Die for Me

by Karen Rose

  Vito opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  “And Sophie?” Nick asked hoarsely.

  Liz was trembling. “Witnesses saw her being forced into a white van before it backed up over the Albright boy and drove away. Sophie’s gone.”

  Vito could only hear the rush of his own blood as his heart went from a dead stop to clubbing out of his chest. “He’s got her, then,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Liz whispered back. “I’m sorry, Vito.”

  Numbly he looked back through the glass and had to restrain the unholy need to put his hands on Savard and choke her dead. “She knew he was a killer and she said nothing.” He was breathing hard, every word ripped from his throat. “Now it’s too late. We can’t even use her to draw him. He’s got what he wants. He’s got Sophie.”

  Nick grabbed his other arm and squeezed until Vito turned to him. “Vito, calm down and think. Simon still needs that lubricant. It could still work. We have to try.”

  Vito nodded, still numb. But in his heart he knew better. He’d seen Simon’s eyes, right before Van Zandt died. They’d been cold, calculating. Like walking into a cage with a cobra, Pfeiffer had said. And now Sophie was in that cage.

  Saturday, January 20, 6:20

  P.M.

  Simon’s cell phone rang. Frowning at the caller ID, he cautiously answered. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Lewis, this is Stacy Savard, from Dr. Pfeiffer’s office.”

  Simon sucked in his cheeks. The office wasn’t open on the weekends. “Yes?”

  “Dr. Pfeiffer’s had a family emergency and the office is going to be closed for about a week. He and I are here, taking care of last-minute details. I wanted to tell you your silicone lubricant came in.”

  Simon almost laughed. “I’m a bit busy right now. I’ll come in on Monday.”

  “But we’ll be closed on Monday. We’ll be closed all week. If you want the lubricant, you have to come in tonight. I’d hate for you to run out.”

  She was good, Simon had to admit, but there was the slightest quaver in her voice. “I’ll find another source. I may be moving soon anyway.” He hung up before she could say another word, chuckling out loud now. Savard was cooperating with the cops, any idiot could figure that out.

  “Your boyfriend is really smart,” Simon called behind him. “But I’m smarter.” There was no response. If she wasn’t awake already, she’d be waking up soon, he knew, but he’d have no further trouble from her. He’d pulled over to change his license plates and tie her wrists and ankles once he got away from the main roads.

  Stacy Savard hung up the phone, her hands shaking. “I did my best.”

  “Your best wasn’t good enough,” Nick snapped. “He knew.”

  Vito dragged his hands down his face as two uniformed cops took Stacy Savard back to the station in handcuffs. “I didn’t think it would work.”

  Pfeiffer stood, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry. I was hoping it would.”

  “You’ve been a big help, Doctor,” Nick said kindly. “We do appreciate it.”

  Pfeiffer nodded, looking at Savard as she was taken through the door. “I can’t believe I shared this office with her for so long and never knew her. I kept hoping I’d been mistaken. That’s why I didn’t say anything when you were here yesterday. I would’ve hated to point the finger and have been wrong.”

  Vito wished Pfeiffer had just pointed the finger, but he said nothing.

  “So what next?” Nick asked when they were back in his car.

  “We go back to the beginning,” Vito said grimly. “There’s something we’ve missed.” He stared out the window. “And we pray Sophie can hold on until we find her.”

  Saturday, January 20, 8:15

  P.M.

  “We got him on tape,” Brent said, coming into the conference room with a CD in his hand. He handed it to Jen. “Sonofabitch tampered with the old lady’s IV.”

  Vito had remembered the camera he’d left at Anna’s bedside as he and Nick had been driving back from Pfeiffer’s office. Now he stood behind Jen’s chair as she inserted the CD containing the camera’s footage into her laptop. Nick and Liz stood to his right, Brent came to stand on his left. Katherine stayed seated, pale and numb.

  Vito hadn’t been able to meet her eyes. He’d promised her he’d take care of Sophie. And he hadn’t. He should have kept Sophie under lock and key until Simon was caught. He should have done a lot of things. But he hadn’t and Sophie was gone. Simon Vartanian had her and they all knew what Simon Vartanian could do.

