thought it was a bookmark, but it turned out to be a folded cover letter or term paper Hailangelo had written. Casey unfolded it. It read:
Hanson’s work is a commentary on human nature, depicting the monotony and emotion of everyday life. They have a living presence that inspires conversation. I tried to create these same traits in my statues.
The front door of the store chimed. Casey and Nell scrambled through the office door and pretended to examine scarves in the back of the show room.
Nell set her purse down on the floor. “What do you think of this one?” she said to Casey, wrapping a hazel scarf around her.
“Beautiful, dear,” he responded, playing along.
Thom “Hailangelo” Meintz approached, stroking his chin. “Have you been helped?” he said to Nell.
Casey felt a cold, damp chill flow into the shop, and it reminded him of the nastiness that pushed up the shores of Green Bay on misty, foggy days when storms approached.
29
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26
Hailangelo walked to the back of the shop and stood next to Nell. “That hazel color in the scarf really makes your eyes pop, doesn’t it?” The artist removed his navy pea coat and red scarf and hung them on a wooden coat rack. He approached them in a gray tailored blazer with a red silk handkerchief and dark jeans. Casey had to admire Hailangelo’s sartorial prowess.
Nell turned toward the mirror and sized up the scarf. “Yeah, it does.”
“Mixed with the gold highlights…perfect colors on you,” Hailangelo said.
Nell turned toward Casey and thumbed in Hailangelo’s direction with confidence and flair. “Now here’s a man who knows what to say to a woman.”
Casey shrugged, hands in pockets. “I think every color looks great on you. And it doesn’t make you look fat.”
“Casey, right?” Hailangelo said. “How…interesting to see you again. When I saw you at Fixate Factory, I meant to tell you how much I appreciated the article you wrote about me in the Green Bay Times.”
“No problem. How’s business?”
“I have a new exhibit in Manhattan,” he said. “Just opened to rave reviews.”
“Congratulations,” Nell said.
“But the real news is this Hail Pro Shop girl who disappeared.” Hailangelo said it in a tone that implied he shouldn’t have had to verbalize it. He stepped toward Nell and nearly tripped over her purse. He looked down. “Oh, pardon me.”
“You’re fine,” she said.
Casey wished Nell had taken her gun out of the handbag when she had the chance.
Hailangelo checked the clock on the wall. “Can I wrap this scarf up for you?”
Nell turned in front of the mirror. “Hmm, I don’t know…”
Hailangelo gazed at her. “You’re his…girlfriend?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”
Casey swallowed. Clearly, this was part of their act, right? Or was it?
“How did you hear about Elena’s disappearance?” Nell said, still sizing up the scarf and turning her shoulders to different angles in the mirror.
Hailangelo smirked. “It’s all over the news, quite the tragedy; Elena Ortega is such a beautiful creature.”
Nell and Casey shared an uncomfortable glance. “So you know her?” Casey said.
“Sure. She’s my neighbor.”
“Do you know her well?” Nell said, no longer looking in the mirror but at Hailangelo.
“People move in and out of that apartment complex like it’s a hotel,” Hailangelo shrugged. He glanced at Casey. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on a story?”
“I’m writing about Todd Narziss of the Green Bay Hail.”
“That’s right. Are you going to mention my statue?”
“How could I not?”
“How about a photograph?”
“That’s up to the editor. But I’ve actually turned my attention to Elena’s disappearance.”
“I thought you stuck to sports?” Hailangelo said.
“She’s a friend. And I’m multi-talented.”
Hailangelo scoffed. “What does Elena’s game of hide-and-seek have to do with the team?”
Casey shrugged and pursed his lips. “Nothing in and of itself. But she happened to be having an affair with Narziss.”
Hailangelo grinned at Nell. “Men with statues are hard to resist.” He stepped closer and sniffed her as if she were pie fresh from the oven. “Your makeup looks beautiful.”
Nell forced an awkward smile, removed the scarf and placed it back on the rack. “Thanks, I sell Baciare cosmetics. Always have my ‘face’ on.” Casey marveled at how nonchalantly she played it.
“No scarf?” Hailangelo said. He stepped between her and the purse, and Casey couldn’t tell if that was intentional.
“Maybe next time,” she answered, trying to move around him.
Casey really wanted a cigarette. He hadn’t taken his quit-smoking pill in a couple of days, and the packaging specifically warned not to miss a dose. But the events that occurred during the course of the last week had made a joke out of everyday routine.
Hailangelo grabbed a steel dagger from a small redwood display rack. He grinned and examined the ornate wooden handle, carved to look like a dragon.
Casey really, really wanted a cigarette.
Nell looked at Hailangelo and swallowed. “Where’s Rihanna?”
The sculptor raised a brow. “Who?”
Nell said, “You know who I mean.”
Hailangelo smiled. “What do you do for a living, hmm?”
“I sell cosmetics.”
