We found four safes in the house, one in Winifred’s bedroom, one in Malcolm’s bedroom, and one in his office. The fourth one was behind a panel behind the dartboard in the billiards room.
“What made you look there?” Wil asked, scratching his head.
I couldn’t tell him that I felt the electricity running to it when I put my hand on the wall. “I’ve seen this sort of hiding place before,” I lied.
“Other than asking Donnelly or his wife for the combinations, I’m not sure how we’re going to get these open,” Wil said, staring straight at me as he said it.
I stared back. “Standard procedure is to contact the companies who manufactured the safes, but you’re assuming they’re locked.”
His eyebrows raised. “They all look locked to me.”
“That’s because you’re not a professional security technician,” I said. “I’ve installed safes for my clients, and I’m willing to bet that the Donnellys left all of these unlocked.”
He held out his hand, pointing toward the safe.
Safes with electric keypads were very popular. The companies that marketed them said they were more secure than the old-fashioned tumbler locks. In actuality, they were simply more convenient for the people who bought them. And more convenient for me. I could crack a safe with a dial lock, but it was much easier to just short out an electronic lock.
I touched the keypad, then unlatched the door and opened it. Wil shook his head as he walked over and looked inside.
“Well, well, what have we here?” He reached in and pulled out a plastic bag containing the Lalique necklace. I heard someone gasp, and realized it was me.
“Lieutenant, can we make sure to preserve any fingerprints on this bag and its contents?” Wil asked, holding it up for the cops and everyone else to see.
We continued searching the premises for Deborah’s murder weapon. The police confiscated several knives, but I doubted any of them were the fatal knife. Winifred just didn’t fit my idea of a killer. Malcolm did, but I hadn’t found a knife at his apartment that matched the ME’s description, either.
The fingerprint scan revealed four sets of prints, Malcolm and Winifred Donnelly’s, Deborah Zhukoff’s, and Margarita Martinez’s. The really good news was that my fingerprints weren’t on either the bag or the necklace.
“We hit the quadfecta,” I crowed. Everyone laughed at me. If trifecta was a perfectly good word, I didn’t see why quadfecta couldn’t be.
The police arrested Winifred that night, but when they sobered her up, she went completely silent, and her lawyers stepped between her and the police.
Malcolm threw everyone under the bus. The robbery was Deborah and Winifred’s idea, and he was an innocent victim. His only crime was being chivalrous for love and helping them cover it up. Margarita was the daughter of Satan who seduced Deborah into the idea. Wil and I were conspirators with Deborah. I kept waiting for him to blame the Pope.
Margarita refused to talk until Wil suggested that she was the prime suspect in Deborah’s murder. At that point, she tossed Malcolm into the pot and salted it with information about his gambling debts. The Chamber and its banking partners found a ten-million-credit payment she had made to him, and the nine-million-credit withdrawal and payment he had made to one of Chicago’s leading crime bosses.
They began to doubt Margarita’s credibility when they couldn’t find any trace of the six-million-credit second payment she said she’d given Malcolm.
Wil invited me up to his office. Unfortunately, he didn’t have romance on his mind. He sat down behind his desk and asked, “Didn’t you tell me that Margarita had put sixteen million credits in Malcolm’s Swiss account?”
“I don’t think so. Ten million.”
He regarded me in silence for a long time, as if hoping I’d get a pang of conscience and magically turn into an honest person or something.
“I could have sworn you told me sixteen.”
“Well, how could I have found sixteen when the people who run the banks only found ten?” I half shrugged, turning to the incredible view out his windows.
“I’m wondering how that six million disappeared between the time you told me about it and the time the bank auditors went looking for it.”
With a smile, I turned to him and said, “I’m flattered. You must think I’m awfully smart. You’ve got bigger fish to fry, you know. Margarita says she paid Donnelly six million for the Modigliani. She paid Sanderson one million. Gomez says he paid her fifty million. That’s a lot of money floating around unaccounted for. Did you ever find out what Hollande paid for the Degas?”
He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “You’re never going to tell me, are you?”
“Admit it. A little bit of mystery makes a woman more attractive, doesn’t it? But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Make reservations at that bomb-proof country club again, and I’ll take you out to dinner. I’ll even throw in a night at the opera before I leave town.”
I walked over to where he sat, kissed him on the cheek, and headed toward the door. As I opened it, I turned back to him. “It’s the least I can do to repay you for setting me up with such a lucrative gig. If you hadn’t arrested me, I might have been tempted to express my appreciation in a more personal way.”
That afternoon, I dropped by the museum to give Jessica my final invoice and do the same with Myron Chung.
Jess glanced at the invoice and said, “I’ll get Mr. Wiberforce’s signature and give it to accounting.”
It had been over a week since the murder. Every time I’d seen Jess, she looked like she was just dragging through her day, going through the motions. I didn’t think she was sleeping well, and she looked exhausted.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She nodded, then she shook her head, then she nodded again, then she burst out crying. I took a chance and reached for her. She buried her face in my chest and sobbed.
