The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3) (16 page)

The Ambassador’s car turned and rolled slowly toward the crowd, which was silent, waiting for instructions. Liu rolled his window down and spoke to the crowd in Chinese. His car screeched away. Within seconds, the crowd began to disperse.

“You did well,” Ambler said. “He spoke to you directly.”

“Forgive me if I’m not impressed.”

“Chinese men at his level rarely recognize or have respect for women. The fact that he recognized you and accepted your advice is huge.”

“He played ball because we’ve got the power. Despite his lofty position and access to information of every variety, he’s been unable to find his son on his own. Trust me, he did what he did out of need.”

“It’s all the same to me. Who do you think tipped him off about this place?” Ambler said.

“I wouldn’t hazard a guess at this point. A man with that kind of influence can find out just about anything he wants to.”

“I just hope Zugg finds something useful in that pile of crap upstairs,” Ambler said.

“Me too, my friend. Me too.”

I
checked my watch.
It was a
Bulgari
by the way, a very extravagant present from Gus. It was nearly 8:00 a.m. and I was quickly running out of steam. We had survived a very interesting night. Although inconclusive, we had likely found our perp’s lair, and if we were lucky, clues that would lead us to Paul Liu before he followed the same grisly path out of this world taken by his friend Kevin Lee.

Ambler had gone back to Bureau headquarters and Lido was taking a short break. I was sipping on a Starbuck’s double espresso. Don’t ask—you know the reason why. I was making a notation in my notebook when Zugg emerged from the building. “Got a minute?” He looked worn, but I could see on his face that he was on to something. I gulped down the espresso and tossed the cup in the trash—we all have to do our bit to keep the Big Apple bright and shiny.

“Sure. What’s up?” It was a clear morning with a light breeze. We began to stroll—I think we both needed the fresh air.

“We checked the apartment from top to bottom. There’s no doubt in my mind that the lab will confirm our beliefs about the case. Everything’s on its way back to the NYPD crime lab now.”

“Super job, Dr. Zugg. How are you holding up?”

“I’m exhausted, but exhaustion is good. With any luck, I’ll be too tired and too distracted to do anything but pass out when my head hits the pillow tonight.”

Zugg gave me a weary smile.
Please God
, I prayed,
give this man a reprieve
. I had become quite a spontaneous prayer during my father’s fight against diabetes and often rattled off a quick blessing—it couldn’t hurt. “I really hope so.”

Zugg pulled a plastic vial from his pocket. It contained a bug. I knew exactly what it was. “Have you ever seen Dermestes Maculatus in the flesh?”

Zugg’s double entendre didn’t go unappreciated. “I’ve seen them eating through flesh, rotted flesh to be exact. Those are the critters they use to clean bones. I got a crash course at the FBI crime lab.”

“I see they’ve left an impression. I found about a dozen of them in the upstairs apartment.”

“So you think it’s possible that Kevin Lee’s skull was cleaned in the upstairs apartment?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a small apartment, and I don’t know where they’d house the bug-cleaning tank. They’re very adept at escape. I think I’d have found a great many more had they been physically housed in that apartment. Moreover, Dermestes Maculates need to eat all the time. If they’re not busy cleaning bones, you have to feed them scraps of rotten flesh or they’ll die. I didn’t find any evidence of rotted flesh in the upstairs apartment.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“The skull may have been cleaned nearby or the beetles might simply have been transported back to the apartment on someone’s clothing. Dermestes love wool, cotton, and hemp. They’re worse than moths.”

I made a mental note to strip in the hall before I returned home to my apartment. God forbid they got into my closet and made a meal out of my
Roberto Cavalli
jeans—suicide would not be out of the question. “Not to mention the Thai restaurant downstairs. Who knows what they’re cooking in that kitchen.”

Zugg smiled. “You joke, but the point’s a good one. All restaurants have garbage and scraps; enough I’m sure to maintain a small population of carrion feeders. Aside from which, insects are a staple of the Thai diet. I’ve been all over the Far East. The first time I was in Chiang Mai, I was served what I thought was a dish of French fries. I ate a few before I realized my French fries had eyes.”

“Christ, what were they?”

“Caterpillars. All bugs are a great source of protein. Frying them in oil destroys any poisonous acids.”

