The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3) (10 page)

So much for my attempt at neo-economic satire. I jumped into the passenger seat, rested, fresh as a daisy, and ready for my excursion to Long Island. The
Volvo
reeked from Ambler’s greasy food.

“We could’ve stopped for breakfast.”

“I got here early and got hungry. The guy on the corner makes a great scrambled egg. Want something for the ride?”

I knew the deli Ambler was talking about. The owner was affectionately referred to in the neighborhood as Rat Hair Harry, a bald Persian with tufts growing out of his auditory canals. “I’ll pass on breakfast, but if you’re hungry, we can grab lunch before we head back.”

“Okay.” Ambler threw his Swedish halftrack into gear and rolled slowly toward the 59
^th
Street Bridge. “So how’d you dump the Boy Wonder?”

“There was no dumping involved. Gus was scheduled to give a court deposition this morning.”

“How fortuitous.”

“Those were my thoughts exactly.”

“Great minds think alike.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“But you would’ve dumped him if you had to?”

“You ask me to come alone, I come alone. A girl knows who she can depend on. So what’s the deal?”

Ambler sighed as he struggled to maneuver through the dense Manhattan traffic. “I hope it lightens up once we’re over the bridge.”

“I thought you said there wouldn’t be any traffic.”

Ambler sneered at me. It was one of his playful sneers. He had a large repertoire. This one was saying, kiss my butt. “I’m a middle aged Fed, not the All Knowing Oz.” At that instant, the traffic cleared. It was almost as if it opened up on cue. We were over the bridge in minutes, cruising on the Long Island Expressway. The question still remained, where was Ambler taking me?

Few people were as forthcoming as Ambler, but there was something in his voice that told me he was holding back. He was obviously wrestling with something, so I figured I’d coax him along. “It’ll go easier for you if you just come out with it. What have you got me involved in now?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re being evasive.”

“You’re only in the car a few minutes; would you stop.”

“Okay, I’ll just sit here. Take me anywhere you like.”

Ambler looked uncomfortable, as if he was squirming in his seat. Still, it took a moment before he said anything. “Damien Zugg.”

“Excuse me?”

“Damien Zugg, you wanted to know where we’re going, so I told you. We’re going to see Damien Zugg.”

There was something about that name that I just couldn’t quite put my finger on. I was sure that I’d heard it before. My antennae went up. “How exactly do I know that name?”

“He’s an ex-department head with The Bureau…forensics to be exact.”

“You’re dancing all around it. There’s something about that name that I should know. Spill it. You know I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“He was very highly respected.”

“So was O. J. Simpson before he traded in a pigskin for sauté knife.”

And then it all came rushing back; headlines about a Polish serial killer the FBI tracked down in the Midwest. “Tamar Wald.”

“Touché,”

“It’s coming back now. Damien Zugg put together the forensics puzzle that led to the capture of Tamar Wald, the serial rapist and murderer.”

“You’re a veritable compendium of information. While we’re at it, you left out that Wald also humped livestock.”

“It wasn’t germane.”

“Remember anything else?”

“He left The Bureau, didn’t he? Isn’t he the one that went off the proverbial deep end?”

“Those are just rumors, Stephanie. Rumors are the stories people make up when they want to put their own spin on the truth. I’ve known Damien Zugg many years. He’s a very private man working through a very difficult time in his life. He’s fighting a battle against cancer. That’s why I asked you to come alone. It’s not that I have an issue with Lido. I just figure the fewer people Zugg has to interact with the better. He’s absolutely brilliant and The Bureau still consults with him. I gave him Kevin Lee’s skull to examine and he found something. It’s a small something, but something nonetheless, and I’d like to have the police department’s support so that he can continue helping us.”

“And you thought I’d argue with you?”

“He has his good days and his bad days. Yesterday was one of his better days. He was sleep deprived and a little testy, but on the whole he was the Damien Zugg I’ve always known. There are times when he’s not. There are days when I’m not sure who I’m talking to.

“Is he schizophrenic?”

“No, but the disease he’s fighting with… it plays havoc with his mind, with his personality—sometimes he’s a real mess.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s got brain cancer, Stephanie.”

“God, I’m sorry. That’s so terribly sad.”

