by Andrea Kane
“Sounds great. Give me a day to check out Zagat’s and pick the most expensive restaurant in New Jersey.”
“Take all the time you need. Oh, and Gary? With regard to the matching profile you found on that NYPD case, I know it probably referenced the Fifth Precinct. But could you also send the results to Sergeant Bob Erwin at Midtown North, and Special Agent Derek Parker at the New York field office’s C-6 squad? These crimes are all tied to their cases as well.”
“Not a problem. I’ll take care of it right away.”
“After you e-mail everything to me first, of course.”
“Of course.” A dry chuckle. “I’m not pissing off the Queen of Krav Maga.”
Sloane waited long enough to print out Gary’s attachment and to forward the entire e-mail to Larry so he could have a heads-up on the new information. Then she took the hounds out to do their business. Once they were back inside, comfortably snoozing on the living-room sofa, she gathered up all the material she needed to go over with Larry, left the house, and hopped into her car. Across the street and right on cue, Denny Sparks, her daytime security guard, started up his silver Toyota Corolla and waved at Sloane, letting her know that all systems were go. Sloane waved back.
First stop, Elsa’s, she thought as she drove next door. She wanted to check on her neighbor, and find out why Elsa had been alone these past few days.
Pulling up to the top of the Wagner driveway, Sloane got out and rang the doorbell.
A redheaded woman with a kind smile and a professional air answered the door, along with Princess Di, who was barking protectively—until she saw Sloane. Then she jumped up, front paws on Sloane’s leg, and began wagging her tail and pawing Sloane for attention.
“I can see you’re not a stranger,” the redheaded woman said with a twinkle. “May I help you?”
“I’m Sloane Burbank.” Sloane pointed toward her house as she bent forward to stroke Princess Di’s ears. “I live next door. And you are…?”
“Charlene DeSoto. I’m a registered nurse. Mr. Wagner hired me to look after his mother part-time, while he’s working at his bookstore.”
“I see.” Well, that explained Burt’s absence. “Is Mrs. Wagner worse?” Sloane asked. “Does she need anything? Because I was just going out, and I’d be happy to pick up groceries, or medication, or even food for Princess Di.”
“That’s not necessary, Sloane.” Elsa’s voice, weak but reassuring, echoed from the living room. “And, no, I’m not worse. If anything, I’m improving. The pain is better and I was able to come downstairs today. So stop sounding so anxious. Please come in.”
Nurse DeSoto stepped aside and gestured for Sloane to comply. She did, going straight to the living room, Princess Di at her heels.
“As you can see, I’m feeling better. Just not at peak strength.” Elsa was lying on the sofa, a crocheted afghan draped over her. She looked pale and tired, her face drawn. “Burt is just a worrywart. He doesn’t like the idea of my being here alone. And your friend Luke was kind enough to help us find an excellent nurse whose services would be covered by our insurance.”
Sloane relaxed. “I’m glad to see you’re out of bed, and looking more like yourself. But I don’t blame Burt for worrying. I do, too. Why didn’t he call me to help out? I’d gladly have come over and kept you company.”
“After what you’ve been through this week? We wouldn’t hear of it. In fact, it’s you I’m concerned about, not me.” Stiffly, Elsa winced and struggled to ease herself into a half-sitting position.
Charlene hurried over, skillfully assisting Elsa, then propping a cushion behind her back. “Mrs. Wagner really is much better,” she assured Sloane.
“Indeed I am,” Elsa concurred. “I just need to be given different types of pain medication at specific times. Plus, I need to have my blood pressure checked regularly. That’s why Burt thought a nurse would be beneficial.”
“I understand,” Sloane replied.
With a nod of thanks to Charlene, Elsa continued. “I heard the commotion outside your house on Monday night. Burt said he saw at least one police car turn in to your driveway. He assured me that he’d called you, and that you’d said you had a break-in, but that no one was hurt and nothing was taken. Is that true?”