“So inquisitive for a cosmetics shill.”
“You feel close to her, don’t you?” Nell said.
Hailangelo held the dagger at his side, as if there was nothing to see. “Can I interest you in any of our other merchandise?” With his other hand, he gestured like Vanna White toward his inventory.
“You want to keep Rihanna close,” Nell said.
“I already do,” Hailangelo said, stepping toward her. “Remember: ‘The two will become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one.’”
Casey wasn’t sure what he meant by reciting that biblical passage, but he knew he didn’t like it. He glanced down at Nell’s purse, not sure he could get to it before Hailangelo made use of his dagger.
“You can’t keep her close forever,” Nell said. “Eventually, the authorities will find her and take her away.”
“Quiet!” he waved
at her. “You may leave my store.”
Nell took a step toward him, easily within his striking range. She softened her voice. “You have the power to change that, Hailangelo. You are in charge here. She does what you want, and you want to let her go.”
“No, no I don’t.”
Casey cleared his throat. “So you do know where Rihanna is?”
The artist squinted at Casey. “What do you care?”
“We’re her friends,” Nell said. “And you left a little girl in the cold, alone, overnight…”
Hailangelo held the dagger up to the light, as if examining it for smudges. He appeared completely calm.
Casey’s chest felt as if Hailangelo were standing on it. Out of breath, he could only whisper. “Where is she?”
Hailangelo placed his hands over his heart in mock-romantic fashion, as if he were a melodramatic actor in a 1950s musical. “We had such a great time. Don’t worry, she’s golden.” He approached Casey with a sedate look, sliding his thumb up and down the dull edge of the blade, rolling his eyes back as if it were erotic to him.
Nell stepped toward them. “Wait.”
Hailangelo stopped in front of Casey, his brows crooked. He leaned in, held the tip of the dagger inches from Casey’s chin and said, “Boo!”
Casey flinched into a narcoleptic fit—instant partial cataplexy and sleep paralysis.
Hailangelo waved his hand in front of Casey’s face and turned toward Nell. “What the hell’s the matter with him?”
“He has narcolepsy,” Nell said.
Hailangelo cackled. “Voila! Just like a statue. It’s brilliant. He belongs in the Louvre.”
Nell stepped next to them. “Casey?”
Hailangelo slapped his palm on Casey’s shoulder blade. “I’m just playing with you, Thread.” Hailangelo’s breath smelled like alcohol. A Nirvana song, “Heart-Shaped Box,” played through the stereo system.
Nell said, “Rihanna is attractive, slender, full of life, just like Elena.”
Hailangelo turned his head toward her. “You see more in people than simply what blend of makeup will accentuate their cheekbones, don’t you?”
“It’s my job.”
“Maybe you can give me some tips,” Hailangelo said, slowly walking around her.
“You wear makeup?” Nell said. She tried to act nonchalant.
He stood behind her with the knife. “Tips on how to see more in people.” He gently brushed Nell’s locks off her shoulders and inhaled deeply. “You forgot that I like long hair. Definitely long hair…”
“Jenny Bachowski,” Nell said. “Remember her?”
Casey could hear the anger in her voice. This was as personal for Nell as it was for anyone. He wondered why she didn’t just kick him, tackle him, or dive for her purse.
“Can’t put that name to a face,” Hailangelo said in a monotone voice that suggested ambivalence. “Sorry.”
“That’s funny,” Nell said. “You knew her face meticulously when you stalked her in Galesburg. You knew her name when you abducted her.”
Hailangelo blinked slowly. “I only deal in fine art.” He gestured around the shop. “Well, that and things that sell to the bourgeois.”
Nell didn’t look at the art and taxidermy on the walls. Her eyes remained focused on Hailangelo. “You can’t perform sexually. You feel inadequate.”
The artist frowned. “What?”
Casey realized she had been baiting him this whole time. She needed more evidence for an arrest.
Nell took leisurely steps until she stood next to her purse. “Did you hear about those statues left out in public on college campuses?”
Hailangelo held his breath for a moment then chortled. “Yes, it has created quite a buzz in the artistic community.”
“I saw them on the news,” Nell said. “They bear a striking similarity to your techniques.”
“Do they?” He pivoted, grabbed her wrist and held the dagger to her neck. “You’re not a cosmetics shill.”
Nell shrugged a shoulder, seemingly nonchalant. “You’re wrong. I do sell makeup.”
“Drop your gun,” he demanded.
“I don’t have a gun.” She held out her hands, as if inviting him to search her.
He touched the tip of the knife to her chin, not enough to cut her but enough to make an indentation.
She glanced down at the floor.
He followed her gaze, spotted the purse, and kicked it across the room—the gun still in it. Hailangelo stepped back, extended his arms and formed a square with his thumbs and forefingers, as if framing her. “I’d love to see you under perfect lighting.”
