"Maybe she went out the back door to go to her garage," Vito suggested.
"Her garage is that way." The doorman pointed uptown, proving he knew Manny's routines. "And when she's taking a cab, she always lets me hail it." He dangled the silver whistle around his neck. "She can whistle pretty loud, but this is louder."
Jake looked down, concentrating. Manny was sometimes impulsive, but never irrational. There had to be a good reason why she'd exited through the rear door. What was it?
Kenneth emerged from an elevator and crossed over to them. "The Animal Medical Center has no record of Manny or Mycroft being there today. Something had to have happened to her on the way there."
Jake continued to stare at the tasteful pattern of the lobby carpet. "Illogical." He looked up at Kenneth. "Mycroft should be at Little Paws now?"
"Yes."
"Call them and find out how he's doing," Jake commanded.
Kenneth did not reach for his cell phone. Instead, he put his hands on his hips and glared at Jake. As devoted as he was to Mycroft, he was more devoted to Manny, and he clearly thought they should be focusing their efforts on the owner, not the pet.
"I want to know just how sick the dog is," Jake explained as he walked toward the elevator. "Maybe Manny changed her mind about taking him to the Animal Medical Center."
"Why are you going back up to the apartment?" Vito asked.
"I want a sample of the vomit."
"Why?" Manny asked.
Dr. Costello had reentered the room and now he carried a gun. Earlier, he'd acted nervous, almost embarrassed, but the weapon seemed to impart confidence.
He pointed the gun at Manny and waved her against the wall. "She's wearing pants. That's not ideal," he said to his wife.
Elena eyed Manny up and down. "She's bigger than I am, but I'll find something that will work."
Bitch. Manny watched her leave the room.
"Why are you doing this?" she repeated to the vet. "You've spent your whole life taking care of sick, helpless animals. How can you hurt people like this?"
"I haven't hurt any people," he said. "Amanda Hogaarth and Raymond Fortes were lower than the lowest cockroach that crawls across this floor." He spit in the dust at his feet. "They used their medical training to inflict more pain than the stupid soldiers and police could have dreamed up on their own. For that, they deserved what they got."
Manny wasn't about to argue the negative value of vigilantism with a man holding a gun on her. Still, she couldn't resist probing more. "What about Boo Hravek and Deanie Slade? They have no connection to Argentina."
"Boo Hravek was a thug who sold drugs and beat people up for gangsters. We can't mourn his death." He hesitated. "The girl, Deanie, well… I didn't really want to leave her like that. But Elena insisted. Said it was necessary to send a message."
Elena insisted. Costello had taken over the animal hospital when Mycroft's previous vet moved out of state. He had immediately impressed her as a strong, confident man, but she'd known strong men who'd acted against their better judgment to please their wives. Usually, it took the form of buying a bigger house than they knew they could afford, or having another child they really weren't prepared for. But torturing an innocent girl because your wife insisted? Man, that was some screwed-up relationship.
Elena returned at that moment carrying a flowered sundress. She tossed it at Manny. "Put this on."
"Why? Why do I have to change clothes?"
"You ask too many questions." Dr. Costello pointed the gun at her heart. "Just do as you're told."
Reluctantly, Manny took off her jeans, cashmere T-shirt, and Golden Goose boots and put on the dress. It was sleeveless and well above her knees, made of some thin, slippery fabric. She felt cold, inside and out.
"Turn around," Elena said. She tied Manny's hands behind her back. Then she tied her ankles together. "Go get him," she said to her husband.
Manny noticed that the rope that bound her was quite loose. She knew damn well from what the Costellos had done to Deanie Slade that they were capable of better work. The loose ropes made her uneasy.
A few moments later, the door opened and Dr. Costello returned. He was not alone.
"Travis!" Relief at seeing her client again momentarily buoyed Manny's spirits. At least he was still alive, but he looked terrible. Always thin, his bones now protruded at sharp angles. His sunken eyes peered at her from under matted, greasy hair.
He smiled slightly and shuffled over to her side. What can you say in a situation like this? "Good to see you. How've you been?"
