Die for Me

by Karen Rose

  She looked from Vito to Nick, her eyes still a little wild. “Is this about Warren?”

  “Where have you been all day, Miss Devlin?” Nick asked, in lieu of an answer.

  Sherry’s chin lifted. “In New York. I thought maybe Warren had gone up there to look for work. I figured if the police wouldn’t help me look, I’d search for him myself.”

  “And did you find anything?” Vito asked gently and she shook her head.

  “No. None of the agencies he’d worked for in the past had heard from him in a long time.” There was a tension to her posture that told Vito she knew why they’d come.

  “Miss Devlin, I’m Detective Ciccotelli. This is my partner, Detective Lawrence. We have some bad news for you.”

  The color drained from her face. “No.”

  “We found Warren’s body, Miss Devlin,” Nick said gently. “We’re so sorry.”

  “I knew something terrible had happened to him.” She lifted her eyes, numb with grief. “They said he’d run away, but I knew he’d never leave me. Not voluntarily.”

  “Leave your car here. We’ll take you home.” He helped her sit in the back seat, then crouched next to her. “How did you know where to look in New York?”

  She blinked slowly. “From Warren’s portfolio.”

  “We looked at his portfolio, Miss Devlin,” Nick said, “We didn’t see a list of modeling agencies, just photos.”

  “That’s his photofolio,” she murmured. “His résumé is online.”

  Vito felt an electric current zip down his spine. “Where online?”

  “At UCanModel dotcom. He had an account there.”

  “What kind of account?” Nick asked.

  She looked confused. “For models. They upload their photos and credits, and people who want to hire them can contact them through the site.”

  Vito glanced over at Nick. Bingo. “Did Warren ever use your computer?”

  “Sure. He was at my place more than he was at his folks’.”

  Vito squeezed her hand. “We’re going to want to take your computer into our lab.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Anything you need.”

  Monday, January 15, 8:15

  P.M.

  “Sophie, wake up.”

  Sophie blinked and focused on Harry’s face. She’d fallen asleep in the chair next to Anna’s bed. “What are you doing here?” Then she winced when she remembered. “Lou’s for cheesesteak. I forgot. Dang, and I’m hungry, too.”

  “I brought you one. It’s out in my car.”

  “I’m sorry I stood you up. I had a long day.” She studied Anna’s sleeping face. “Marco must have given her her meds. She’s out for the night, so I might as well go.”

  “Then come eat your sandwich and tell me about your long day.”

  In his car, Sophie stared up at the nursing home while she ate. “Gran keeps saying that this one nurse is mean to her. Does she say that to Freya?”

  “Freya hasn’t mentioned it.” Harry frowned. “Do you think Anna’s being abused?”

  “Don’t know. I hate having to leave her here at night.”

  “We have to, unless we get a private nurse and that’s expensive. I checked into it.”

  “I did, too. But I can barely afford this place, and Alex’s money will be gone soon.”

  Harry’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t be using your inheritance for Anna’s care.”

  She smiled at him. “Why not? What else would I use it on? Harry, everything I own fits in this backpack.” She nudged it with her toe. “That’s the way I like it.”

  “I think that’s what you tell yourself. Alex should have provided for you better.”

  “Alex provided for me just fine.” Harry always thought her biological father should have done more. “He paid for my university so that I could provide for myself. Not that I seem to be doing very well with that.” She scowled. “S’il vous plaît.”

  “Let me guess. You were Joan again today.”

  “Yeah,” she said glumly. “And the only thing worse than being Joan is having somebody I know see me that way.” She’d felt embarrassed when Vito and Nick had seen her in her costume. Of course, she’d be more embarrassed when Vito found out what kind of person she’d been. Alan would be sure to give him an earful.

  “I think you make a cute Joan,” Harry said. “But who saw you?”

  “Just this guy. It’s nothing.” No, it hadn’t been nothing. It had been incredible. She shrugged. “I thought he was a cheater, but it turns out he’s a really nice guy.”

  “Then what’s the problem, Sophie?” Harry asked gently.

  “The problem is that he’s about to meet Alan Brewster.”