“Where’s Jenny?” Nell whispered with intensity. “Where is she?”
No answer.
“Where’s Rihanna?” she said. “I would really like it if you told me.”
Hailangelo paused, then spoke as if they were recapping a boring day at the office. “They’re just innocent girls who ran away from home.” He gestured in the air like a magician who had just made something disappear and was acting as if it were easy.
“What’s your real name, Hailangelo?” Nell said. “Tommy Meickle? Thomas Meintz?”
Hailangelo said nothing, just looked down and half-grinned, as if to show that he knew what she’d say before she did.
Nell continued. “Galesburg is my home town. My first school was there. I used to play freely with neighborhood kids: Tag, Four Square, Ring Around the Rosie. We never locked our doors. Things have changed. You’ve changed things, Hailangelo. I want to turn back the clock.”
Casey hoped Nell would disarm him.
“You can’t reverse time,” Hailangelo said. “What’s your little game? Are you a detective?”
“Think I’d give a crap about a petty killer from Galesburg if I were stationed in Green Bay?”
Hailangelo said nothing. He backed away, pointing the dagger at her. “You’re a fed.”
“Where’s Rihanna?” Nell demanded.
Casey would have given his right arm to be able to slug Hailangelo, but still couldn’t move.
“Tell me, Agent, what field office are you from? Milwaukee?”
“Now I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she lied. “You’re gentle with your girls, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Hailangelo said. “I put my date on a pedestal and treat her with the reverence she deserves. Doesn’t every gentleman?”
“I understand,” Nell shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”
“Is this the part where you use your motivational interviewing to make me feel empowered, Agent? Hmm? Next you’ll mix in a bit of the Reid interrogation tactics, standard FBI procedure. You’ll develop a theory to see if I respond to it, yes?”
Nell said, “The chemicals in your brain are imbalanced. There’s a disconnect between your ventromedial prefrontal cortex and your amygdala. Just come clean and we’ll get you help.”
He laughed. “Excellent, Agent. Well played. But I know your game.”
Nell remained cool as an orange from the refrigerator. “Where’s Rihanna?”
“She ran away from home,” he said.
Nell tilted her head slightly. “Where do you hide the bodies?”
That triggered something for him. He paced, impersonating her in a condescending, singsong voice: “Where is she? Where are the bodies? Where do girls go to shower?” He stood before Nell, invading her personal space. “Where do bada-bada-dee-dee-gobba-gobba-goo?” He cackled as his brows flared.
Casey expected Hailangelo’s eyes to burst into flames, but it never happened. They simply looked bottomless. The sculptor spoke cryptically but had admitted to nothing criminal. Nell practically hyperventilated. “Where…is Rihanna?” He had gotten to her, and they all knew it.
Hailangelo grinned, leaned in, and again held the dagger up to her chin. “Maybe you should look in the woods.”
Casey thought, Was that a joke? Or his way of coming clean?
Hailangelo backed away and sized her up. “You in
spire me, Agent. You are dignified, well-dressed, composed, educated. In short, you remind me of the woman with the umbrella in A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.”
30
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26
Hailangelo licked his lips and tapped the side of the blade in his palm. “I happen to have an umbrella in the corner of the shop.”
“Really?” Nell said flatly. “Feel free to grab it.”
Hailangelo grinned, then wiped it away. “Now, that would make me an impolite host to you, Agent. There are…accommodations you deserve. Services I can provide. After all, not many walking this earth have the expertise I possess.”
Nell stared blankly for a moment, swallowed, tried to laugh it off. “Tommy. Don’t do this.” Her voice sounded like her throat had gone dry.
The sculptor high-stepped toward Casey like the drum major of a college marching band, using the dagger as a baton, mocking her. “Tommy, don’t do this.” He cackled, palmed his chest again as he caught his breath and turned toward Nell. Hailangelo’s voice suddenly turned angry. “I can do whatever I want. My father showed me that when I was six years old; he killed my mother, had sex with her corpse then buried her in our back yard.” He waited for Casey and Nell to react, but Nell didn’t and Casey couldn’t. “When Pops finished burying Mom, he handed me her panties and said, ‘Something to remember your mother by.’”
“That’s…awful,” Nell said, shaking her head, short of breath.
“A real gentleman, my father,” Hailangelo said.
Now Casey could see why Nell hadn’t disarmed him. As long as he had the upper hand, as long as he thought Nell would die, he would tell her what she needed to know.
“Dad re-sodded the yard,” Hailangelo chuckled. “The poor bastards who bought that house never knew their kids were playing football and building sand castles on top of Mom’s grave.” His grin evaporated as he rubbed his temple.
“No one reported her missing?” Nell said.
“Just my aunt, but she was the crazy one in our family.”
“Did you bury Rihanna in your backyard?” Nell said.
“You think I’m some ogre?” Hailangelo growled. “Like my father?”
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