“It’s more than sad, it’s tragic. For a man as gifted as Damien Zugg, being unable to count on his mind is— I really don’t know how to put it into words. Sometimes you have to wonder about what makes God tick.”

“What happens to him when he’s off?”

Ambler turned to look me in the eye and then abruptly pulled the car to the side of the road and put on the warning flashers. We were on a causeway, surrounded on both sides by water. We had already exited the expressway and were somewhere on Long Island’s North Shore.

“What’s going on?”

“I need some fresh air.” Ambler got out, propped himself against the fender and looked off toward the water.

I jumped out of the car and joined him. We were both looking out at the water. “What’s up?”

“This is the Robert Graff Causeway. It separates Beaver Lake from Mill Neck Bay. Pretty, isn’t it?”

I scanned the lake. The sun cast a sharp glare across the surface of the water. Gnats were dancing in the air in front of me. The tide was low and the water smelled gamey. “It’s alright. It’s not exactly the Pacific Coast Highway. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Disease has this way of destroying the mind. I’m not talking about the tumors. People change when they know they’re going to die. It becomes a disease of the mind; digesting gray matter in exactly the same manner the cancer cells digest healthy living tissue.”

“As a friend, it hurts for you to see him like that—I understand. As cops, though, we need to know his information is reliable. Is he still reliable?”

“He was yesterday. I just never know what I’m going to find the next time I see him.”

“Then we’ll have to take it one day at a time.”

Ambler cuffed me playfully on the chin. “You’re pretty wise for someone so young. How’d you learn so much so fast?”

“I had some pretty good teachers.”

“Thanks, kid.”

What was going on here? Ambler was a no BS kind of guy, and yet he felt it necessary to stop in the middle of nowhere to explain himself to me. How much of a mess was Zugg? All I could think of was that Ambler felt it necessary to set such a low level of expectation that Zugg would seem acceptable no matter how bad he was. The time for speculation was over. The clock was ticking. Hopefully the Ambassador’s son was out there, somewhere, and still alive. “Come on, let’s go. I can now check the Robert Graff Causeway off of my bucket list. I want to meet Zugg and find out what kind of mess you’ve gotten me into this time.”

A
mbler overshot the driveway.

“What’s the matter, that powerful four cylinder getting away from you?”

“Lay off the Volvo, Chalice. It’s a good reliable car.” He swung a U-turn and pulled into the driveway.

The gravel driveway was badly overgrown. We rolled over the weeds, snapping yard-high sapling trees until we came upon a large fallen branch blocking the way.

“We’ll have to hoof it.” Ambler turned off the engine. A moss covered
BMW
sat facing us on the driveway. He pointed at the vintage sports car through the windshield. “The man’s here.”

Ambler paused alongside the
BMW
. “1971
2002tii
—at one time, this was one sweet ride.”

“Unlike your Swedemobile.”

Ambler snarled at me.

“Okay, I’m done; no more knocks on the
Volvo
.” The property was a mess, but there was lots of it. “The place is going to waste. He doesn’t have the money for the upkeep?”

“I think the land’s been with the family for ages—Bureau pension and disability are more than enough to cover the taxes, even here in Nassau County. Chances are the mortgage is long paid for.”

“So then what?”

Ambler shrugged. “I just don’t think he cares anymore.”

I felt as if I was just beginning to understand why Ambler was filled with so much trepidation. God only knew what we’d find when we knocked on the door. The house was set at the rear of the property, its back porch just yards from a pond.

I scanned the house. Large oak trees towered over the Cape Cod style home, bathing it in shadow. The roof was covered in moss, and the white paint on the soffit was badly worn, leaving the grayed pine exposed and unprotected. The cedar shakes had somehow managed to retain a modicum of their original orange hue. The porch steps creaked as we approached the house. Deciduous pine needles dangled from the overhang. Opening the screen door, Ambler rapped lightly.

A moment passed before he knocked again, a bit more determinedly this time. He listened carefully, hoping to hear footsteps inside. Nothing.

I brushed aside a spider web and rubbed a circle in the window, which was virtually opaque with grime. I peered in and looked for signs of life. Within, the immediate room was bare with no furnishings of any kind. Barren oak floors were heavy with dust. “Are you sure he’s expecting us?”

