by B. V. Lawson
“Gilbow? Yeah, I think she talked with him. Hoped he’d tame old man Jaffray, tell him to give her some space.”
Drayco pulled a copy of the latest music code out of his pocket and showed it to Gary. “Could the same software that created those other codes make this one?”
Gary examined it. “I’d bet on it. The composer programs out there have similarities. You can tell the diff if you use ’em.” He studied the paper a little more, bobbing his head and shoulders as he played it in his head. “This is some seriously fucked-up shit.” He thrust it back.
“One other thing. After you and Cailan broke up, were you aware of men she dated other than Liam Futino? A relationship she tried to keep secret? Elvis Loomis, for example.”
“Elvis?” Gary ran a hand through his hair, making it even spikier than usual. “Elvis had the hots for her, sure. But when she talked about him, it was always how creeped out he made her feel. Shannon and Elvis I could see, but Cailan? Dunno. As to anybody else, hard to keep a secret that huge on a campus like this.”
“So she didn’t mention a man giving her grief, acting strangely? It could be anybody—fellow students, professors, boyfriends, clergymen, postmen.”
“Other than me? She did say she wanted to see a campus counselor. One of those staff shrinks. But I don’t think she ever did.”
“It was while you were dating she wanted to talk to a counselor? Not after you broke up?”
“Yeah. Guess I didn’t treat her like I should have. No good way to ditch someone, you know?”
Images of a few of Drayco’s former girlfriends flashed through his mind. He pushed them aside and reached out to shake Gary’s hand. “I appreciate you meeting me here. You’ve been helpful.”
“Kinda nice to have someone want to see me. Since Shannon’s murder went down, most of my friends are AWOL. I text, I call, they have excuses. Haven’t heard a peep out of my father’s lawyer, let alone dear old Dad. Must be nice to have a friend like that partner-dude of yours.”
“What about Reed? I’m headed upstairs to see him next.”
“Reed’s cool. Think he’s getting a divorce. Not on account of me and him. I mean that was a one-time bi-curious thing. Maybe like that Maslow pyramid of needs thing, you know, self-actualization, peak experiences, yada yada.”
“Why Gary, you’ve been listening to Gilbow the Great’s lectures.”
“Gotta make at least a ‘D.’ He does try awfully hard to be loved. And an ego the size of Azeroth.”
Drayco smiled. “Isn’t World of Warcraft passé these days?”
“Played that thing for hours when I was a kid. The Gilbows of this world wouldn’t last a day against Ragnaros.”
“Ragnaros?”
“The Elemental Lord of Fire.”
Drayco shook his head. “Guess I need to brush up on my gaming.”
Gary grinned. “It’s basically all the same. Swords, dragons, fire, quests, heroes. To tell you the truth, if I’m going to be in front of a computer, I’d rather create music. Speaking of which … ”
He hesitated and took a big swig of coffee. “I wrote this piano piece I think is pretty good. I was wondering, I mean—”
“I could give it a look, yes.” Drayco took out a business card. “E-mail, fax, or snail mail, take your pick.”
Gary took the card. “Thanks.” Then his expression turned serious. “You think Elvis is mixed up with the murders?”
“I never rule out anyone until a case is over.”
“Including me?”
“Including you. But you’re not the roulette wheel number where I’d likely bet my money.”
“That’s good, I guess. Got someone else in mind?”
Drayco’s smile faded. He did, but his chances of proving it were about the same odds as an inside straight-up bet. He just wished he knew who the hauptstimme was, to get to her before her number turned up on that roulette wheel.
Gary pulled out some gum and popped it in his mouth. “I’d offer you some, but it’s nicotine gum.”
“Trying to quit?”
“This makes the tenth time. Not good odds there, either.”
Drayco slipped a couple of dollars under the salt shaker as a tip for whoever had to clean the tables. Then he handed a ten-spot to Gary, who looked puzzled. “Think of it as a down-payment bet on successfully quitting.”