Manny's dread returned as she watched the vet loosely tie Travis. Even if she couldn't save herself, she had to save Travis. She didn't discern an iota of compassion in Elena, but Dr. Costello was different. He had treated Mycroft so tenderly; surely he wouldn't want to hurt a kid. "Travis is just an innocent child," she reminded Costello. "Paco was the person you intended to implicate in that bombing."
"Yes, we wanted his parents to know the pain of having a child imprisoned unjustly," Elena replied before her husband could. "Unfortunately, that part of our plan didn't work out perfectly. Even in this country, the Sandovals are above the law."
"So why punish Travis? Keep me, but let him go."
Dr. Costello turned to his wife. "Please, we could-"
"No!" Elena grabbed her husband's upper arms. She was nearly as tall as he, and she held her face inches from his. Manny could see her chest heaving as she harangued her husband. "You are such a coward. You turn whatever way the wind blows, just like our countrymen who cooperated with the junta. I might have known that when it came to the end, you would be too timid to act."
Impugning his masculinity, the oldest trick in the book. Surely Costello wouldn't fall for it. But no, Manny saw the doctor narrow his eyes, thrust out his chin. That's why it was the oldest trick, because it worked so predictably.
Manny knew she was losing him, but she wouldn't stop trying. "Dr. Costello, stop and think! It's not cowardly to protect the innocent. How can hurting a defenseless teenager ever be justified? Don't sink to the same level as the soldiers who tortured your parents. You're better than that."
Elena whirled around. "Shut up, you pampered American bitch! You know nothing about suffering, nothing. I have suffered." Her voice was raw, her breathing like a runner's at the end of a hard-fought race. "I will decide what is justified."
Manny watched Costello put his arm around his wife's shoulders and kiss the top of her head. She relaxed into his embrace.
Manny had no ally now.
"Raisins," Jake said, looking up from his lab table. "As few as seven raisins can cause kidney failure and even kill a little dog."
"Must've been that Vietnamese food Mycroft shared with us last night," Sam replied. "The Vampire must've been watching Manny's apartment, just waiting for a good opportunity to grab her. To see her leave alone at five in the morning-I bet he couldn't believe his luck."
Jake shook his head. "The Vampire doesn't rely on luck. This was planned."
"But how could he know Mycroft would get sick from eating Vietnamese food?"
"He didn't. I called the Saigon Sunset. There's no raisins in their spring rolls, just a little scallion. I found four partially digested raisins in Mycroft's vomit; someone must have known he is a food slut. Probably gobbled them in a millisecond. Someone did this on purpose."
Sam looked down at the bundle of red fur reclining on a pallet of morgue sheets next to Jake's desk. "Manny would never let a stranger give Mycroft food. How did the Vampire get close enough to the dog to do this? The only time he's away from her is when he's at-"
"Little Paws," Jake concluded. "I'm speculating the Vampire waylaid the group of dogs and did this to Mycroft during one of his walks in the park."
"So that means the dog walker has seen the Vampire. Can't she describe him?" Sam asked.
"According to Sheila, the owner, the walkers are approached all the time. Even jaded New Yorkers get a kick out of seeing six or eight
cute little dogs romping together. And Sheila encourages the dog walkers to talk to people-that's how she brings in new customers. The unemployed actress walking Mycroft yesterday passed out Little Paws business cards to four or five people. None of them made an impression on her."
Sam knelt and stroked Mycroft's head. "I wish you could talk, buddy. Tell us who grabbed Manny and how you made it back to Little Paws."
The dog lifted his head weakly and his tail twitched in what passed for a wag.
"Do you think he's really okay now, Jake?" Sam asked. "He still seems awfully listless. Kenneth took him over to the Animal Medical Center and they gave him the all clear. Kenneth wanted to take him to Dr. Costello, too, but he couldn't get-"
Jake's head snapped up from his microscope. He felt a prickle run across the back of his neck as the piloerector muscles in his skin contracted. "What did you say?"
"I said that Mycroft still doesn't seem himself. Maybe we should take him to Dr. Costello, his regular vet."
"Costello? Costello is the name of Manny's vet?"
"Yeah, the new guy. The one that Kenneth thinks is so hot. Why?"
