In the Belly of Jonah (33 page)

BEFORE I HEARD EVEN
one ring on my call home to explain to Agent Kelleher what I’d discovered about Salvador Dalí and the similarities between his surreal paintings and the de Milo murders, he was there, snatching the phone from my ear.

“Genevieve L. Bergen.”

I wasn’t fooled by his charming voice and his easy manner, nor was I lulled into thinking I was safe because we were in a public library surrounded by people. The feeling of danger was palpable. I was clinging to the fleeting belief that crime is what happens to other people or in novels. Not to me.

“Genevieve Liv Bergen,” he stated again, emphasizing my middle name in a mocking tone and extending his hand.

Hesitant, I grabbed it and pumped his hand slowly. “And you are?”

“I’m Dr. Jay,” he said, a wide smile spreading across his lips. “I am . . . was Jill Brannigan’s art professor. Maybe she told you about me?”

I shook my head. “How did you know who I was?”

“Jill, of course,” he said, scanning the page of the Dalí painting that revealed how Jill herself had been found. He caught me staring at him and his smile widened. He pointed at the reproduction. “Ah, Nutrition. One of my favorites by Dalí.”

My throat went dry. “You . . . like Salvador Dalí?”

“Don’t you?” he mocked.

“I think he was incredibly twisted, sick, and sadly devoid of any compassion for life and the beauty that exists everywhere in this world,” I said. And I found myself imagining how that poor girl felt during the Columbine High School shootings when she was asked if she believed in God, milliseconds before being executed for her answer. I swallowed hard.

He chuckled. It was low and menacing.

“I grew up only a block from the Salvador Dalí Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida. Ever been to Dalíwood?”

I was wondering if he’d noticed me slipping my hands into my jacket pockets, fishing for something to use as a weapon. Anything.

He must have seen something in my eyes, because before I even got my hands to my pockets, his hand shot out and he demanded, “What do you have in there, Liv?”

I hated the way he said my name. I just stood there like a bastard calf at the gate.

“Give it to me. Now,” he growled.

I glanced around the small pod in this remote place in the library, praying for someone—anyone—to see us. I emptied my pockets. A pack of gum, a tube of ChapStick, and a pen. Not much. I didn’t exactly know what he was expecting, but I doubt if he was feeling very threatened by my mighty arsenal. Strangely enough—probably because I was feeling scared shitless—my mind wandered to when as a kid I used to order that stuff in the back of comic books, then wait by the mailbox for my treasure: the smoke from your fingertips, the throw-your-voice gadget, and the trick pack of gum that snaps a trap on the taker’s finger. Oh, if only I had that pack of gum instead of this pack of Extra.

A slash of smile appeared on his face. “We’re the only ones on this floor, Liv. And if you run or scream or do anything to draw attention to us, I will hunt down your family one at a time and kill all ten of them.”

My heart jumped into my throat. How did he know about my family?

“Do we have an understanding, Genevieve Liv Bergen?”

I nodded. He had certainly discovered my Achilles' heel. I would rather die a thousand deaths than let anything happen to my mother, father, or any one of my eight siblings.

“Good,” he said, “because it’s time to leave.”

I stared at him, unable to move, unable to think, unable to act. So much for thinking I’d never need to take Tae Kwon Do lessons. They probably would have taught me what to do in situations like this, how not to let your brain freeze.

Dr. Jay leaned over and closed the volume of Dalí prints, covering it with one of the books about Magritte, then motioned with his hand for me to walk ahead of him. I didn’t move. He lightly grabbed my elbow, the gentleman that he wasn’t, and my feet started moving.

As we made our way to the exit, he leaned into me and said, “Make this look legit, Liv, or they’re all going to die, starting with your youngest sister, the one that looks like a model. What’s her name again? Ida?”

My heart caught in my throat. I refused to answer, shocked that he knew my little sister’s name. Mechanically, I was walking beside him now, arm in arm, as if we were strolling along a riverbank. My legs felt like rubber and my stomach churned.

“Ida, yes,” he said with a hiss.

I was walking and talking, but not fully aware of what was happening. I could feel us walking down the stairs, could see people on the second floor, but I had no idea what to do except stare straight ahead and resist the overwhelming urge to bolt and run. My family’s lives were at stake. I couldn’t think of anything but poor Mowgli in the coils of Kaa, mesmerized by that horribly debilitating trance, while being crushed to death by an awful snake that had pretended to be his friend.

“You’re de Milo,” I finally managed to say.

“I hate that name,” Dr Jay said. “The Venus de Milo was so simple to sculpt, so obvious. Not like the works of Salvador Dalí, who was known for his symbolic complexity and unparalleled imagination. He was brilliant, an ever-evolving artist, working in various mediums, as I do.”

My mind kept going to the distortions and mangled body parts, wondering what he had in store for me.

“Did you know we were born on the same day, Dalí and I? The eleventh of May. Not the same year, of course.”

He chortled, as if we were long-lost friends catching up. It wasn’t until then that I realized that by talking with him, I was helping with his cover: two friends chatting as we walked arm in arm. We were nearly at the bottom of the stairs and I could only hope that Ann Marie and Pam could detect my predicament and call the police. I fell silent and prayed to God Dr. Jay would too.

He didn’t.

“My dear deceased mother thought that was an omen. Perhaps she was right,” he said.