Gary took the bill and stared at it as if it were his very first A plus. As Drayco left, Gary said quietly, “I hope your odds pay off.” He didn’t say whether he meant catching the murderer or him kicking his habit.
* * *
Gary’s “Elemental Lord of Fire” comment followed Drayco all the way up to Reed’s lab. It was an apt analogy, given that the knives used in Cailan’s and Shannon’s murders were heated before plunged into their victims’ chests. Drayco called ahead to make sure Reed would be there, so the doctoral student wasn’t surprised to see him—though his glum expression spoke volumes.
“Sorry to interrupt your work, Reed. Assuming the project is still on?”
Reed nodded. “But I’m finding it hard to muster any enthusiasm.”
“That should be good news, shouldn’t it?”
“Good news for the PhD, sure … ” Reed looked at his hands gripping the edges of the desk and relaxed them. “Don’t want to go back to my job. I hate teaching. And it looks like I’m going to be moving out of my house there soon.”
Drayco stood in front of the chart of synesthesia subjects. “I talked to Gary a few minutes ago. He said something about a divorce.”
“Divorce, alimony, child support, no job. That’s my future.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I’ll still get to see the kids, the only thing I care about. And my wife would never approve me switching gears to work as a forensic psychologist. She was more into that academic thing than I was.”
“You’re really giving forensic psychology a shot?”
Reed perked up. “Gilbow thinks it’s a good idea. He set me up with an apprenticeship. With a few extra classes, I can apply for board certification.”
“You’ll definitely find it challenging.”
“Teaching spoiled-brat college kids certainly hasn’t been.”
Drayco had to smile at that. “Reed, who came up with the idea for your dissertation on synesthesia originally? Gilbow said you did.”
Reed adjusted his glasses. “He did? That’s not how I remember it, but he does have a lot on his plate. Consulting, TV appearances, books, teaching.”
“How do you remember it?”
“It was his idea. I was on board right away because it sounded intriguing. Now that I’m switching horses, wish I’d decided on something else. But Gilbow’s a force to be reckoned with.”
“He comes by it naturally.”
Reed looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Drayco thought back to one of the phone calls he’d made yesterday after returning from the Eastern Shore. “I’d say he got his ego from his maternal grandfather, a famous and famously temperamental conductor.”
44
Hauptstimme, hauptstimme, tre corde. Time running out for someone. After calling Melanie Bankton and learning her husband wasn’t at home, Drayco took several shortcuts and ignored speed limits in hopes of making it before the good senator returned home. He didn’t think his presence would go over well.
Drayco didn’t have to wait long at the bottom of the snaking driveway in front of the gate before a guard came and let him in. A mini-turret at the front of the house sported a yawning mouth of an entry, ready to swallow up any visitors.
A servant of some sort—maid, perhaps?—ushered him into a room so big, it made the Steinway grand in a distant corner seem like a toy. This palace wasn’t bought and paid for by a government salary or lobbyist dollars. Bankton had invested his TV-evangelist money well.
Mrs. Bankton soon joined Drayco, dressed in a crisp white two-piece outfit looking like a woman who could be from nowhere
or anywhere. She stood out against the vibrant purple and shamrock-green furnishings, a ghost flitting among the living.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the Hamburg Steinway. “Is that the type of piano you used on your husband’s TV shows?”
“Believe it or not, yes. Pounding out every possible arrangement of ‘To God Be the Glory’ known to man. At one time, thought I’d be more like you. World tours, Beethoven, Prokofiev, Chopin. But I do have all this,” she swept a hand around the room. “A lot easier than the concert life, isn’t it?”
He couldn’t disagree with her there. “It can be grueling.”
“I’d trade it all in a heartbeat. The money, the house. Just to play again and tour for one week.”
She wasn’t wearing any gloves this time and folded her hands under her arms. “I remember when I first heard one of your recordings on WETA radio. I had to go out and buy it right away. There are so many fine pianists, but you had something special.”
“Then I guess all those years weren’t wasted.”