  Harry’s eyes flashed dark. “I’d hoped I’d never hear that name again.”

  “Me, too. But we don’t get everything we want, do we? I have no doubt that within an hour after talking to Alan that Vito will think I’m trashy, and worse, hypocritical trash because I yelled at him for cheating on a girlfriend he doesn’t even have.”

  “If he’s really a nice man he won’t listen to the vile gossip of a snake like Brewster.”

  “I hear you, Uncle Harry. I just know better. Men hear about Brewster and I become a different person. I can’t seem to make people back here forget.”

  Harry looked sad. “You’ll go back to Europe when Anna dies, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But I don’t think I can stay around Philly. Funny thing is, it happened over there, but it’s here that the story won’t die. Alan and his wife won’t let it because I had to be a freakin’ hero and try to do the right thing. Confess to the wife. Merde. Freakin’ idiot is more like it,” she muttered. “Confession is not good for the soul and there’s a damn good reason the wife’s always the last to know.”

  “Sophie, that’s the first time you didn’t tell me Anna wasn’t going to die.”

  Sophie went still. “I’m sorry. Of course she’ll-”

  “Sophie.” His admonishment held affection. “Anna’s led one hell of a life. Don’t feel guilty because you believe she won’t hold on. Or that you’ll get your life back once she passes. You gave up a lot to come home. She appreciates that. So do I.”

  She swallowed hard. “How could I have done anything else, Harry?”

  “You couldn’t have.” He patted her knee. “You done with your sandwich? Because I have to get rid of the evidence. Freya can’t know I went to Lou’s. It’s not on my diet.”

  “She’ll smell the onions. I’m sorry, Harry. You’re busted.”

  “Well, it was worth it. I’ll just drive with the windows open on the way home.” He rolled down his window as Sophie gathered her backpack and the trash and got out.

  “I’ll dispose of the evidence,” she said in a loud whisper. “See you around, Harry.”

  “Sophie, wait.” She turned around and leaned in his window. His face was serious. “If this Vito is a good man, nothing Brewster says would make him disrespect you.”

  She kissed his cheek. “You’re so sweet. Naïve, but sweet.”

  He frowned. “I’m just afraid the right man will come along and you’ll be so sure he’s going to think the worst that you don’t give him an opportunity. I don’t want to see you miss your chance, Sophie. I’m not sure how many we get to waste.”

  Chapter Nine

  Monday, January 15, 9:00

  P.M.

  There he is.” Vito studied the photo of Warren Keyes on UCanModel dotcom. He’d logged onto Warren’s account from his own PPD computer using the user name and password supplied by Sherry Devlin. Sherry’s computer sat in a box on Nick’s desk. One of Jeff’s computer techs would be coming in to check it out within the hour.

  “Spotty résumé,” Nick said, standing behind him. “He didn’t get a lot of work.”

  Vito clicked around the statistics section of Warren’s account page. “Looks like he hasn’t had a lot of hits lately. Six in the last three months. But look at the last date.”
<
br />   “January 3. That’s the day before the last day Sherry saw him alive. Coincidence?”

  “I don’t think so.” Vito went to the photo section and clicked through the thumbnails that comprised Warren Keyes’s career. “Look at this one.” It was two photos spliced together, both close-ups of Warren’s bicep. One half showed the Oscar tattoo in reasonable detail, on the other half the tattoo had been rendered invisible with makeup. “There’s something about that tattoo that’s been bothering me.”

  “Oscar? Doesn’t seem too uncommon for a young guy who wanted to be an actor.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Vito shook his head. “I went to visit Tess in Chicago a while back and she took me to a museum where they were exhibiting the Oscar statues that were going to be given at the Academy Awards that year.” He looked up over his shoulder. “The company that makes the statues is in Chicago.”

  “Okay,” Nick said slowly. “And?”

  Vito visualized the statue and the memory clicked. “Oscar is a knight.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, he’s a knight.” Excited now, Vito did a Google search and pulled up a close-up of the Oscar statue itself. “Look at his hands. Just like Warren’s were posed.”