Ambler nodded. “I’m going around back.”

There were dried mud footprints on the back deck and on the burlap mat outside the backdoor. “Someone’s been here recently,” he said. “It rained a couple of nights ago. These prints would have washed away.”

Stepping off the porch, I could see a faint trail of smoke rising above the tall thickets that bordered the pond. A pungent odor was distinct in the air. “You smell that?” I pointed to where a thin trail of smoke rose near the water’s edge. “Something’s burning over there.” We bounded through the thickets to the water’s edge. Lying on the ground was a religious censer—a trail of aromatic smoke rose from it.

Ambler looked around uneasily. “This is strange, even for Zugg.”

The pond was covered in shadow. Its surface appeared viscose and scummy. I stared at the dark water not knowing what to expect. There was something on the ground near my feet. “What the hell?” A hooded monastic robe lay on the ground.

I pointed to the robe, “What do you make of this?” Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
Something’s wrong.

The shadows across the pond shifted. Looking down at the water I could now see past the surface. At first I doubted my eyes, but then I was sure that I was right. The crown of a baldhead was visible just beneath the surface.
He’s dead
, I thought. The severity of the disease—he just couldn’t take it any more. My eyes enlarged and then focused. I was trying to comprehend what I was seeing, and then the head began to rise out of the water.

Zugg stepped out of the water, his naked white body was pale, damp, and lifeless looking, like a wet, shivering dog. My heart jumped into my throat. Zugg seemed bewildered as he looked me squarely in the eye for what was probably no longer than a second, yet seemed like moments. He wearily scooped up his robe, and covered himself. Not a word was spoken as he trudged wearily to his house.

I turned to Ambler, my mouth gaping wide. I didn’t need to say anything, nor did he. The message was in our eyes.

A
long moment passed as I attempted to calm down.
I was struggling to find every last ounce of control, to keep my emotions even and level, but I couldn’t. “What the hell was that?”

“Quiet,” Ambler said, a bit more agitated than I’d ever seen him before. Beyond the outright shock of seeing Zugg rise naked from the lake, Ambler was no doubt concerned about his colleague’s mental health, not to mention having introduced me into a situation that was out of his control. “He’ll hear you.”

“That’s the least of my problems. What was he doing in the lake?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Give me a minute to think. I’ve never seen him like this before. I’ve seen him act strangely, but nothing like this. Anyway, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Are you crazy? Nothing you said could have prepared me for this.
This
is the lynchpin upon which our investigation hinges? I need a Valium and a couch session with Dr. Twain. Forget Dr. Twain. I need multiple sessions with a psychologist in Vienna. I need Sigmund-fucking-Freud.”

“Calm down, you’re hysterical.”

“You’re goddamned right, I’m hysterical. I just saw a naked man breach the lake like Moby Dick and look me straight in the eye. I felt like Captain Ahab at the moment of his demise.”

The screen door creaked. I looked up and saw Zugg on the house’s rear deck, dressed in sweats and a baseball cap. He beckoned for us to come into the house and then disappeared inside.

“Are you still up for this?” Ambler asked. “I can do this solo if you want to wait out here.”

“There’s no way I’m dropping this. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Just a minute.” I felt under my jacket. My
Para Ordnance
.45 automatic was still there, firmly holstered in its harness. I ran my fingers over the grip for reassurance. “Okay,” I said. “Now we can go.”

Zugg had arranged three chairs in an otherwise empty living room. Ambler and I took seats. I could see into the kitchen where Zugg was at the stove, pouring tea into two large mugs. He came into the living room and handed me a mug. “Detective Chalice, I presume—chamomile tea for your nerves,” Zugg said. He handed a second mug to Ambler. “Yours is spiced with Irish whiskey,” he said to Ambler. He took the seat opposite us. “Just a smidge, Herbert; I know you’re on duty.”

My first instinct was to summon the royal food taster to see if Zugg had slipped poison into our mugs, but I didn’t. I sipped the tea, allowing the warm liquid to soothe me. It was hot and strong, and I enjoyed it. Somehow, Zugg now appeared normal as he sat before us.