  He had to stop thinking like that. He’d go quietly insane. So focus, Chick. And find the thing you missed.

  Brent slanted him a look. “Simon shows up five hours into the tape. The camera is motion activated. The first two hours are you and Sophie with the grandmother last night. I fast-forwarded through that visit and through the nurses’ visits, blood pressure checks, medicine, meals. There’s a card game in there, too.”

  Vito looked at him. “A card game?”

  “Some nurse came in with a deck about ten

  A.M.

  this morning. Said it was time for their daily game. Sophie’s grandmother lost and called the nurse mean.”

  “Was the nurse’s name Marco?”

  “Yeah. She was also the one that saved the old lady’s life.”

  “Well, at least her grandmother wasn’t being abused by the nurses.” Vito shook his head. “Anna just didn’t like losing at cards.”

  “I’ve got it cued,” Jen said. They watched Simon Vartanian come into Anna’s room and sit at her bed. He was dressed as the old man.

  “He must have come straight from blowing up Van Zandt,” Nick murmured.

  “Busy day,” Jen said flatly. “Dammit.”

  Brent leaned over Jen and fast-forwarded the tape. “He tells her he’s from the opera society. That Sophie sent him. He calls her by name. They chat for twenty minutes, until the grandmother falls asleep. Here’s where he tampers with the IV.”

  On the tape, Simon pulled a syringe from his pocket and injected it into the IV the nurse had left prepped next to her bed. He pocketed the syringe, checked the IV that currently dripped, then checked his watch.

  “A very simple and effective time delay,” Jen said dully. “It gives him time to get away from the nursing home and lie in wait for Sophie at the hospital.”

  Once again, Simon had thought of everything.

  Which once again made Vito’s blood run cold.

  Brent cleared his throat. “The nurse comes in to change the IV.” Jen fast-forwarded and again they watched. It was Marco again, and she recorded Anna’s vitals on her chart after changing the IV. The screen went dark, then a second later was full of activity as Marco ran back in. The cardiac monitor was beeping and Anna was jerking in pain. Marco leaned close to Anna’s mouth.

  “The nurse said that Anna was saying that it burned,” Liz said. “The nurse is good. She took one look at the cardiac monitor and recognized the signs of potassium chloride overdose. She gave her an injection of bicarb. Stopped the heart attack.”

  “And saved Anna’s life,” Vito murmured, swallowing hard.

  “Marco thought she’d made a mistake on the IV,” Liz said. “She was prepared to face disciplinary actions, even dismissal. But she said she couldn’t lie, that if she’d harmed a patient, she’d accept accountability.”

  Vito sighed. “Does she know about the camera?”

  “No,” Liz said. “Telling her will ease her mind about her own culpability.”

  “And will let her know Sophie didn’t trust her,” Vito finished. “But she should know anyway. So should Sophie’s family. I’ll go by the hospital in a little while.” He sat down in his chair at the head of the table. At the beginning of this case he’d welcomed the responsibility for leading an investigation of this magnitude. Now the responsibility hung around his neck like a lead weight. The investigation was his. Where it went from here would be on him. That meant what happened to Sophie was on him as well.


  “So what are we missing?” Vito demanded. “We need details.”

  “Isolated buildings with elevators built on quarry soil,” Jen said.

  “Identities of the old woman and the man at the end of the first row,” Nick added.

  Liz pursed her lips. “That damn field,” she said and Vito narrowed his eyes.

  “You mean why that field?” he asked and Liz nodded.

  “We never answered that question, Vito. Why that field? How did he pick it?”

  “Winchester, the old postal worker who owns that land, said it had been owned by his aunt.” Vito swiveled in his chair to look at the whiteboard. “The old woman buried next to Claire Reynolds can’t be Winchester’s aunt.”

  “Because Winchester’s aunt didn’t die until October of this year,” Nick continued. “This old lady died a year earlier.”

