“There must be some evidence we can use.”.
“The blood pooling around Hank’s body is a little darker than I would have expected,” said Leopold, pointing to the stains on the carpet. “This happens when the heart isn’t pumping enough oxygen into the blood, and is usually caused when something constricts the oxygen supply.”
“Someone strangled him?” asked Jerome, from across the room.
“Not likely,” replied Leopold, “otherwise we’d see bruising around the neck. However, I do think his airways were constricted prior to death. Mostly likely something inserted into the wind pipe, which would be much harder to detect during an autopsy.”
“Why not just let him choke?” asked Mary.
“The point is to make it look like a suicide. People don’t usually dispatch themselves by sticking foreign objects into their windpipes, and if Hank had died prior to the wrists being cut we’d be able to tell. Judging by the lack of color around his face and lips, I’m certain it’s the blood loss that killed him.”
“So the killer stopped Hank breathing just long enough for him to pass out?” asked the police sergeant.
“Yes. Cutting off his oxygen for long enough beforehand would have made it far easier to arrange Hank in this position. If he’d struggled, the killer might not have been able to be so convincing.”
“Not convincing enough for you. But I’d imagine it’s convincing enough for a jury,” said Mary. “Just one question: How did the killer get out? The door was locked from the inside when we arrived.”
“Check the windows,” said Leopold.
Jerome unlatched the living room window, which opened just enough to fit his forearm through.
“The windows don’t open all the way,” he remarked. “No chance anyone could have fit their whole body through, even if they did ignore the fifty-foot drop.”
Leopold took a few minutes to examine the rest of the apartment. The tiny kitchen was littered with unopened mail that had been left on the countertop, and there was a strong smell of decomposing food coming from underneath the sink. He pulled open one of the cupboard doors and recoiled as the smell from the open garbage can hit his nose and he quickly shut the door again. He turned to leave, but noticed a letter lying open on top of the pile of junk mail. He picked it up and studied it carefully.
“Found anything?” asked Mary.
“Just a bank statement,” said Leopold. “Nothing unusual. We can use the account reference to check for any irregularities. Should save us getting a warrant, at least.”
Mary walked over and examined the piece of paper in the consultant’s hand.
“You can’t just hack in to someone’s private account.”
“Actually, I can,” said Leopold, punching Hank’s details into his cell phone. “I have a contact who can look into this sort of thing. I’ll send everything over. Shouldn’t take long.”
He hit the send button, ignoring the sergeant’s protestations, and turned his attention back to Hank’s body.
“We need to keep looking,” said Mary. “There must be something here that can explain what happened that doesn’t involve us breaking about fifty federal laws.”
“We can start with the laptop in the bedroom,” said Jerome. “There’s probably something on the hard drive we can use.”
The bodyguard led the way into the bedroom and pointed out the laptop, shoved into a corner of the bed and partially obscured by the pillows. The bedding and furniture was old, but the room itself had been recently redecorated, like the rest of the apartment. Leopold picked up the laptop and turned it on, taking a seat on the bed. The others peered in over his shoulder.
“This is definitely Christina’s laptop,” said Leopold, “judging by the number of college papers on here. Looks like she’s left her email open.”
He scrolled through the emails and noticed that among the unread messages, one sender kept jumping out.
“Cupid,” said the consultant, jabbing the screen with his index finger.
“Who?” said Mary.
“Christina has received at least a dozen emails from someone calling himself ‘Cupid.’ Looks like an anonymous sender.”
He opened up the latest message for them all to see. The message read:
I know what you did and I’m going to tell. You can’t hide from me any more. You’re going to get what’s coming to you.
Chapter 18
Senator Logan sat at the desk in his bedroom, staring intently at the bank of slim computer monitors in front of him. Stark couldn’t quite make out what the text read from where he was standing in the doorway, but it looked like a list of banking transactions.
“You asked to see me sir?” said the colonel, knocking softly on the open door.
“Yes, I need an update on Blake,” said Logan, turning off the monitors.
“They found Hank, sir. He’s dead.”
The senator turned his desk chair to face his chief security officer, a look of deep concern on his face. “This is very disturbing news,” he said. “Do they know what happened?”
“My team’s surveillance equipment picked up most of their conversation. Blake is saying Hank was murdered. They’ve also found a lead on Christina’s computer; it appears that someone was sending her threatening emails.”
“Threatening what?”
“We don’t know, sir. But we understand they’re going to try and track down the computer the messages were sent from.”
“Good,” said the senator. “Keep an eye on them. If they find anything, let me know immediately. I can’t afford any more delays.”
Stark nodded, and the senator turned back to his monitors, signaling the end of the conversation. The colonel left the room and closed the door behind him. He paced across the thick carpet and entered one of the empty guest bedrooms, a large room with an immaculately prepared king-sized bed against the far wall. Facing the fireplace on the opposite wall were two leather armchairs, arranged either side of a mahogany coffee table. Satisfied he couldn’t be overheard, Stark took a seat and patched his comms system through to Dolph’s earpiece.