“Wasted?” She plopped down on a settee. “That would be my youth, I’m afraid. Like most young people, I didn’t appreciate youth is the greatest blessing we’re given. Such limitless possibilities.”
“It’s your teenage years I’m interested in. You went to Patuxent Academy High School, the same school Andrew Gilbow attended. At Gilbow’s party, you told me you’d known him for some time.”
She curled her legs up beside her, catlike, and leaned her arms on the arm of the settee. “Yes, we met there as freshmen.”
“You ended up more than classmates, didn’t you?”
“We dated. Opposites attract, I suppose. He was the son of a police officer. I was the daughter of an alcoholic and as wild as a fox in heat. I corrupted Andy good and proper, but in my defense, it didn’t take a lot of convincing.”
“What do you mean by ‘corrupted’?”
“Shoplifting at first. Then breaking into people’s homes. We didn’t steal much. It was more for the thrill. I feel terribly guilty now. He was in love with me, the head-over-heels type. More so than I with him.”
She bit her lip. “He wanted to ’fess up. Guess he was so smitten with me, though, he went along with it. Had an odd way about him of being timid and controlling at the same time.”
She straightened up and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m surprised I’m telling you this. I feel we have a connection. Or maybe it’s those eyes of yours that make me want to confess my sins. My husband knows I wasn’t a saint, but he has no idea how wicked I was.”
“How did you and Gilbow break up?”
“He got caught during one of our break-ins. I didn’t, but I wouldn’t give him a false alibi. His cop-father disowned him afterward. Andy told me I’d ruined his life.”
“Why? You were both young teens at the time.”
“He wanted to be a conductor like his grandfather. And a composer. He had a scholarship lined up to Juilliard and everything. That all ended the day I played around with one of his father’s guns and got off several shots next to Andy’s ear. I had some minor problems with tinnitus after that, but he was deafened in that one ear.”
She smiled at Drayco and shook her head. “After he was arrested for the break-in and got out of juvie, he lost his scholarship and ended up at a community college. Considering the people he hooked up with there, I’m surprised he turned out so well. I’ve seen him on TV. Read some of his books.”
“What kind of people did he hook up with?”
“Fringe religious types. You know, hoods and moonlight circles.”
“Celtic Druids?”
“Not the peacenik modern version, more Stonehenge.”
“Mrs. Bankton, do you have synesthesia, by any chance?”
She cocked her head at him. “That sounds terribly sexy, so I hope I do. But you’ll have to tell what it is first.”
“Do you experience words, numbers, or sounds as colors, shapes, textures?”
“Oh that.” She laughed. “I didn’t know it had a name. Andy was jealous he didn’t hear music that way. He used to concentrate so hard, trying to develop it. But after he went partly deaf … ”
She chewed on her lip. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Ancient history.”
“It mattered to him.” Drayco didn’t want to tell her she’d been the inspiration for possibly four murders.
“Really?” She straightened up. “I wouldn’t have guessed, he seems so successful. In all honesty, ever since my husband got elected and we moved to D.C., I’d been afraid I’d run into Andy. And then he invites me to his party, out of the blue. I was shocked, to say the least.”
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Drayco spied the sheet music lying on the piano and walked over to take a closer look. He didn’t see this piece often. Hardly ever, in fact. “Are you a fan of Messiaen? I notice his ‘Canteyodjaya’ here.”
“Funny you should ask that. Andy was the one who turned me on to Messiaen’s music. I don’t get to play much anymore.”
“The busy life of a senator’s wife.”
“It’s not that.” She held out her hands. Curious, he obliged. Once he saw her hands close-up, he understood the reason for the lacy gloves at the party.
“Rheumatoid?”
“You should see the bottles of pills lined up on my dresser. With all the krill oil, fish oil, cod liver oil, borage oil and soy oil, I’m thinking of opening up my own service station.”
Drayco nodded sympathetically, then asked, “Why did your husband donate funds to the Kennedy Center conducting institute?”