“Lovely. Can’t wait to try some.” I had the sense that we had just struck the tip of the iceberg and that we would uncover clues of all varieties as we continued to dig. I was cautiously optimistic. “I guess we’ll just keep searching.”

We continued to walk. The blocks in lower Manhattan pass very quickly. It wasn’t long before we were standing in front of City Hall. We were just steps away from the city’s main man. I could have thrown a stone and hit his window. Zugg looked like he needed to rest. I spotted a café with outside tables not far from a subway grating, so I sat down without asking. Zugg followed my lead. “Let me get you a snack.”

“You’re very considerate, Detective.” I could see Zugg’s body settle wearily onto his chair.

“No biggie, I’m pretty tired too. I’d say you’ve done really well.”

“For a man with cancer.”

“For anyone. You’re an amazing guy.”

I looked up and let the morning’s sun warm my face. “That feels good.”

“Come to think of it, I am hungry.”

After the fried fish, the Chinese food, the putrid eggs, and the conversation on bug munching, I was not planning to go anywhere near food, but I figured the least I could do was keep Zugg company while he nourished himself. “You never really explained this the other day; why do you think our perp discarded Kevin Lee’s skull? You said that it was discarded because it was imperfect—imperfect for what?”

“I haven’t quite gotten that far. Perhaps today’s evidence will shed additional light. What would you like?”

“Just coffee for me, thanks.” I had just finished a double espresso, but felt my body crying out for more caffeine. Zugg didn’t listen to me. He ordered pastries for two. Despite all of my complaining, I began picking the moment the pastries arrived.
Where is my willpower these days?

The pastry was filled with chocolate. I wouldn’t have gone near it in the old days, but the new Chalice was an endorphin fiend, and chocolate had become one of my favorite vices. “I can’t believe I’m eating this, but it’s amazing.”

“I know I don’t know you very well, so don’t take offense, but you worry too much about your figure. I wouldn’t say anything if you were one of those nutrition freaks and were worried to death about your intake of free radicals and toxins. My sense is that you worry about food for all the wrong reasons. I’m a sick man. I can get away with saying that you have a beautiful figure. With genes like yours, you can afford a few indulgences. Life’s too short, live a little.”

I didn’t know how to respond to Zugg, so I repaid the compliment by finishing every crumb on my plate.

Despite the early hour, the location was very tranquil. I felt my body relaxing—exhaustion and endorphins in just the right combination can make you feel a little light-headed. It felt as if I was a step out of pace with the world, as if we were in different time zones. I was awake, but my mind was drifting away. Pedestrians seemed to walk by in slow motion and the sound of the street’s traffic seemed miles away. I found myself staring at the subway grating. I had seen them everyday, lining the street, but never thought about them much before except to make sure I didn’t catch my heel in one. For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off this grating. The crossed metal construction seemed to hypnotize me, the contrast of silver metal above a darkened pit. And then the world shifted and I was back. I saw something moving on the subway grating. I really wasn’t sure what I had seen, but I had to satisfy my curiosity. I had a feeling in my gut about the case that quickly mushroomed into an overwhelming, half-baked idea I knew I had to pursue.

Zugg seemed to be enjoying his pastry.

“Say, Dr. Zugg, do you have another one of those vials?”

Perception had changed hands. This time it was Zugg that was looking at me as if I was crazy instead of the other way around. He shrugged, reached into his jacket pocket, and handed me one. “Any special reason why you need one?”

“Enjoy your breakfast, Dr. Zugg, I’ll be right back.”

“I
tell you, I’m not crazy.”

Lido and Ambler looked at each other. Reading their expressions, I could see that they were trying to decide whether I had had a really sensational premonition or had gone completely off the deep end. Honestly, I wasn’t sure myself, but as I’ve said in the past, my gut feelings usually panned out, and I was hoping that I had hit pay dirt again.

Ambler’s phone rang. He spoke for a moment before shutting down. “MTA is sending someone down.”

“How long?”

“Just be patient. I told them it was one of Detective Chalice’s hot hunches and they said they’d send someone down by rocket sled.” He winked at me. “Just kidding, it won’t be long.”

Ambler was busting chops, but I could sense that deep down he was as eager as I was to see if something turned up.   