“Your orders, sir?” said the blond.
“Keep an eye on Blake and don’t underestimate his bodyguard.”
“Yes, sir. Have the senator’s plans changed?”
“No, we’re still on track.”
“And if Blake finds anything?”
“If the plan is compromised, make sure you use the German. He’s in the vicinity if we need him. Don’t take any risks. We can’t have this traced back to us.”
Stark turned off his earpiece. Thanks to Blake’s bodyguard, it would be almost impossible to follow them much further without being spotted, and Dolph would have to drop back and risk losing them in the crowd. Without an audio link, it would be difficult to keep track of Blake’s progress. No matter; in a few hours the game would be over. And Stark always won.
Chapter 19
“So how do we find Cupid?” asked Mary. “I can think of a few questions I’d like to ask this guy.”
“We’ll start with an email trace,” said Leopold. “Jerome has a contract in place with the same company that handles data sniffing for the CIA, so this should be a piece of cake. I just need to log in to their database and run the program.”
He isolated the email’s source code and opened the text in the web browser. Accessing the online database, he copied in the code and hit confirm once he had finished. Less than a minute later, he received an email with a file attachment.
“Okay, let’s open it up,” said Leopold, downloading the file.
The computer screen showed a two-dimensional map of Manhattan, with a pulsing red dot indicating the origin of the email and a green dot showing their current location. The message had been sent from just a couple of miles away. He zoomed in to street level.
“That’s strange,” said Leopold.
“What is it?” asked Mary
“According to the tracer, the email originated from a computer somewh
ere on the Columbia campus, but according to the maps, there are no buildings within at least a hundred feet of its location.”
“So maybe the tracer is a little inaccurate. Or maybe someone just used a laptop. At least we know someone at the University has been threatening Christina.”
“Actually, this software is cutting edge and accurate to within three feet,” said Leopold, scrolling through a long text file that had accompanied the tracer results. “According to the data here, the email was sent from a machine hooked up to a hard line, so it couldn’t have been a laptop or cell phone. It would have to be a computer linked up to the University’s own physical network via cable.”
“Wouldn’t a machine like that be inside?” asked Mary. “There’s no buildings there.”
“That’s the problem with two dimensional maps,” said the consultant, frowning. “They can’t tell you anything about elevation. The computer we’re looking for must be underground. The University keeps its storage and archive rooms beneath the main campus, and plenty of areas will have been sealed off over time. We just need to get down there and take a look.”
“How do we get in?” asked Mary. “Most of the campus is closed to the public.”
“Thankfully, I’m not a member of the general public. According to rumor, Columbia has a series of underground tunnels that connect most of these rooms together,” said Leopold, drawing a line on the map with his finger. “If we can get into the secured areas of the University, we can use the tunnels to get around unnoticed. Do you think you can turn on the charm if we run into security?”
“Of course,” Mary smiled, and batted her eyelids to emphasize her point.
Leopold smiled back. “Good. Let’s get moving, before Cupid works out we’ve accessed his machine and makes a run for it.”
“What about the other evidence? We should catalogue it and keep it secured.”
“Spoken like a true police officer. It’ll still be here later. Right now we have to get hold of Cupid before he slips away for good. You need to put in the call to the precinct and have someone you trust come down here and seal off the apartment.”
“No problem,” said Mary, pulling out her cell phone.
“And make sure they don’t touch anything,” said Leopold. “I’ve got enough to worry about without finding doughnut powder over all the forensic evidence.”
Mary scowled and made the call.
Chapter 20
Leopold was excited. He’d heard many rumours about the tunnels under Columbia and had read extensively on the subject, although he had never had the chance to explore them personally. Until now. The oldest tunnels predated the existence of the University campus, when Morningside Heights was home to the Bloomingdale Insane Asylum. Since the University was granted permission to block itself off from the main thoroughfares, the tunnels had fallen largely into disuse, although Leopold knew that a small minority of students still devoted much of their energy to exploring the now-forbidden underground network.
Leopold, Mary, and Jerome arrived at the Columbia University campus just after lunch, as the crowds of students began to disperse. The consultant once again accessed the University’s wireless network through his cell phone and ran a search as he led them back toward the Low Memorial Library.
“According to records, the first cabled network with Internet access was installed in the basement of Pupin Hall during the early nineties,” said Leopold. “Since then, the whole area was closed off, so that’s a good place to start looking.”
“Won’t they have sealed off the basement from the tunnel entrance as well?” asked Mary.
“We’ll have to hope not. Most of the tunnels are unmapped and potentially unstable, so carrying out any construction work down there would be a bad idea. My guess is they just locked up the classrooms and forgot about the place.”
“You’re making this sound like a really great idea, Leopold,” said Mary. “How do we know this particular tunnel even exists?”