“Yes.” Sloane was not going to upset Elsa with unnecessary details. “Some items were moved around, and the hounds were confined to the spare bedroom behind a shut door. So they were quite peeved. But that was the extent of it. For all I know, it was a couple of teenagers, playing a not very funny prank.”
“Well, thank goodness that’s all it was.” Elsa sank back, visibly relieved. “I was hoping Burt wasn’t shielding me from the truth. Obviously, he wasn’t. By the way, I asked both him and Charlene if they’d noticed anyone prowling around on Monday, but they hadn’t.”
“Not a soul,” Charlene confirmed. “And I was outside several times, taking Princess Di for her walks. As was Mr. Wagner, when he returned.”
“I appreciate your vigilance,” Sloane responded. “With all the woods around here, it’s easy to come and go without being spotted.”
“Burt has been keeping an eye on your property every night,” Elsa added. “He’s at the bookstore now, but he should be home by midafternoon. Fortunately, it’s a quieter day. He needs a break, given the number of hours he’s been putting in.” A questioning look. “You said you were heading out. Will you be gone long? Because I know Burt would be happy to look after the hounds. He can pick them up and bring them over here. Princess Di would love the company.”
Sloane was about to decline the offer, when it occurred to her that, given her commitments in the city, she might not be home until late. Plus, it would give her a chance to talk to Burt.
“Actually, I’d really appreciate that—if Burt wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course he won’t. You know how fond of your pups he is. He’ll take good care of them. And if you’re running late, just call, and they can stay the night.”
“Thank you, Elsa.” Sloane rose. “I’ll check in with Burt later. In the meantime, you take care of yourself.”
“I am and I will.” A resolved smile. “Those are my doctor’s orders, not to mention my son’s. Between the bunch of you, I’ll be myself again in no time.”
A few minutes later, Sloane said her good-byes and drove off. She was glad Elsa was in good hands.
She just wished that one of Lady Di’s strolls had corresponded with the arrival of her intruder. Maybe then, either Charlene or Burt would have spotted him.
Holland Tunnel
1:45 P.M.
Sloane had been fighting traffic for a while now. She was very relieved to emerge from the other end of the tunnel and finally be in Manhattan. Now she just had to crawl her way up to John Jay.
Twenty minutes and two blocks later, her cell phone rang.
Using her hands-free, she answered. “Sloane Burbank.”
“When were you planning on telling me that our serial killer had broken into your house and tried out your bed?” Derek demanded without preamble.
The last thing Sloane was up for was one of Derek’s macho tirades.
“I didn’t realize I was subject to house rules,” she replied. “I handled the problem. I also made sure you got a copy of the report—which you obviously did. By the way, don’t blast Hank. I told him not to contact you. I can take care of myself—as I always have. And it’s not as if the DNA results are any great revelation. You’re the one who’s been suspicious of my stalker from the start, dead set on the fact that I’m at the heart of his crime spree. This proves you were right. I figured you’d be gloating, not biting my head off.”
“Well, you figured wrong.” Derek still sounded miffed. “Are you okay?”
“Except for the fact that I had to wash the comforter and the rug three times each so the hounds would stop their incessant sniffing, I’m unscathed.”
“Good.” Derek blew out a breath. “Sloane, I know we’ve beaten this conversation to de
ath, but you don’t seem to get the fact that this psycho’s ultimate target is you. I want you out of that house. Move to a hotel or to a friend’s place. Move in with me. Stop being so damned stubborn.”
“Moving in with you would guarantee violence,” Sloane returned drily. “The minute you started ironing my bras, we’d kill each other.” She maneuvered her car around a BMW, simultaneously trying to put an end to this ongoing debate. “As for the rest, I told you, I’m not letting this Unsub scare me off. I won’t turn my whole life and my dogs’ lives upside down to move somewhere that’s no safer than home. This psycho’s not interested in my house; he’s interested in me. Wherever I go, he’ll find me. At least I know my own turf. I sensed someone had broken in the instant I opened the front door. I grabbed my pistol—and, yes, I would have used it.”
“I believe you. But you don’t carry your pistol when you go for your daily run. Don’t you think the Unsub’s memorized your route?”
