by Joel Goldman
"Daddy?"
"I'm here, baby."
"You found me. I knew you would." She reached for my collar, pulling me close, her breath shallow, her face pale. "It's Monkey Girl."
"I know it's you, baby. Hang on. You're going to be okay."
She squeezed my hand. "No I'm not, Daddy, but I love you and I'm glad you found me."
And she was gone, an improbable smile her last gift.
"Jack! Jack! Are you okay?" I looked up to see Lucy bulling her way through the crowd that had materialized. "Oh, my God! I was on my way to the institute and I saw you chasing him down the hill. Who is he? I can't believe he ran into all that traffic. He didn't have a chance."
As she helped me to my feet, I started to shake, tidal waves ripping through me. I held onto her, my head on her shoulder, my knees buckling. She wrapped her arms around me, keeping me upright as my legs gave way, steering me out of the intersection.
"My daughter, Wendy," I said when we reached the curb and I caught my breath, "I found her in New York just before she died of an overdose. She's drifting down Forty-second Street and a kid blows past her on a skateboard, knocks her into a guy who shoves her into a lamppost, and then she spins into the street, practically melts onto the pavement. I got to her, knelt down, and lifted her head up. She looks at me, tells me it's Monkey Girl, like I don't know who she is."
"Monkey Girl. You lost me."
"It was her nickname when she was a little girl. I gave it to her and she gave it to a stuffed monkey I bought her. Anyway, she says it's Monkey Girl and then she dies, but she's smiling, same as Leonard. Neither one of them had a reason to, but they died smiling. Go figure."
My legs buckled again and another pair of hands grabbed me.
"Let me help," Milo Harper said.
They lifted me, one of my arms across each of their shoulders, and dragged me to a bus stop bench, propping me up. I gulped choppy breaths, aftershocks doubling me over.
An EMT dropped to one knee in front of me. "You okay, buddy?"
I waved him off. "It'll pass. It'll pass."
The EMT looked at Lucy who nodded. "Happens every time he chases someone into an intersection," she said, satisfying the EMT.
"Okay, okay," I said a few moments later when my legs were back and I had stopped shaking. "Let's get out of here."
They hung close to me as we walked around the intersection where crime scene techs were taking pictures and measurements while drivers gave their statements and television news crews made their living.
"Hey, Davis," McNair yelled, making his way over to us. "It doesn't get easier than this, does it? Looks like I'll be home for dinner."
Chapter Thirty-eight
Milo squeezed my arm. "You owe me for that stunt you pulled in the elevator."
"More like you owe me," I said.
He nodded and grinned. "I know."
I filled Lucy in as we walked back to the institute, taking the long way around to the front entrance where reporters swarmed Milo. He and I exchanged shrugs and I left him to work his magic.
"You think Leonard killed Anne or was he running because everyone thought he did and he was afraid of getting busted for not registering as a sex offender?" Lucy asked when were inside the lobby.
"I don't know."
"Is there anything to connect him with Blair, Delaney, and Enoch or is this a stand-alone murder?"
"He hacked into the dream project files but I don't know if he saw their videos. That's all I've got so far."
The lobby was crammed with cops and people waiting for the elevators. Each time one opened, the crowd grew as those passengers joined the throng, finding their friends, hugging and crying, trading can-you-believe-it for I'm-not-surprised.
Nancy Klemp was on duty at the front desk, implacable and unruffled by the chaos around her, answering questions and giving directions.
"What's the latest?" I asked her.
"Ms. Fritzshall went on the PA and told everyone to go home. Said to take the day off tomorrow and come back strong on Thursday. We've got six elevators and eight floors of people. Gonna take forever to clear everyone out of here. I wouldn't be in a hurry to get upstairs unless you feel like walking."
"What happened with Anne's boyfriend, Michael Lacey? Is he still in the conference room?"
"I haven't seen him leave."
Lucy and I navigated through the crowd to the conference room. The door was open. Lacey was slumped over the table, his head on his folded arms. A uniformed cop stood in a corner. Carter tapped me on the shoulder from behind. I hadn't heard him approach.
"You did good out there," Carter said.
"I was too old and too slow. What about him?" I asked, pointing to Lacey.
"I told him he could hang out here until the TV trucks take off. He doesn't want to deal with the cameras."
I stepped farther down the hall away from the door, drawing Carter with me. "You satisfied about Leonard?"
He opened his jacket and pulled out an evidence bag, holding it up for me. Anne Kendall's Institute ID badge was inside the bag, the gold chain smeared with blood.
"We found this hidden in Leonard's desk. That satisfy you?"
"Makes me feel better. Doesn't make me feel good. Lacey have an alibi?"
"Says he was home and fell asleep watching TV. Thought she was working late. Woke up this morning and she wasn't there. Said he started making phone calls and then got one from the gal at the front desk."
"That's thin. Were they getting along?"
"So he says. We'll check it out," Carter said.
"Does that mean you aren't satisfied or that you're just running the traps?"
Carter smiled. "McNair is satisfied, but he's easy. I'm harder to please. Lacey says that Anne told him about her sexual harassment complaint against Leonard. He could have forced her to take him to the institute and used her ID to get in the building, killed her, and planted the ID in Leonard's desk, figuring that plus the complaint would be enough to put the stink on Leonard."