“My idea. Forest liked it because he gets a tax break, plus it adds a philanthropic line to his bio. I suppose I was trying to make up for Andy, in some small way.”
And not long afterward, the first of Bankton’s warehouses burned to the ground. Drayco checked his watch, remembering he wanted to be gone before the senator returned.
She walked him to the door. “If you’re in touch with Andy, tell him to give me a call. Forest and I can have Andy and his wife over for dinner sometime.”
Drayco stopped buttoning up his leather blazer. “I’ll see what I can do.” Which he meant, in more ways than one.
* * *
Drayco wasn’t sure where to go next. He found himself driving in the direction of the Jefferson Memorial and pulled into the small parking lot. “Delay is preferable to error,” was one of Thomas Jefferson’s most popular sayings. Not this time.
He called up Sarg’s profile on his phone and dialed. When Sarg answered, Drayco said, “It’s Gilbow.”
Sarg’s voice had an odd muffled quality, but Drayco understood him. “What? What did he do now?”
“Gilbow’s our man.” Drayco filled him in on his conversation with Mrs. Bankton.
“So, the warehouse fires … ”
“Another way to get back at Gilbow’s teenage lover-nemesis via proxy. And as we’ve surmised, empty warehouses make great sites for ritualistic killing. Then you simply burn down the evidence.”
Sarg whistled. “Speaking of fires, this is going to put Onweller on the hot seat. Maybe he’ll call off the hounds.”
“Hounds?”
“After Onweller found out about your trip yesterday, the little prick went ahead and took out a warrant. ‘Obstruction’ and all. So, you at your place?”
“Playing tourist.”
“Might want to hold off heading home. Until I’ve told Onweller what you told me. There may not be anyone knocking at your door yet … ”
Drayco took a sweep of the surrounding area. No one seemed to be paying him any special attention. “I’ll try to stay under the radar. But we need proof. Hard to get a search warrant on such flimsy evidence, worse seeing who the target is. Ordinarily, I’d say proceed carefully, build up a solid case.”
“But there’s that new note you got.”
“Exactly.”
Neither man spoke for a few moments, Drayco guessing Sarg was going through the same pro
cedural checkpoints he was. Drayco said, “Remember the Wasserman case?”
“You saying we need another act-first-and-apologize-later thing?”
“Can you arrange a twenty-four surveil of Gilbow, either Bureau agents or MPD? If not, I have a few friends in the private biz.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Least this will make it easier to check into the other murders in Boston and Philly since we know whose travel schedule to sync up.”
“And send me a list of Bankton’s warehouses to my phone, will you?”
“Drayco … ”
“I’ll be discreet. It will give me something to do other than skulking around in cop-free hangouts.”
“Okay, if you’re careful. Ow, goddamnit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just keep in touch.”
Drayco hung up and sat in his car watching the tourists climb up the stairs to the top of the Memorial, snapping pictures, reading the inscriptions. Mothers pushed prams, fathers chased children chasing ducks. The winds caused a swirl of leaves to fall from the trees, many tinged with orange or blood-red tips.
Such a normal, happy scene. No young men with gang tattoos, no addicts shooting up. But how many of these “normal” mid-belly people were embezzling from work or would go home tonight and strangle their wives?
He pulled out his copy of the TRE CORDE note. They might have another two months before the next murder, but this note had changed the pattern. And that meant everything may have changed, and they might not have much time at all.
45
She hadn’t seen it coming. Despite the repeated warnings from her father, despite taking extra precautions, she’d let her guard down. Tara struggled to free her hands, but the rope around them was too tight. Not enough to cut off her circulation, but there was no way she was wriggling out of that.
“Stay calm, take deep breaths, be aware,” Falkor’s words came back to her. Unlike last time in the alley, her mind filled with a fog, and her arms and legs were growing numb.
What was in that needle? Why had he done this?
Tara paused to take one of those deep breaths. She was in the back of an SUV under a cargo cover, and now, as she listened, she recognized that engine sound. It was like the one she’d heard in the alley.