Jake swung around to face his computer, his fingers wildly tapping the keys. "Nixon's coffee mug. Through a subpoena on the eBay seller, we tracked down the name of the seller. The seller sent me an e-mail with the info. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I hadn't yet tracked it down when Manny disappeared." A final mouse click and Jake leaned forward to squint at the screen. "The buyer is one Elena Costello. The billing address on her credit card is in Manhattan. This can't be a coincidence."
Picking up on his brother's excitement, Sam asked, "Where in Manhattan-uptown or downtown from Manny's place?"
"The fifties, midtown, near her. That could explain why she went out the back door of her building. Dr. Costello claims he told Manny to take Mycroft to the Animal Medical Center uptown, but he must really have told her to bring the dog to him."
"Is there anything else the eBay seller revealed?" Sam asked.
"It says the mug was shipped to a PO Box in Paterson, New Jersey," Jake continued. "The last known address for Freak, the guy who set the bomb, the guy who has a prior for organizing dog fights, was in Paterson. Pasquarelli tried to locate him, but none of his street friends are talking."
Sam jumped up. "I'll find him."
"I should have seen this earlier," Jake said. "The expertise in drawing blood, the rats, what happened to Mycroft-it all points to a veterinarian."
"No time for recriminations, Jake. You put the police on the Costellos' trail. I'm going to Paterson."
Jake's phone rang. He signaled his brother to wait, but Sam was already out the door.
"All right." Dr. Costello handed a remote-control device to his wife. "Are you ready?"
Elena smiled and nodded. Walking to the far corner of the room, she pressed a few buttons while her husband watched the screen of a laptop. Snapping her fingers to get Manny's and Travis's attention, she pointed above her head to a tiny camera by the ceiling. "Smile, you two. You're on Candid Camera. Or candid Web cam, I should say."
Manny looked up at the glass eye focused on her. She'd known military families who used Web cams to let the soldier mom or dad witness their kids' lives in real time. And she'd heard of live porn distributed over the Internet. But what exactly would be gained by showing her and Travis tied up in this otherwise-empty room? Stress, exhaustion, and ether had combined to dull Manny's mental reflexes. She tried to use her imagination to sort things out, but she came up blank.
She looked over at Travis, who stared listlessly up at the camera, then hung his head and coughed hoarsely. He'd been with the Costellos for days now, and he'd lost all his defiance, all his anger. What had they done to replace his youthful passion with this weary passivity? Travis had accepted his status as victim. Would she?
"Is it working?" Elena asked.
Dr. Costello tilted the laptop so his wife could see. A delighted smile spread across her face. Then the vet turned the laptop toward Manny and Travis.
Manny wouldn't have recognized the haggard red-haired woman on the screen except that she was sitting next to Travis, so it had to be her. Instinctively, she lifted her hand to smooth her wild hair. The woman on the screen's hand went up, too. Manny dropped her hand; the screen hand dropped. Creepy.
"What do you think?" Elena asked.
Manny sat stoically. She refused to perform.
"Come now, smile. Soon you'll be a star. Because we've sent an e-mail from the Vampire to every news outlet in the city, so that they can watch what's about to unfold here. And, of course, we'll ask your friend Dr. Rosen to tune in."
"What's about to unfold?" Manny asked.
"You'll see. The whole world will see. Finally."
"Lookin' for Freak."
Sam had circled Paterson in Jake's car, studying the clusters of young men gathered on certain corners. Although it was the middle of the day during the beginning of a work week, Paterson didn't lack for guys with no time clock to punch. After careful observation, Sam selected the group he would least like to meet in a dark alley, parked, and strolled up to them.
"Lookin' to get me a dog," Sam elaborated after his opening gambit elicited no response. "Friend of mine said Freak's the man to see about that."
The men shifted, dropping their hips and rolling their shoulders. The tallest man stared at Sam. Sam stared back. This lasted a good forty-five seconds. When Sam didn't wet his pants in fear, the big guy broke into a grin, revealing four shiny gold teeth.
"Nice grille," Sam said. "I think you must be the guy the fellas over on Fifteenth Street told me to look for."
This cracked them up. Sam smiled, too, happy to have brought a little sunshine into their lives.
