She was suddenly not so defiant. Still she wrote her name and handed him the page. “You know the way out.”
“Same way we came in,” Nick said with an easy smile. “Y’all have a nice day, now.”
Outside on the curb Nick folded the secretary’s paper and put it and the envelope in his pocket. “Handwriting samples,” he said. “To compare against the Claire letters.”
“Good work. Thanks, Nick. I was too mad to be effective.”
“You’ve covered for me enough times. I’d say we’re good.”
“Excuse me.”
A man was hurrying toward them, his face anxious. “Have you been in oRo?”
“Yes, sir,” Vito answered. “But we don’t work there.”
“I’ve been trying to see Derek Harrington since yesterday, but they say he’s not in.”
“Why were you trying to see Harrington?” Nick asked.
“It’s about my son. He promised he’d show a picture of my son to the other artists.”
Vito’s heart sank as his apprehension rose. “Why, sir?”
“My son is missing and someone in that building saw him. They used him as a model. I want to know when and where. Then I’ll least know where to start looking.”
Vito slid his shield from his pocket. “I’m Detective Ciccotelli, and this is my partner, Detective Lawrence. What’s your name, and do you have a photo of your son?”
The man squinted at his shield. “Philadelphia? I’m Lloyd Webber.” He handed Vito a picture. “This is my son, Zachary.”
It was the young man who got shot in the head. “One-three,” he murmured.
“What? What does that mean?” Webber demanded.
“I’ll call Carlos and Charles,” Nick said quietly and moved away to use his phone.
Vito met Webber’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. But I think we might have your son’s body.”
Denial warred with bitter reality in Webber’s eyes. “In Philadelphia?”
“Yes, sir. If this is the boy we think it is, he’s dead and has been for about a year.”
Webber deflated. “I knew. I just didn’t want to believe. I need to call my wife.”
“I’m sorry,” Vito said again.
Webber jerked a nod. “She’s going to ask how he died. What should I tell her?”
Vito hesitated. Liz would want to keep as much of this contained as possible, but this father deserved to know what had happened to his son and with that he was sure Liz would agree. “He was shot, sir.”
Webber flashed a hot furious glance up at the building. “In the head?”
“Yes, but if you could keep that to yourself for now, we’d appreciate it.”
He nodded, numb. “Thank you. I won’t tell her where he was shot.”
Vito watched as he walked ten feet away and called his wife. Then swallowed hard when Webber’s shoulders began to heave. “Fuck,” Vito viciously whispered, hearing Nick behind him. “I really want him. Bad.”
“I know. Charles and Carlos asked us to wait here while they get a warrant. They’re going to try to seize all oRo’s records.”
A car door slammed behind them and Vito and Nick turned. A man got out of a cab, his face grimly determined. “Are you the detectives from Philly?”
“Yeah,” Nick answered. “Who wants to know?”
The man stopped in front of them, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. “My name is Tony England. Until two days ago I worked for oRo. Derek Harrington was my boss.”
“What happened?” Nick asked.
“I quit. Derek was being steamrolled by Jager into doing things he didn’t agree with. That I didn’t agree with. I couldn’t stand by and watch Jager destroy it all.”
“How did you know we were here?” Vito asked.
“oRo’s a small company. Everyone knew you were there thirty seconds after you walked in the door. An old friend called, told me you were here asking about Derek. I came down right away, but you were gone.” England’s eyes narrowed at Webber, who’d finished his call, but stood with his back to them, quietly weeping. “Who is he?”
Vito looked at Nick and Nick gave him a little nod. Vito held out the photo. “The father of this boy. His name is Zachary. He’s dead.”
Every drop of color drained from England’s thin face. “Fuck. Holy fuck. That’s…” He stared in horror at the picture. “Oh, my God, what have we done?”
“Do you know who drew this boy into the game, Mr. England?” Nick asked softly.
England’s eyes narrowed. “Frasier Lewis. I hope you fry his ass and he rots in hell.”
Chapter Nineteen
Philadelphia, Thursday, January 18, 5:15
P.M.
She looked the same, Daniel thought as she passed through the train station’s revolving door. Petite and fragile. The men in their house had been big, the women small. I needed your protection then.
He’d believed he was protecting her. Obviously he’d been remiss. He got out of his rental car and stood, waiting until she saw him. Her step slowed, and even from where he stood he could see the stiffness in her shoulders.
He walked around and opened her door. She stopped in front of him and lifted her eyes. She’d been crying. “So you know,” he murmured.
“My boss called me on my cell after I’d already boarded the train.”
“My boss called me, too. The lieutenant who called him was Liz Sawyer. I have the address for her office.” He sighed. “I was too late.”
“But you know something that will help find who did this?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Or destroy us both. Get in.”
He slid behind the wheel and put his key in the ignition, but she put her hand over his. Her gray eyes were huge and flashed fire. “Tell me.”
He nodded. “All right.” He gave her the envelope that had been waiting for him at the mailbox store and waited as she slid the contents to her lap.
She gasped, then slowly, mechanically looked at each page. “Oh my God.” She looked up at him then. “You knew about these?”
“Yes.” He started up the car. “‘I know what your son did,’” he quoted softly. “Now you know, too.”
Thursday, January 18, 5:45
P.M.
Sophie stood in the middle of her warehouse, fists on her hips. She’d unpacked a dozen crates since Lieutenant Sawyer’s call that afternoon. Keeping herself busy had kept her from dwelling on the fact that Kyle and Clint were dead.
That Kyle and Clint were connected to the killer was without doubt. They’d been killed with the same gun used to murder one of the nine she’d found in the graveyard.
That the killer knew about her had been a possibility this morning when she’d allowed herself to be driven to the museum by a cop with a gun. Now it was more than a possibility, but still it wasn’t an eventuality. However she chose to balance nuance with her carefully chosen words, it was still damn scary. So she’d kept busy until Liz could free up an armed body to take her back to the precinct. To Vito.
She hoped he’d had success today. Now more than ever.
“Sophie.”
With a gasp she wheeled, pressing her hand to her heart. Once again in the shadows stood Theo Four. In his hand he held an ax, as effortlessly as if it had been a feather. Controlling her breathing she fought the urge to take a step back. To flee screaming. Screaming. She closed her eyes and got hold of herself. When she opened them he was still watching her, his face expressionless. “What do you want?”
“My dad said you needed some help opening crates. I couldn’t find the crowbar you were using yesterday, so I brought this.” He extended the ax. “So which crates?”