“I’m Special Agent Daniel Vartanian with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. This is my sister, Susannah Vartanian with the New York City DA’s office. We understand you have our parents. We believe we know who killed them.”
There was silence. Then Liz sighed. “There’s your encore.”
Thursday, January 18, 7:00
P.M.
Van Zandt was already seated when he arrived at the upscale seafood restaurant located inside his hotel. “Frasier, please join me. Would you like some wine? Or perhaps some of this lobster Newburg. It’s really quite wonderful.”
“No. I’m busy, VZ. I’m working on your new queen and I want to get back to it.”
Van Zandt’s mouth turned up in a strange smile. “Interesting. Tell me, Frasier, where do you get your inspiration?”
If he’d had hairs on the back of his neck, they would have lifted. “Why?”
“Well, I was just thinking that you have such a realism to your art. I was wondering if you based your characters on anyone? Live models, maybe?”
He sat back and viewed Van Zandt through narrowed eyes. “No. Why?”
“I was just thinking that if you did use live models, it would be patently foolish to choose local faces. That a truly wise man would go elsewhere. Bangkok or Amsterdam come to mind. Culturally diverse. Interesting clientele in Amsterdam’s Red Light District. Seems an artist could find his pick of models from a population no one would miss.”
He drew a breath. “Jager, if you have somethin’ to say, then just spit it out.”
Van Zandt blinked. “‘Spit it out’? Frasier, that sounds so… provincial. Very well.” He handed him a large envelope across the table. “Copies,” he said. “Of course.”
It was pictures. The first was Zachary Webber. “Derek gave you this. He’s insane.”
“Perhaps. Keep going.”
Gritting his teeth he flipped to the next picture in the stack and went still. Claire Reynolds’s face stared up at him. Van Zandt knew.
Van Zandt sipped his wine. “The resemblance is uncanny, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What do you want?”
Van Zandt chuckled. “Keep going.”
The next photo had his heart racing, but with rage. “You sonofabitch.”
Van Zandt’s smile was unpleasantly smug. “I know. I really just wanted Derek watched. If he attempted to go to the police… about you… then my head of security would merely attempt to dissuade him. Imagine my surprise when I saw that.”
It was him, with Derek. He was the old man, but he stood upright. The photo didn’t show it, but his gun had been pressed into Derek’s back. Carefully he put the pictures back in the envelope. “I repeat. What do you want?” Before you die.
“I didn’t come alone, Frasier. My head of security is at one of those tables over there, ready to call the authorities.”
He drew a frustrated breath. “What… do… you… want?”
Van Zandt’s jaw tightened. “I want more of what you’ve been giving me. But I want it untraceable.” He rolled his eyes. “What kind of idiot kills people that can be identified?” He pulled a smaller envelope from his coat pocket. “This is a cashier’s check and a plane ticket to Amsterdam for tomorrow afternoon. Be on that plane. And when you get there, you change the faces of every character in the Inquisitor or our deal is off.” He shook his head, furious now. “Are you that arrogant? Did you believe no one would find out? You have jeopardized everything I own with your stupidity. So fix it.” He drained his wine glass and slammed it to the table. “That’s… what… I… want.”
He had to laugh, despite the fury boiling in his gut. “You would have really liked my father, Jager.”
Van Zandt didn’t smile. “Then we have a deal?”
“Sure. Where do I sign?”
Thursday, January 18, 7:35
P.M.
“Please, sit down.” Vito Ciccotelli gestured to a large table in a conference room. Daniel did a quick count. Six people already sat around the table. Ciccotelli closed the door and pulled out a chair for Susannah, who was still shaking like a leaf.
Daniel had offered to do the ID of their parents himself, but Susannah had insisted she’d stand with him, and she had. The medical examiner had come back with them from the morgue and now sat at the end of the table, next to the tall blonde that Ciccotelli had introduced as their consultant, Dr. Sophie Johannsen.
“Do you need more time?” This came from Ciccotelli’s partner, Nick Lawrence.
“No,” Susannah murmured. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You’ve got our attention, Agent Vartanian,” Ciccotelli said. “What do you know?”
“I hadn’t seen my parents in many years. Our family is… was… estranged.”
“How many in your family?” Sawyer asked.
“Now, just Susannah and me. We hadn’t talked in a while, not until this past week. The sheriff in our hometown called, said my parents had gone on a trip, but they hadn’t returned. My mother’s oncologist had called to check on our mother when she missed several appointments. It was the first either my sister or I had heard about her cancer.”
“Hell of a way to find out,” Nick murmured. He would be the good cop, Daniel thought.
“Yeah. Anyway, the sheriff and I searched the house. My parents had closed it up and taken all their suitcases. I found brochures in my father’s desk for destinations out west. I thought it was my mother’s last trip before she died.” He tried to block the picture of his mother on that metal table in the morgue. Susannah squeezed his hand.
“Do you need a minute?” Jen McFain asked kindly.
“No. The sheriff and I were ready to leave when I realized my father’s computer was still running-in fact, it was being controlled remotely at that moment.” He’d been watching Ciccotelli and was rewarded with a flicker of interest in the man’s dark eyes.
“Why didn’t you report them missing then?” Sawyer asked.
“I almost did. But the sheriff thought my mother should be able to keep her privacy, and it looked like they really had gone on vacation.”
“The remote computer thing didn’t concern you?” Nick Lawrence asked.
“Not so much at the time. My father was a computer person. He liked to play with networks and motherboards and such. So… I got a leave of absence. I wanted to find her, to make sure my mother was all right.” He swallowed. “To see her again.”
He took them over his search, ending with the hotel safe and the mailbox store, but not mentioning the envelope his mother had left for him. He wasn’t sure he could. “I knew I had to report the blackmail. Susannah agreed. So here we are.”
“So the last time your father made a withdrawal was when?” Sawyer asked.
“November 16.”
Ciccotelli noted it. “What did you do when you got to the mailbox store?”
“More than I should have, less than I wanted. I thought if I knew who was doing the blackmailing… I asked the kid behind the counter who rented the box. I wanted him to give me the contents of the box, but I knew I’d pushed too far as it was.”
Ciccotelli gestured impatiently. “Drumroll, Agent Vartanian?”
“The name on the box was Claire Reynolds. She was blackmailing my parents and probably killed them. That’s all I know.”
This time Ciccotelli’s eyes did more than flicker. He blinked once, then sat back and looked at his partner, then his boss. Everyone at the table looked stunned.
“This sucks,” Nick Lawrence muttered.
For a moment Ciccotelli said nothing, then looked again at his boss. Sawyer lifted a shoulder. “Your call, Vito,” she said. “I checked them out while you were all at the morgue doing the ID. They’re both legit. I’d bring them in.”