  “She was from Europe,” Katherine said. They were the first words she’d uttered since entering the room. “I had her dental work analyzed and the report came back late yesterday. Her fillings are an amalgam that was never used in this country but was common in Germany in the fifties.” She shook her head. “I can’t see how that’s going to help you. Thousands of people emigrated from that part of the world after the war.”

  “It’s a piece we didn’t have before,” Vito said. “Let’s go out and see Harlan Winchester again. Let’s find everything we can on his aunt. We need something to tie that land to Simon, and right now the only thing that ties to the land is the aunt.”

  Liz put her hand on his shoulder. “I have a better idea. Nick and I will go see Winchester. You go see Sophie’s family.”

  Vito’s chin came up. “Liz, I need to do this.”

  Liz’s smile was kind but firm. “Don’t make me take this case, Vito.”

  Vito opened his mouth, then closed it. “You’re about to knock me off my bucket,” he said quietly, remembering Sophie and Dante.

  “It’s a strange word association, but yeah, I guess it works.” Liz lifted her brows. “Your emotions are running high. Go home. Recharge. That’s an order.”

  Vito stood up. “Okay. But only for tonight. Tomorrow morning I’m back here. If I don’t do something to find her, I’ll go crazy, Liz.”

  “I know. Trust us, Vito. We’ll leave no stone unturned.” She looked over at Jen. “You were here all last night. You go home, too.”

  “I’m not going to fight you,” Jen said, closing up her laptop. “But I’m not sure I can even get home. I think I’ll just crash in the crib for a while.” She gave Vito a hard hug on her way out. “Don’t lose hope.”

  “Nick, you’re with me,” Liz said. “I’ll get my coat.”

  “I call shotgun,” Nick said, then paused next to Vito. “Just sleep, Chick,” he muttered. “Don’t think. You think too damn much.” Then he and Liz were gone.

  Brent hesitated, then gave Vito a CD in a plastic case. “I thought you’d want a copy.” One side of his mouth lifted sadly. “You have a hell of a set of pipes, Ciccotelli. There wasn’t a dry eye on the IT floor when I was viewing that part of the tape.”

  Vito’s eyes burned. “Thank you.” Then Brent was gone and it was just him and Katherine. Not caring if she saw, he swiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Katherine, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Neither do I, except that I’m sorry.”

  He blinked at her. “You’re sorry?”

  “I damaged our friendship this week more than I thought. Because I hurt you before, you’re thinking I blame you for this, and nothing could be further from the truth.”

  Vito turned the CD over and over in his hands. “You should. I blame myself.”

  “And I blame myself for bringing her in in the first place.”

  “All I can see in my mind are all his victims.”

  “I know,” she whispered harshly.

  He looked at her then. Her eyes were haunted. She’d done twelve autopsies this week, each one a victim of Simon Vartanian. “You understand better than anyone.”

  She nodded. “I also know Sophie Johannsen. If there’s a way to survive, she will. And you have to hold on to that, because right now it’s all we have.”

  Saturday, January 20, 9:15

  P.M.

  Sophie was waking up. She lifted her eyelids and swept her gaze from one edge of her peripheral vision to the other, without moving her head. Above her was waffleboard. It was, she knew from all those times she’d accompanied Anna to recording studios, used for soundproofing and controlling sound quality. The walls were covered with rock. Whether it was real or not was hard to tell. The torches in wall sconces appeared real enough, their flickering flames creating shadows on shadows.

  She smelled death. And she remembered the screams. Greg Sanders had died here. As had so many others. So will you. She gritted her teeth. Not if I have an ounce of strength left. She had far too much to live for to give up.

  It was a good thought, but pragmatically she was bound, hands and feet, and was lying on a wooden table. She had clothes, but they weren’t the ones she’d been wearing. She wore a dress or robes. She heard footsteps and quickly closed her eyes.

  “No need to pretend, Sophie. I know you’re awake.” He had a soft, cultured drawl. “Open your eyes now. Look at me.”