“You really loved her, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she blubbered. “We…we…were…she said…” Whatever Deborah said, I never found out because Jess was crying too hard to tell me.
She finally wound down, and I led her into Deborah’s office, made her lie down on the couch, and pulled an Afghan over her.
“You rest, okay?” I waited about five minutes until I was sure she was asleep, then tip-toed out and went down the hall to find Chung.
He looked up as I came in his office. “Ah, Miss Nelson. I’ve been expecting you.”
I smiled and handed him my invoice. He glanced at it, scribbled his name on it, and tossed it on top of one of the piles of papers on his desk. Seeing my raised eyebrow, he grinned and said, “Those are my expense reports. Nothing in that pile is getting lost.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Chung.”
“It has been,” he answered. “Sit down, Miss Nelson. I’ve been impressed. So have my employers. They have authorized me to speak to you about ongoing employment.”
“That’s flattering, but I prefer my independence.”
He steepled his fingers in front of him. “I thought that would be your answer. In that case, are you interested in further contractual work?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” He pulled a stack of paper an inch thick out of his drawer. “Read this, sign one copy and send it back to me. The other copy is yours. If you want to amend it, we’ll have to send it through the lawyers, but I doubt you’ll find anything objectionable. It’s a standard contract for independent investigators.”
The smile I gave him was completely sincere. “Thank you.”
“Hurry,” he said. “I can probably keep you fairly busy. The trade in stolen art has become a major participant sport among certain factions of the elite. I guess they get bored.”
“No qualms about my family?”
He chuckled. “I’d rather have you and your anonymous source of information on my side.”
Chapter 25
The news the following morning was all a
bout another bombing. The terrorists hit a teen nightclub and exacted an appalling casualty toll. Between the two bombs set off, the subsequent fire, and the people trampled in the ensuing stampede, the media reported over one hundred killed and another one hundred injured severely enough to be hospitalized.
Watching vid of the aftermath, I saw Wil twice, once with a reporter interviewing him. He looked almost as good on the screen as he did in person.
I went downstairs to get breakfast and found Doreen’s employees—the six women and two men who lived at the house—watching the same news channel.
“Most of the victims were under eighteen,” a woman on the screen said. “Some as young as fourteen. Area hospitals are calling for blood donations.”
Blood shortages were common any time a catastrophe occurred. Vampires paid much better for human blood than hospitals, and usually didn’t require testing for mutations or diseases.
Although I was one of the least squeamish people I knew, body parts of dead kids weren’t what I wanted to see with my breakfast. I put a plate together and took it back upstairs.
While I was eating, Mike knocked and came in.
“I’m figuring that you probably don’t need me any longer,” he said. “When are you planning on going back to Toronto?”
“You all packed?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I still haven’t found Zhukoff’s killer, and the Chamber is still paying me.”
He sat down across from me. “You know it’s probably one of the people they’ve already arrested. Without some kind of evidence, I doubt the killer is going to confess. You may never know.”
“Maybe. I keep running all the suspects around in my mind, and none of them feels right. I think I’ll start over and approach things a little differently. Divorce the killing from the robbery and see if we’ve overlooked something.”
“Want me to stick around?”
I shook my head and handed him a credit card. “Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate your help. Give my love to my parents.”
He keyed the card and looked at it, then back at me with his eyes as wide as I’d ever seen. “Good God, Libby.”
“I had a good week, and I figure your contribution was worth half of it. I have a warm spot in my heart for people who help keep me alive.”
“But…where…?”
With a smile and a wink I said, “Let’s just say that Saint Modigliani blessed us and leave it at that.”
My phone rang. Picking it up, I didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Chicago area code.
“Nelson Security. How may I help you?”
“Miss Nelson? This is Devon Spiess with the Chamber of Commerce.”
“Yes, Mr. Spiess?”
“I need to meet with you immediately. Can you come into Chamber headquarters, or can I pick you up somewhere?”
I remembered Devon from Wil’s hospital room and the day he drove Wil home from the hospital. I’d seen him a couple of times since, but he’d been very stand-offish.
“And what is this in regard to?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”
Okay. Nothing like walking into the spider’s web in total ignorance.
“I’ll meet you at AIC in an hour,” I said.
Mike’s smile was tight as I hung up the phone. “I guess I’ll delay my trip back to Toronto. Who was that?”
We still had the drug-runner’s car Wil had loaned us, so we drove over to the museum and found Devon waiting for us on the front steps. That was okay with me, as it was easier to escape if we were outside.
He nodded to Mike and then said, “I take it you saw the news this morning.”
“The bombing? Yeah, I saw it.”
“Afterward, sometime early this morning, Wil disappeared from the scene,” Devon said. “We got this message a couple of hours ago.”
He held out a tablet. I took it and hit play. Gustav Alscher’s face appeared.
“This is Democracy Now. We have your Deputy Director, Wilbur Wilberforce. If you want to see him alive, here are our conditions you must meet to secure his release.”