Zugg was still at hand. He was looking at the two vials, comparing the beetle he had found in the apartment to the one I had procured as it walked merrily across the subway grating. “To the naked eye they’re the same, Dermestes Maculatus. You’ve got a very sharp eye, Detective. What made you look so closely? This is New York after all. Water bugs aren’t exactly uncommon. How did you know this wasn’t just another common roach?”

“I can’t tell you how I knew. Bugs and I aren’t exactly simpatico. Something just told me to check it out.”

“Bully for you. I was next to you and I didn’t see it.”

“I was sitting there, enjoying breakfast and it was so peaceful and quiet. And then I realized that it was just too quiet. I mean it’s the height of rush hour. I was sitting a few feet from a subway vent and it was dead quiet. At that hour, trains should have gone ripping through every few minutes.”

“That’s what made you curious?” Zugg asked.

“She’s a witch,” Lido said. “She’s got a sixth sense.” He gave me a playful punch on the shoulder. “Still, you want to look around down there? What do you think we’ll find?”

Isn’t it every girl’s dream?
“Sure, I can’t wait to crawl around in the subway tunnels—it’s on my list of the ten things I have to do before I die.”

“No, really,” Lido said.

“Dr. Zugg found beetles in the apartment and they’re crawling out of the subway just a few blocks away. Maybe they came from the same place—I don’t know. It’s worth a shot.”

“They’ve got twenty-foot alligators crawling around down there too,” Lido said in a silly voice.

“That’s the sewer system.”

“No difference as far as I’m concerned.”

I knew where Lido was coming from. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to a subterranean excursion through the New York City subway tunnels, but sometimes you just have to do what you have to do. “Alligators you say?” I was smiling. Still, it wasn’t as if Steve Irwin could come to our rescue. The poor Crocodile Hunter was wrestling alligators in heaven.

We didn’t wait very long. An MTA car pulled up in front of us and two transit cops got out. The guy that got out of the passenger seat held rank. He introduced himself as Sam Doyle. He looked like I imagine Dennis Leary would look like with a beer belly and a triple chin. The other transit cop was a brother. His name was Beaks. Beaks didn’t look quite awake. We made our introductions and got straight to it.

“What’s the hot interest in the subway tunnels?” Doyle asked.

“We want to pull the grating and have a look down here,” Ambler said.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Doyle said. “Not so fast. What’s down there?”

Zugg held the two vials up to Doyle’s face. “Dermestes beetles. They’re carrion feeders.”

Doyle jumped back. “Hey, Joe DiMaggio, put the bugs away.”

Zugg stuffed the vials back into his pocket. We were all a bit surprised at the way Doyle overreacted.

“You’re kidding, right? You find a couple of cockroaches and you want to deploy valuable city resources to take a tour of the subway underground? Beaks, get back in the car. We’ve got real work to do.”

“As the man said, they’re carrion feeders. They eat rotting flesh and we have reason to believe this subway tunnel is linked to an important investigation.”

“Trust me, Jimmy Hoffa’s not down there.” Doyle looked around. No one was smiling. “Look, I’m not arguing with you, lady. Personally, I’d like nothing more than to give you a private subway tour, but you’re wasting everyone’s time. I’m sure there are all kinds of rotting carcasses down there: rats, cats, children…just kidding, but you get my point. The last thing a fine dame like you wants to do is crawl around in that sludge. Trust me, you don’t want to go down there. I don’t even know where that shaft leads. Some of these fucking things lead nowhere.”

“Nowhere?”

“Yes, really, nowhere—some of the tunnels are abandoned. Some have been sealed off. Some of the tunnels in this end of Manhattan are over a hundred years old. They’re fucking dangerous and that’s no joke.”

“Listen, Doyle, I appreciate your concern, I really do. I’m not gonna lease space down there. I just want to take a look around. So please get on the horn and call someone who can yank this grating.”

“Not on your authority, girlie.”

“Girlie?” I raised an incensed eyebrow.

“Don’t get bent out of shape.” He turned to his partner. “Get back in the car, Beaks.” Beaks still didn’t look sure of anything. He held his spot. “I said get back in the car.” Doyle walked back toward the car. “I’ll pull the tunnel maps to see what’s down there, Detective. Meanwhile, you want to look around where you got no business? Fine, call your CO and have him make an official request.” He turned to Beaks who had finally gotten behind the wheel, but was still looking confused. “Go,” he said impatiently. “It’s a fucking car, drive it.”