"Freak ain't been around lately," the big guy finally said through his laughter.
"Well, like I said, it's a dog I want. Who takes care of his dogs when he's gone?"
The big man looked Sam up and down, trying to determine his line of work. Suburban drug dealer? Pimp? Pornographer? "You can't use his dogs for protection, man," he advised. "They fightin' dogs-too mean for much else. Ain't nobody but Freak can handle 'em."
"But Freak's not around. Who's taking care of the dogs?"
"Pauly feeds 'em. But he can't help you." The big guy touched his forehead. "He's not all there, know what'm sayin'?"
"Got it. Okay, then. Be seein' ya."
Sam got back in his car, slipped on his sport coat, and drove two blocks to the Mother of Mercy Soup Kitchen. He entered the crowded dining room, scanned the crowd, and walked purposefully toward a stocky middle-aged woman with a wooden cross on a leather string around her neck.
"Good afternoon, Sister." Sam beamed. "I'm looking for a young man named Pauly." He dropped his voice. "A little developmentally delayed? But I understand he's a hard worker, and I was hoping I could hire him for a few odd jobs around my warehouse over on Philips Street."
The nun clasped her hands in delight. "Ah, the Lord always provides! Pauly was just here, hoping for a loan to tide him over until his disability check arrives. I'm sure he'd love the opportunity to work, Mr.-"
"Pettengil," Sam said, lying without hesitation. "Where can I find him?"
"Right down the street. He lives above the bodega."
Sam felt a momentary twinge of guilt for having hoodwinked a nun, but it evaporated once he met Pauly. Not only was the young man happy to talk to Sam about his cousin Freak and the dogs, but also he immediately sought Sam's advice.
"Don't know what I'm gonna do. Freak said two days, watch 'em two days. But it's been five-no, six-no, five-five days he's gone." Sam trotted to keep up as the young man walked hyperkinetically along the dingy street. "Runnin' outta food, yes I am. And I ain't got money to buy more. Gotta give 'em meat, that's what Freak says. No dog chow, nope. Only meat."
Sam nodded sympathetically. Pauly didn't require much in the way of dialogue. When he finally got a chance to get a word in, Sam asked, "Where is Freak anywa
y?"
"Don't know. Bizness, he got bizness." They had reached a dilapidated house, one of only three still standing on the block. A tall board-on-board fence, sturdier than the building it was attached to, enclosed the small backyard. Pulling out a key, Pauly unfastened a thick padlock and pushed the gate as far as he could-about a foot. He slipped through the narrow opening, followed by Sam.
Recoiling from a tremendous volley of ferocious barking, Sam instinctively moved to duck back through the gate. But Pauly shuffled forward and Sam realized the dogs-at least twenty pit bulls-were all caged. They snapped and snarled, their small eyes rolling in fury, their powerful jaws seeking something, anything, to clamp onto. Pauly had been feeding them, but he obviously hadn't been taking care of any of their other needs. The dogs were covered in their own filth and some had bloodied their paws trying to escape their small pens.
The stench, the noise, the rage-it all reminded Sam of a tour he'd once taken of a maximum-security prison in Texas. There, too, the inmates had hurled themselves against the bars, angered beyond reason by the sight of a free man.
Sam looked at these canine prisoners and knew there wasn't much he could do other than call the ASPCA and hope the dogs could be tended to humanely. He gripped the young man's shoulder. "Come on, Pauly-we need to call for some help. You can't keep taking care of these dogs on your own. It's not safe."
Pauly looked uncertain. "Freak said he'd pay me five dollars. If I don't do my job, I won't get paid."
Sam pulled a ten from his wallet. "You did a good job, Pauly. Let's get out of here."
Pauly's eyes lighted up. "Maybe you're right. It sure does stink in here."
Just then, a breeze blew through, stirring the fumes from the uncleaned cages. Sam coughed as he moved toward the gate, then stopped. The powerful smell of dog waste permeated the air, but under that was another smell, much worse, just as distinctive.
"Wait for me outside, Pauly." Sam gave the kid a gentle shove, then crossed the yard to a garden shed in the corner. Covering his face with a handkerchief, he quickly yanked open the door.
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