"On that theory, Leonard turning out to be an unregistered sexual offender was an added bonus."
"Better to be lucky than good. Could have gone down that way, but my money is still on Leonard," Carter said. "This Lacey doesn't seem the type. He was blown away when we told him she was dead. I know that doesn't mean much but it felt real to me."
"You interested in another take?"
"Why not? I could use the overtime."
"Let's go upstairs to my office."
"Are you kidding? Have you seen how many people are in line for those elevators?"
"Wait here. I know a short cut."
I found Milo surrounded by a throng of reporters, peeling him away long enough to ask how to summon his private elevator to the loading dock. He pulled out his iPhone, tapped in a number, and smiled.
"Phone activated. It's on the way. How about that?" he said, turning back to the cameras.
The eighth floor was empty when Lucy, Carter, and I reached my office except for the crime scene techs poring over Leonard's workstation. I described the dream project for Carter, walking him through the deaths of Blair, Delaney, and Enoch, and the increasing pattern of violence culminating in Anne's murder.
"You got a whole lot of nothing, you know that," Carter said.
"I don't have a guy who harassed one of the victims, ran when the cops showed up, and had the victim's bloody ID squirreled away in his desk, which, I might add, is the dumbest place he could have picked to hide a souvenir. That's enough for McNair but not for you. I do have three dead people, four counting Anne Kendall, and a lot of questions that nobody seems interested in asking."
"You say that McNair took a second look at Delaney's and Blair's files?"
"So he says."
"Then he did. He's a better cop than you give him credit for. My boss is going to need a good reason to let me or anyone else take a third look."
"Anne Kendall isn't a good enough reason?"
"Not without more proof that Delaney and B
lair were homicides and not without something to tie them to her and Enoch. You know how this works. But as long as we're talking, tell me why Kent and Dolan have such a hard-on for you?"
"What did Dolan tell you?"
"Not much. His mother didn't teach him to share. He had a look at the closet in the sub-basement and went back upstairs. All I got from him was that you were damaged goods."
I had taken a chance on Carter and if I was going to make it pay, I had to go all the way with it. If he took this on, he'd find out about my personal connection to Walter Enoch's murder and would shut me down for trying to sandbag him. He listened as I rolled out the rest of it, telling him about Wendy and my movement disorder. He nodded, asking the right questions at the right time, leaning back in his chair when I was finished, letting out a deep sigh.
"You are the king of the clusterfuck, you know that?"
"Wouldn't be any fun if it was easy," I said.
"This is McNair's case."
"You're his partner, not his butt boy."
"He's not going to like it if I make him look bad."
"McNair doesn't need any help with that."
"My lieutenant won't like it if I get in a pissing match with the feds over one of their cases. Especially if he finds out you're behind it and the feds are putting your tit in the wringer. Doesn't do much for your credibility."
"I can handle Kent and Dolan. And if all four deaths are related, you've got an exclusive claim to three out of four. Your boss can take that to his boss, let the brass run interference."
"All that aside, you've still got a whole lot of nothing. Why would I want to hike up my pants and step in that?"
"To get it right."
Carter studied me, weighing his career. The phone on my desk rang, the name on caller ID reason to hope for the first good break of the day.
"It's Frank Gentry, the institute's IT director. He's been doing some work for me on this."
"Go ahead," Carter said. "Take it."
I picked up the receiver and listened as Gentry told me about the results of his additional research on the dream project video files. I thanked him and hung up.
"Leonard Nagel didn't access Delaney's, Blair's, or Enoch's dream videos," I said.
"That helps my case against Leonard but it doesn't help yours," Carter said.
"So who did access their videos?" Lucy asked.
"Other than Anthony Corliss, Maggie Brennan, and their two research associates?"
"Yeah," she said.
"Just one other person. Milo Harper."
Chapter Thirty-nine
"What do you make of that?" Carter asked.
"Harper says that's how he keeps track of what's going on at the institute."
"If he was concerned about what happened with Delaney, Blair, and Enoch, it makes sense that he'd take a look at their videos," Lucy said.
"After they died, but not before," Carter said, echoing my own concerns. "He's got to be too busy to single out three research subjects for special attention and he's got to be too smart to hire you to investigate Delaney's and Blair's deaths if he had something to do with them."
"We've got Enoch's video but we need to see the videos Delaney and Blair made to get a handle on this," Lucy said.
"Gentry came through on their videos. He e-mailed them to me," I said.
I brought up the e-mail screen on my desktop. Gentry's e-mail was at the top of the list. I downloaded the Blair video and the three of us crowded around my monitor as the credits rolled with Gary Kaufman doing the narration: Harper Institute of the Mind Dream Project, Subject—Regina Blair, Date: November 28.
The video ran twelve minutes. Regina was composed through the first eight minutes, Kaufman explaining the procedure, Regina acknowledging her understanding of the process and her willingness to participate. When Kaufman asked her to describe her dream, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and breathed steadily before she answered, keeping her eyes closed. As she spoke, she hunched her shoulders and held herself with crossed arms.