Alscher listed a number of improbable things, such as opening schools and universities to all students, regardless of their ability to pay. He also wanted training and job programs for the uneducated from the lower classes. The mutants and poor should be given free health care with clinics and hospitals established in the poorest parts of town. In addition, electricity and clean water should be supplied to all parts of the city, regardless of people’s ability to pay for such things.
I doubted that he thought the corporations would actually meet his crazy demands. Asking for billions of credits in charity was too unbelievable to take seriously.
Then he hit what I figured he really wanted—ten million credits and the “release and repatriation of our revolutionary sisters held as political prisoners, Elizabeth Nelson and Miriam al-Azadi.”
I looked at Devon. “I assume the definition of repatriation has changed since I was in school. I didn’t realize it now meant enslavement to a demented demagogue.”
“Everyone with a political agenda defines their own terms,” Devon said. “Miss Nelson, you’re under no obligation to help us, but I’m hoping you will.”
“I’ll help, but I’ll bill you.”
“Fair enough.”
“Where’s Miriam?”
“The mutie? At a safe house.”
“Well, let’s go see her. She knows more about Alscher, and where he might be keeping Wil, than anyone else. I assume you want to retrieve him alive.”
“If at all possible.” Devon allowed himself a small smile. “I know that would be his preference.”
“If not, don’t you get promoted?” I asked, giving him a sly grin.
“Probably not. I’d just have to break in a new boss.”
“Better the asshole you know, huh?” Mike interjected.
Devon barked a laugh but quickly sobered. He led us to an aircar that took us northwest out of the city. Forty-five minutes later, we set down in front of an old farmhouse surrounded with trees. The nearest structure I saw from the air was several hundred yards away.
Inside, the house seemed clean and comfortable, if a little old fashioned. Miriam came out from a back room, smiled, and hugged me. Then we sat down and discussed our problem.
“They’re going to send me back?” Miriam said after I explained Alscher’s demands.
“No, they aren’t,” I told her with an emphatic shake of my head.
“Why not? They think they can work a better deal?”
“We don’t plan to work any deal,” Devon said. “We’re not trading human beings or rewarding a terrorist for killing a bunch of kids. We just want to rescue Deputy Director Wilberforce.”
Miriam looked at him with a kind of awe in her face. Considering her history, I think such a concept was new to her.
“I need you to tell me everything you can about where Alscher may be hiding his hostage, and everything about his defenses,” I said. “Everything. Don’t leave anything out.”
Over the next four or five hours, she detailed what she knew, I asked questions, and she told me more. Devon supplied maps, aerial photographs, and other information as needed.
The old shopping mall was the center of Alscher’s operation. Within a mile of the place, he controlled several thousand mutants and criminals in his own little kingdom. Carly was a big part of that. He’d feed her mushrooms and have her prophesy at large rallies where mushroom tea was liberally distributed.
The house where they held me was one of the places he stayed, but Miriam told me about two more. One was actually livable, but only a few of his closest confidants knew of it. I could see why. People might start asking questions as to how he got clean water, heat in the winter, and electricity, not to mention food.
It was an age-old tale. The revolutionary who was trying to tear down the system on behalf of the poor, downtrodden masses, really just wanted to be part of
the elite he railed against. It made me wonder why he got into the revolution game in the first place.
I said something to that effect to Devon and Miriam, and she shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. He doesn’t want to join the elite, he wants to rule the elite. Gustav feels he’s a superior man, one who is destined to rule. You can see it with some of the mutants he draws to him. He calls normal humans the ‘old men.’ He preaches that we have evolved beyond what humans were before.”
By mid-afternoon, we had as much as Miriam could tell us. We had a good guess as to where Gustav was holding Wil, and the best second and third options. Devon had a force of Chamber Security, Chicago Police, and various corporate security personnel numbering about three thousand men. All were armored and armed to the teeth, and the force included over a hundred attack helicopters.
Corporate response to the earlier bombings had been muted. Deliberately targeting children was a different matter, and people were outraged. Devon didn’t say it, but I was aware of the corporations’ response to other uprisings, including the one in Europe that Alscher had escaped. I fully expected Alscher’s part of Chicago to be a smoking lifeless pile of rubble by the end of the week.
First, we had to get Wil out of there.
“How much time do we have?” I asked Devon.
“Twenty-four hours, maybe twice that long. Alscher gave us forty-eight hours to meet his demands. I don’t know if I can hold off the people screaming for his head that long.”
I looked at Miriam. “Can I speak with you privately?”
She nodded and led me back to what I assumed was her bedroom. “Are they treating you okay?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. They feed me and take care of me. I can’t go anywhere, but I’m used to that. I have as much water as I wish, even to wash, and they’ve given me all these nice new clothes that even fit. They even let me sleep alone.”
I bit my lip at the tone in her voice. Like a kid at an amusement park for the first time.
When I went back to the front room, I said to Devon, “Drop me as close as possible to that house of Alscher’s that she told us about. The nice one by the park. I’m betting he wants Wil someplace he thinks we don’t know about.”
Chameleon Uncovered Page 20