  Still she kept her eyes closed. The longer she could put off a confrontation, the more time she’d give Vito to find her. Because he would find her. Of that she was sure. Where and what shape she’d be in were the only questions in her mind.

  “Sophie,” he crooned. She could feel his breath wash over her face and fought not to flinch. She felt the breeze his body made when he straightened. “You’re very good.” Because she was anticipating it, she controlled the flinch when he pinched her arm. He chuckled. “I’ll give you a few more hours, but only because I need to recharge my circuits.” He’d said the last few words with an almost self-deprecating amusement.

  “Once I’m all charged up, I’ll be fit and ready to roll for another thirty hours. Just imagine all the fun we can have in thirty hours, Sophie.” He walked away chuckling, and Sophie prayed he didn’t see the shiver she couldn’t control.

  Saturday, January 20, 9:30

  P.M.

  “Hi, Anna.” Vito sat in the chair next to her bed in the cardiac intensive care unit. Anna was barely lucid, but her good eye flickered. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand if you can’t talk. I just came to see how you were.”

  Her eye moved toward the door and her lips trembled, but no words came out. She was looking for Sophie, and Vito didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. “She had a long day. She fell asleep.” It wasn’t untrue. Witnesses said she’d been dragged to the white van in which she was taken, limp as if she’d been drugged. Vito hoped she had been and that she still slept. Every hour she slept gave them another hour to find her.

  “Who are you?”

  Vito turned to find a shorter, younger version of Anna in the open door. That, he guessed, would be Freya. He patted Anna’s hand. “I’ll come back when I can, Anna.”

  “I said, who are you?” Freya’s voice was shrill, but under it Vito heard panic.

  Panic he understood. “I’m Vito Ciccotelli, a friend of Anna’s. And Sophie’s.”

  A man with a thin ring of hair around the back of his head appeared behind Freya, fear and hope warring in his eyes. This would be Uncle Harry.

  The man confirmed it. “I’m Harry Smith, Sophie’s uncle. You’re her cop.”

  Her cop. Vito’s heart broke a little more. “Let’s find a place to talk.”

  “Sophie?” Harry said when they’d sat down in a small family waiting room.

  Vito looked at his hands, then back up. “She’s still missing.”

  Harry shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would anyone hurt our Sophie?”

  Vito watched the corner of Freya’s mouth tighten. A tiny movement, probably caused by stress. He wasn’t sure. What he did know was that the man before him
was the closest thing Sophie had ever had to a real father and he deserved to know the truth.

  “Sophie was helping us with a case. It’s gotten some press coverage.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed. “The graves the old man discovered with a metal detector?”

  “That’s the one. For the last week we’ve been tracking the man who killed all those people.” He drew a breath. “We have reason to believe he abducted Sophie.”

  Harry paled. “My God. They found nine bodies up there.”

  Now there were five more, perhaps six considering Alan Brewster had never been found. But Harry didn’t need to know that. “We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

  “My mother’s heart attack,” Freya said slowly. “It happened not an hour before Sophie was taken. The timing can’t be coincidental.”

  Vito thought of the look on Nurse Marco’s face when he’d told her about the tape and the tampering. She’d been, as he’d anticipated, both hurt and relieved. He wondered what Freya Smith’s response would be. “We know it wasn’t. The killer tampered with your mother’s IV, injected a high concentration of potassium chloride.” Probably a coarse grade, Jen had thought. The kind used to melt ice on roofs and streets, available at any hardware store this time of year.

  Freya’s mouth pressed to a hard line. “He tried to kill my mother. To get to Sophie.”

  Vito frowned, not at the words, but by the way in which she said them. Apparently Harry was as well. An expression of appalled shock crossed his face.

  “Freya, Sophie didn’t cause this.” When Freya said nothing, Harry rose unsteadily to his feet. “Freya? Sophie’s gone. A man who killed nine people has our Sophie.”

  Freya began to cry. “Your Sophie,” she spat. “Always your Sophie.” She looked up at him. “You have two daughters, Harry. What about them?”