"I'm in a dark place. It's not pitch black but almost. There are shadows and bits of light. I can't figure out where the light is coming from and everywhere I turn, I can't find anything to touch or hold on to. I start taking little steps with my hands in front of me. I'm trying to find my way out and my heart starts beating so fast I can't breathe. I'm sweating and I'm calling for help but I can't hear my own voice and no one answers. Then I start shaking and I feel cold and hot at the same time and then it's just light enough for me to see that I'm standing on a ledge looking down and there's no bottom, no end, and then I'm falling. I don't even know what made me fall but I can't stop and I scream all the way down."
She opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face as she shook. The camera closed in until her face filled the screen before going black.
It wasn't an unusual dream. I'd had dreams of being lost, of falling. Knowing her dream had come as true as any dream could made it feel real, infecting me with a fleeting sense of vertigo.
No one said anything as I downloaded Delaney's video. Corliss's voice provided the introductory narrative, the onscreen credits noting the date as December 22.
"Corliss told me that the research assistants are supposed to shoot the videos but he shot Walter Enoch's video and this one."
The camera was focused on Delaney. Like Enoch, he was sitting in the same chair where the police found his body, an entertainment center behind him, television in the middle, books lining shelves on either side.
"That's Delaney's place," Lucy said. "The entertainment center was still there when I was in the apartment."
"The videos were supposed to be done at the institute. Corliss said he took Enoch's video at the house because he wanted to know more about him. I wonder what his excuse is for taking Delaney's at his apartment."
"One thing is for sure," Lucy said, "both Enoch and Delaney would be more likely to let Corliss in if he'd been there once before and there was no sign of forcible entry at either place."
"And Kent and Dolan were interviewing Corliss about the Enoch case when Anne Kendall's body was found."
"Okay, okay," Carter said, "I'm paying attention."
I'd brought my copies of the incident reports on Delaney and Blair to the institute. I spread out the photos of Delaney's apartment the police had taken on my desk. Delaney's body had been found in a swivel chair, the chair turned with its back to the television. The photographs showed the body from a variety of angles as well as the rest of the room. Two of the photographs included the entertainment center. I froze the video image of the entertainment center and compared it to the photographs.
"Look at the shelf to the left of the television," I said. "In the video, the shelf is full. In the photographs, it's half empty. Something is missing."
"So what?" Carter said.
"So the killer could have shot Delaney, put the gun in his hand, and fired it again into a couple of books. Delaney ends up with powder burns on his hand. The bullet ends up in one of the books and the killer takes the books and the missing bullet with him."
Carter stepped back from the monitor. "That's what you want me to hang my hat on? No disrespect, Jack, but all that shaking you been doing must have scrambled your brain."
"What about the angle of entry of the bullet? You really think Delaney committed suicide by wrapping his arm around his head to shoot himself? That's crazy!"
"Committing suicide is just one of the crazy things crazy people do," Carter said. "I'm out of here."
"At least stay and watch the rest," I said.
"What for? I got enough nightmares of my own. I don't need nobody else's."
"Five minutes. That's all I'm asking. You said you need the overtime."
Carter let out a long breath. "You don't give up, do you, man?"
"Not yet."
I pushed the play button and the three of us watched, shoulder-to-shoulder. Corliss coaxed and coached Delaney through the preliminaries, Delaney agreei
ng to the videotaping, acknowledging that the video may be shown to others and that Delaney understood that this was for research purposes only and that no treatment was being given. Delaney showed no emotion throughout the exchange, his face flat, his voice flatter. Then Corliss steered the conversation to Delaney's nightmare.
CORLISS: How are you feeling, Tom?
DELANEY: Like shit.
CORLISS: Are you sleeping?
DELANEY: Some. Not much.
CORLISS: Why not?
DELANEY: I don't know.
CORLISS: What happens when you sleep?
DELANEY: I keep having the same dream.
CORLISS: Tell me about the dream.
DELANEY: I already told you when I signed up for the project.
CORLISS: I know you did. That's why I wanted to make this videotape. Your dream is important to the project.
DELANEY: Okay. I'm sitting right here. In this chair. I take my gun and put it up against my head, like this.
He lifted his shirt and pulled the Beretta from his waistband with his right hand and placed the barrel flush against his right temple.
CORLISS: But you don't pull the trigger in your dream. Why not?
DELANEY: 'Cause I'm a chicken-shit loser, that's why." CORLISS: It's okay, Tom. Put the gun away."
I paused the video, looking at Carter.
"You see what he did with the gun?" Lucy asked. "Right hand to right temple. No wrap around gymnastics."
"Yeah, I see it," Carter said.
"Still think I got a whole lot of nothing?" I asked Carter.
"I think you got enough for a third look. Give me your cell number." I wrote it out for him and he handed me his card. "E-mail address is on there. Shoot that video to me," he said and left.
Chapter Forty
"Had enough for one day?" Lucy asked.
"Two dead people are two more than my daily limit."
"I had to park a couple of blocks away. I'll get the car and meet you in the circle drive."
"I can walk, you know."
"I know. Makes me feel better if you let me get the car."