  Nick whistled softly. “Hell’s bells. Look at that. He’s holding a freaking sword. If Oscar were lyin’ down, he’d be the spittin’ image of the boy in the morgue.”

  “Not a coincidence,” Vito said firmly. “He picked Warren because of the tattoo.”

  “Or he posed Warren because of the tattoo.”

  “No, he planned this. He’d posed the woman’s hands weeks before. God, Nick. Warren got picked because of his damn tattoo.”

  “Shit.” Nick sat down. “I wonder if the girl’s picture is in here too.”

  “And the guy without half his head. And the boy with the bullet between his eyes.” Vito checked his watch. “Tino’s been at the morgue since seven. Maybe he’s got something we can use.”

  As if on cue, the elevator dinged and Tino walked into the bullpen. Vito winced. His younger brother’s face was haggard and drawn, his dark eyes stark. “I shouldn’t have asked him to do this.”

  “He’ll live,” Nick insisted, then stood up. “Hey, Tino.” He pulled up a chair. “Sit.”

  Tino sat, heavily. “How do you do it, Vito? Look at those people, every day?”

  “It’s an acquired skill,” Nick answered for him. “What d’ya got for us?”

  Tino held out an envelope. “I have no idea if this is anywhere close. I did my best.”

  “It’s better than we had before,” Vito told him. “I’m sorry, Tino. I shouldn’t have-”

  “Stop,” Tino interrupted. “I’m okay and yes, you should have. It was just more intense than I’d expected.” He made his mouth smile. “I’ll live.”

  “That’s what I told him.” Nick slid the drawing from the envelope. From the page stared a serious female face and Vito could see his brother had captured the girl’s facial structure. But more than that was a poignant sadness that Vito suspected was Tino’s own feelings coming through as he’d sketched. It was beautifully done.

  Nick hummed his approval. “Wow. How come you can’t draw like this, Vito?”

  “Because he sings,” Tino answered wearily. “And Dino teaches, Gino builds, and Tess cooks like a goddess.” He blew out a sigh. “And on that note, I’m going home, Vito. Tess should be there with the boys and I’m going to see if she’ll make me supper.” He licked his lips with distaste. “Anything to get this taste out of my mouth.”

  Vito remembered Sophie’s beef jerky. “Tell Tess to make it spicy, and save me some. Oh, and tell her to take my room. I’ll bunk on the sofa.”

  Tino stood up. “Your ME showed me the other bodies, Vito. I don’t think I can do anything for the guy…” He grimaced. “You know. Without a head. And the kid with the bullet is too far gone. Same for the kid with the shrapnel. You’ll need-”

  “Whoa.” Vito stopped him with a raised hand. “What shrapnel?”

  “Your ME called him one-four.”

  Nick frowned. “Shrapnel? What the hell?”

  “Sounds like we have some catching up to do in the morgue,” Vito said grimly. “I’m sorry, Tino. Go on. We’ll need what?”

  “I was just going to say you’ll need a forensic anthropologist to reconstruct their faces. But the two old people I might be able to do. I can come back tomorrow and try.”

  Vito felt a stirring of pride. “We’d appreciate it.”

  Zipping up his coat, Tino shot them a lopsided grin. “I expect a recommendation. Who knows, I might have found a new career. God knows art doesn’t pay anything.”

  “Where’s that stack of missing persons reports?” Nick asked when Tino was gone. “We can search this UCanModel site using the missing-persons names that fit the girl’s profile, then compare the photos to Tino’s drawing.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Monday, January 15, 9:55

  P.M.

  Nick tossed the missing persons printout to Vito’s desk in disgust. “That was the last one.” He glared at the UCanModel site on the computer screen. “She’s not in there.”

  “Or she’s not in there.” Vito pointed to the printout. “Maybe she wasn’t declared a missing person. Or maybe she’s not local. Just because Warren was from Philly doesn’t mean she was. I’m not ready to give up yet.”

  “Fuck,” Nick grumbled. “It would have been so sweet to find her fast.”

  “Go home,” Vito said. “I’ll keep searching while I wait for Jeff’s computer tech to comb Sherry’s hard drive. I’ll check each model face by face if I have to.”