“We don’t. But we have to at least assume some entrance exists; otherwise how would Cupid have access? We need to find someone who can get us into the tunnels and guide us through to the basement at Pupin.”
“Where do we find someone like that?”
“I can make some calls,” said Jerome “I know a good place to start looking.”
The bodyguard dropped behind, talking quickly into his cell phone. The three of them made their way across the courtyard toward the Business School, an ugly stone-fronted building that loomed high over an otherwise pleasant garden area to the rear of the Low Library rotunda. The area was mostly deserted, despite the pleasant early afternoon sun, as most people had gone back inside for afternoon classes.
“Looks like I’ve found us a lead,” said Jerome, “a guy by the name of Renard who runs unofficial tours of the Columbia tunnels. Apparently he’s a former student and lives pretty close by.”
“Did you get a telephone number?” asked Leopold.
“Yes, I’ll give him a call now.”
“Good. Ask him to meet us here at the Uris Hall Business School as soon as possible, and tell him we can pay cash.”
Jerome dialed the number and waited for the call to go though. A few moments later, he hung up the phone and gave a thumbs-up.
“He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
“Good. In the meantime, I’ve had some more information sent through about Hank,” said Leopold, pulling out his own cell phone and scrolling through his long list of emails. “I got a hit on the bank account records we found. My contact sent through a summary of transactions for the last twelve months. Nothing out of the ordinary until just a few weeks ago.”
“Let me guess,” said Mary. “An unusually large cash deposit?”
“Correct. Twenty thousand dollars, to be precise. Paid to him in one instalment by a company called Greenway Investments.”
“Greenway? Never heard of them.”
“Neither had my contact. He tried to find some data, but all he could track down was a registered business address in The Bahamas.”
“That’s it?” asked Mary.
“For now. He’s going to keep digging, but it sounds like a phantom to me. A business entity set up for the sole purpose of hiding money.”
“Looks like we’ve hit a road block on this one.”
“Not necessarily,” said Leopold, punching a text message into his cell as he spoke. “It at least tells us something useful.”
“And that is?”
Leopold slipped the smart phone back into his jacket pocket and looked Mary in the eye. “It tells us whoever made that payment didn’t want to be found.”
Chapter 21
Christina wanted to move, but her body wouldn’t respond. The room hung hazily in front of her disjointed eyes, a blur of gray and white. There had been a bright light. There had been a man with silver eyes, and then there had been pain. But Christina couldn’t remember why.
She remembered that the pain would stop when the kind man came in. The man with the silver eyes was afraid of him. The kind man had told her everything would be all right and had given her something to make the pain go away.
She forced her lazy eyes to focus and she saw the knife again. Cutting her flesh. Sliding the skin and muscle apart like butter. Christina smiled. All just a dream, floating through her mind like a wayward cloud.
The kind man would close up the wounds with silk, and he would smile when she didn’t make a sound. She liked making him happy. He kept the man with silver eyes away when he was happy.
When he wasn’t happy, she didn’t get to dream anymore.
Chapter 22
Jerome caught Leopold’s attention and motioned toward the small, dark silhouette approaching from the distance across South Lawn. As the figure grew closer Leopold could make out a short man dressed in crumpled clothes with unkempt and curly hair, a nervous and worried expression on his face. The man glanced about him and pulled up the collar on his jacket to obscure the bottom half
of his face. The shabby figure approached and held out his hand.
“You the ones who called?” he said, his voice low.
“Who are you?” asked Jerome, ignoring the hand stretched out in front of him.
“Renard, of course. You can call me Albert.”
“So now we know exactly who you are and why you’re here. Rookie move. How do you know what we’d do with that information?” demanded the bodyguard.
Albert looked away sheepishly and thrust his hands into his pockets.
“Look,” he said, “I’m a busy guy. What do you guys need?”
“We want a tour of the tunnels,” said Leopold, “especially the network that runs underneath Pupin.”
“What’s so special about Pupin?”
“We’re history nuts,” the consultant lied. “Pupin used to be the headquarters for some top-secret weapons research during the second world war. We heard there might be some of the original equipment sealed in the basement and we want to go take a look. Your name came up as a guy who might be able to help.”
“No chance you’re getting into Pupin,” said Albert. “The lower floors were locked up years ago. No one gets in.”
“So I guess you won’t be wanting the two thousand dollars, then?” Leopold pulled a roll of hundred dollar bills out of his pocket and held them up.
Albert paused for a few moments, then glanced quickly from side to side and took the roll of notes.
“Okay, okay,” he sighed, “there might be a way in. Only hypothetical, mind you. I still keep in touch with some of the students here that continue the work I started before I got kicked out. There was talk of a possible way through, but it’s not something I’ve had chance to check out. It could be a dead end.”
“We’ll risk it,” said Leopold. “Where do we start?”
Panic (A Leopold Blake Thriller) Page 7