We were a few yards from the front desk. My eyes kept sliding to Ann Marie and Pam, hoping they would notice my odd behavior, but not so much as to make mention of it immediately. If they said something, asked me what was wrong, I was afraid Dr. Jay might very well abort his plan with me and make good on his promise to maim or kill my family. I had no reason to doubt him.

“Did you know my mother was dead, Liv?” He whispered in my ear, leaning into me as he spoke. “I killed her, too.”

My face must have blanched because I saw that Ann Marie was staring at me, quizzically. I managed a small nod and smile, hoping that would pacify her curiosity. All of a sudden, the front doors crashed open and in ran three paramedics with a stretcher. They bounded up the stairs two at a time. Ann Marie’s attention and Pam’s were diverted to the emergency personnel and away from me.

Thank you, God.

“Let’s go, Liv,” said Dr. Jay, hurrying his steps as we neared the door.

Just as we approached the doors, Pam called out, “Liv, your ride’s here!”

The two librarians snorted as they laughed. I knew they were joking about the ambulance out front, but considering the circumstances, I was struggling to find the humor in their remark. I turned stiffly toward them and offered a silly wave. They said nothing more, and the de Milo murderer and I were out the door within seconds.

Outside, I drew in a long, deep breath, feeling as if a guardian angel was watching over me. I glanced over my shoulder up at the library and offered a quick prayer of thanks.

STREETER WENT DOWN TO
the front entrance, assessing the mob that had gathered to watch Zack being carted away in the ambulance. He was looking for Jonah Bravo’s face in the crowd when he spotted Cameron, one of Jill Brannigan’s friends whom Streeter had met the night before.

Cameron gave Streeter a fist bump as he approached, “What’s up, Agent Pierce? Who was that kid, did you see?”

Streeter lied, “No, I didn’t. But I’m glad you’re here.”

Cameron’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, I could use your help with something.”

“Me? Really?”

Streeter sized up Cameron and decided on his strategy. “Have you been here all day?”

“Most of it,”Cameron said. “Since ten, anyway. After I woke up, I came down here right away to get my paper done that’s due tomorrow. Why?”

“Well, I’m looking for Dr. Jay. I met him a little while ago and thought of something else I needed to ask him. Have you seen him?”

“Not since last night,” Cameron said.

“Last night?”

“Yeah, he was at the bar with us last night. Left right about the time you showed up, come to think of it,” Cameron said.

That didn’t surprise Streeter. Jonah Bravo would have seen him coming and guessed his purpose.

“Will you do me a favor?” Streeter asked.

“Sure.”

“I’m going to take a quick peek around the library and see if he’s here. Would you mind waiting here by the front door and, if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him and I’ll be right back?”

“You bet,”Cameron said, planting himself just beyond the book detectors at the front door, stuffing his hands in his front pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

Streeter smiled and took off in the opposite direction. He canvassed the first floor quickly, eyeing the clusters of people at the tables and weaving down and around every row of shelves. The faces he studied barely noticed him. None of them was Jonah Bravo, and none of the women looked much like the picture of Liv among her large family that she had in a frame on her bedroom dresser.

Streeter did the same on the second and third floors, weaving around quickly and thoroughly to make sure he wasn’t missing anyone. He checked out the men’s restroom on each floor and hung around long enough at the women’s restrooms to catch anyone exiting them. Exhausting any possibility that Jonah Bravo was hiding in a corner or a favorite haunt, Streeter returned to the second floor to find Kelleher and Brandt overseeing the activities of the criminalists, technicians, and photographers. Standing against the windows, arms crossed against his chest, the sullen-faced security guard suddenly brightened when he saw Streeter approach.

“He told me to stay out of the way,” Dan complained with pouted lips, pointing to Phil Kelleher.

“Agent Kelleher?”Streeter said, his distinct, gravelly voice causing both Kelleher and Brandt to turn in his direction. “Didn’t I warn you he swallows too many prunes?”

Dan laughed. Kelleher scowled. Brandt grinned.

Streeter draped an arm over Dan’s shoulder.

“Tell you what, Dan,”Streeter bargained, walking slowly toward Kelleher and Brandt so they could hear too. “I’m going to ask Agent Kelleher and Detective Brandt to come with me so we can check something out, and I’m leaving you in charge of security.”

Kelleher’s mouth dropped, a rare expression of surprise. Brandt chuckled.

“You stand right here and don’t let anyone bother the techs as they do their job,”Streeter said, guiding Dan to his station. “No one gets down this hall without your permission.”

Dan grew an inch or two taller, proud to be in charge. Streeter slapped him on the back as he walked past him down the hall to notify the techs of Dan’s new assignment. When Kelleher tried to follow, Dan wouldn’t let him pass. “You don’t have permission.”

Kelleher’s scowl deepened.

Brandt slapped Kelleher on the back good-naturedly. “Face it; you’ve been replaced, buddy.”

“I fail to see the humor in
that
,” Kelleher said.

Streeter poked his head into the small private study room. “Walker, you’re in charge of this crime scene, okay. I’m taking Brandt and Kelleher with me to find de Milo. I’ve got a CSU security guard watching your backs. His name is Dan. I told him he was in charge of security. Be nice to him, please.”

Margo Walker nodded.

Streeter walked back down the hall, motioned for Kelleher and Brandt to follow him down the stairs, and flashed Dan a thumbs-up before disappearing around the corner.

“Too many prunes?” Kelleher asked dryly.

Streeter smiled.

Cameron was still in position, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed deep in his jeans pockets.