  “There have to be five thousand names in there. You’ll be here all damn night.”

  “Maybe not.” Vito ran the cursor over all the drop-down menus. “I can’t imagine that photographers looking for models are gonna scroll one picture at a time. They’d want to be able to look at all the blondes or brunettes, short or tall. Whatever.”

  Nick sat up a little straighter. “So you could narrow the field. You know she was a brunette, five-foot-two, with short hair and blue eyes.”

  “The eyes and hair are changeable. She could always wear contacts or a wig. But the height doesn’t change.” Vito squinted at the screen. “You can search, then sort by physical characteristics. So we search for five-foot-two and sort by hair color, then eye color.” He filled in the fields and clicked search. “You go home, I’ll stay here.”

  “Hell, no. It’s just getting interesting again. Besides, you could find some cute girls on this site. They even list their bra size. What more do you want?”

  “Nick.” Rolling his eyes, Vito shook his head.

  “Hey, I’m single again and I don’t have time for bars.” His expression went sly. “Nor do I have the likes of Sophie Johannsen interested in me.”

  She was interested. Vito swallowed hard. If she’d been any more interested he would have needed CPR. But she didn’t want to be. She’d turned him down, yet again. Last night it had been a misunderstanding. Tonight he suspected she understood all too well, even if he didn’t. So he ignored Nick and stared at the screen. “Only a hundred results. Her being short was good. Most of the models are tall.”

  “Like Sophie.”

  “Nick,” Vito gritted. “Shut up.”

  Nick gave him a puzzled look. “You’re serious, aren’t you? I just assumed-”

  “Well, you assumed wrong. And I’m not going to push this time.”

  Nick seemed to chew on that for a minute. “Okay. Then let’s work.”

  Vito clicked through each model’s portfolio, then stopped and blinked. “God, Tino is good.” The face staring out at them was the exact image of Tino’s drawing.

  “I’ll say.” Nick leaned in for a closer look, very sober now. “Brittany Bellamy. Hell, Chick. She wasn’t even twenty. Click ‘contact.’”

  Vito did, but it was an e-mail form. “They don’t give phone numbers or even geographical
info, and I don’t want to send an e-mail. If we’re right, she won’t answer.”

  “’Cause she’s dead,” Nick muttered. “And if we’re wrong, we’ve given out potentially valuable details on the killer’s MO. But you can check with her former clients in the morning.” He stood up. “I’m going home. I’ll call you when I’m outta court tomorrow.”

  “Good luck,” Vito said, then dialed Liz Sawyer’s home number. “Hey, it’s Vito.”

  “What do you have?”

  “Possible ID on the girl with the hands.” He filled her in. “I’ll confirm tomorrow.”

  “Very nicely done, Vito. I mean it. And thank your brother for me.”

  Liz didn’t give out praise often. When she did, it felt good. “Thanks. And I will.”

  “I rearranged some schedules and freed up Riker and Jenkins. They’ll be available to help you chase leads and IDs as of tomorrow morning.”

  Liz had done well. Tim Riker and Beverly Jenkins were good cops. “Full time?”

  “For a few days. It was the best I could do.”

  “Appreciate it. I’ll ask them to track Brittany Bellamy through her modeling clients tomorrow. I got some names from the archeologist that I want to run down. One of them might be able to help us trace the equipment this guy is using. I want a money trail.”

  “Always follow the money,” Liz agreed. “Schedule a briefing for oh-eight tomorrow.”

  “Will do. Hey, I gotta go. Looks like the IT guy is here.”

  A young guy carrying a laptop was approaching his desk. “You Ciccotelli?”

  “Yeah. You Jeff’s guy?”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “I prefer Brent.” He shook Vito’s hand. “Brent Yelton. And just so you know, calling us ‘Jeff’s guy’ won’t make you a lot of friends on our floor.”

  Vito grinned. “I’ll remember that. The computer’s in the box. Thanks for coming out.”

  Brent nodded. “I was the one who checked out the computer you took from Keyes’s room. I told Jeff to call me if anything else came up on this case, that I’d be there.”