“I’m sure he has. And, if I changed it, he’d memorize the new one. I have to keep things business as usual. He’s fixated on me. We’ve already cut off his ability to reach me by phone—which I’m sure he’s figured out. I don’t want to do anything else to rock the boat and push him even further over the edge.”
“Yeah, right. And if you happen to draw him out of hiding while you’re keeping things business as usual, all the better.”
“If it results in us capturing him, I’d be thrilled.” Sloane rushed on, nipping the rest of Derek’s argument in the bud. “Tell you what. From now on, I’ll have Hank check out the house before I go inside. He already follows me with binoculars during my run. Now, do you have any news for me?”
Derek’s grunt indicated he knew she was placating him, that he didn’t like it a bit, and that this conversation was far from over. But he let it go—for now. “This Unsub of ours is a real Houdini. He diverts attention from himself so no one notices when he strikes. I headed down to Eldridge Street on the Lower East Side and questioned a few people. The victim’s roommates barely speak a word of English. Hell, they wouldn’t talk to me even if they were fluent. They’re way too scared. After that, I ran into a couple of teenage junkies, who think they remember a guy in a hooded sweatshirt hanging around the resting house. Of course they never saw his face. Plus, they were high as a kite. So I took what they said with a grain of salt.”
“Wise decision.” Sloane honked her horn as a taxi driver cut her off. “I’m on my way over to John Jay. I’ve got an idea I want to pursue. Then I’m off to Larry’s hotel for the next round of ‘Sloane Burbank, this is your life.’”
“What’s the idea you’re pursuing?”
Sloane’s lips curved. Trust Derek to never miss anything, no matter how casually it was mentioned. “I’ll tell you if and when it becomes a reality. In fact, given this particular idea, you’ll be the first one I call.”
“Ah, I sense I’m being used.”
“Maybe a little. Then again, if you come through for me, I could arrange to use you in ways you’ll really, really like.” Sloane could almost hear Derek’s body react.
“Now, that got my attention,” he announced. “Although you do know that you’re blackmailing and sexually harassing a federal agent.”
“True. But I’m also giving him an amazing fantasy to savor. And, trust me, the reality will far exceed it.”
“Promise?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Then I’m putty in your hands.”
It was just before three when Sloane knocked on Elliot’s office door.
“Come on in,” he called in his usual distracted, working voice.
Sloane walked in. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hey, Skippy.” Elliot swiveled around in his chair, folding his hands behind his head.
Sloane made a face at the reference to her old high school nickname. Always on the run, always attuned to an athlete’s need for protein and electrolytes, she’d been a big fan of peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches. Elliot and his braniac friends had found this hilarious. They’d nicknamed her “Skippy” as a poke at her peanut butter of choice.
“Very funny,” she retorted now. “News flash—maybe if you’d eaten more peanut butter and less Dunkin’ Donuts, you wouldn’t have been such a weenie at our Krav demonstration.”
“Point taken—although, for the record, I’ve switched to Krispy Kremes. They’re high in endorphins. I’m never happier than when I’m eating them.” Elliot took her retaliatory barb right in stride. “Actually, I feel honored that Nancy Drew took off a few minutes to see me.”
“I like seeing you—usually,” Sloane added wryly, her lips twitching at the old familiar banter. “As for Nancy Drew, she had it easy. She handled one case at a time. I’ve been flung into a snake pit.”
“Sounds appealing.”
“It’s exhausting. I wouldn’t mind if I were seeing results. But each day seems to provoke new questions, and yield no answers.” All humor having vanished, Sloane shot Elliot a quizzical look. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” Elliot assured her. “Honestly. I’ve gotten used to reporters jabbering outside. As for Cynthia, I realize it looks bleak, but I’m not giving up. I’ve said a few prayers for her. I still believe in those, you know. Weird for a tech guy, huh?”
“Nope. I believe in them, too. And I’m an ex–FBI agent. Prayers are sometimes all we’ve got.” Sloane shut the door behind her with a firm click, and sat down in the chair across from Elliot’s desk.
“Uh-oh.” A wary expression crossed his face. “We’re not talking about prayers anymore. And you’re not just here to say hi. What’s up?”
“What does that mean? I told you the truth—I’ve been thinking about you, and worrying about how you were doing. Plus, I miss hanging out with you and trying to understand ‘geek speak.’”
“I’m sure that’s true. And, for the record, I missed you, too. But those aren’t the only reasons you’re here. You never shut my door so emphatically. Not unless you have something confidential to discuss—which usually involves a topic I’m not going to like.”
Sloane began to laugh. “Nice observation,” she said. “Ever think of writing a software program to analyze body language?”
“Nope.” Elliot’s gaze flickered briefly to his computer screen. “I’ll leave the people reading to you. I’ve got my hands full. Between my classes and my research, I’m toast.” He jiggled his mouse, and when the LCD monitor came to life, he clicked on the results window. Briefly, he glanced at it. “This project is turning out to be even more challenging then I expected. It’s literally taking over my life. I doubt I’d be good for much else.”
“How about expanding the scope of your project? Are you up for that? Because that’s why I shut the door.” Sloane grinned as she saw surprised interest glint in Elliot’s eyes. “See? When I shut the door emphatically, it’s not always to bring up a topic you don’t like.”
“You win. What kind of expansion are you talking about?”
Sloane inhaled sharply. “First, I need your word that this conversation is confidential. Everything that’s said must stay between us.”
“Done.”
“Next, I want you to understand that this whole idea I’m about to broach is mine and mine alone. For now, it’s also strictly hypothetical. I haven’t mentioned it to a soul, and when and if I do, we’ll need to get a lot of approvals to make it happen. If it’s feasible for it to happen. That’s the part only you can answer. Is my idea within the realm of possibility, or is it a great concept but a millennium away from becoming a reality?”
“I won’t know till I hear it. And I’m listening.” Elliot shifted in his seat, rife with surging adrenaline. He diffused it by getting up, grabbing two bottles of water from his minifridge, and handing one to Sloane as he sank back down.
“Thanks.” She twisted open the cap and took a swig. “I’m not privy to the details of your research. Partly because they’re sensitive and classified, a
nd partly because I wouldn’t understand what you were talking about if you told me. But I do remember the project involves identifying traits of cybercrime in a sea of financial transactions. Your program is designed to recognize hard-to-detect patterns in seemingly unrelated data. I also remember a particular high school buddy of mine who had grand dreams of using his remarkable talents to contribute to society in a major way. I think saving lives would fill that bill, wouldn’t it?”
Sloane didn’t need Elliot’s response. It was written all over his face.
“So here’s my hypothetical question,” she concluded. “Could your system do the same thing for violent crimes that it’s doing for cybercrime? If I provided you with a slew of unrelated facts, could your program find patterns that we human investigators might miss? Patterns that could, say, lead us to a serial killer?”
Elliot stared at her for a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly as his mind raced. “Wow. When you think big, you really think big.” He rubbed his jaw. “In other words, you’d supply me with facts and hunches on all the cases, I’d feed them into my program, and we’d see what linkages emerge.”
“That’s the gist of it.”
“Obviously, we’re talking about the pig who kidnapped Cynthia Alexander.” Elliot rolled his pen between his fingers. “According to the information being leaked by the press, the daughter of that big-time cardiologist, Dr. Ronald Truman, was kidnapped last April by the same wack job who kidnapped Cynthia. I figured it was all hype. But now that you’re using terms like serial killer, I have to wonder. Is it true? Is Dr. Truman’s daughter another one of this guy’s victims?”
“I believe so, yes.” Sloane nodded. “I’m very limited in what I can say—at least for now. But we do have circumstantial evidence linking the crimes.”
“We?” Elliot echoed. “Are you involved in that investigation?”
“Penny Truman was my dearest childhood friend. You didn’t know her because she went to a different high school than we did. But I’ve known her since grade school. So, yes, I’m privy to certain aspects of the ongoing investigation.”
