The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3) (22 page)

“Let’s get moving,” Angela said. “It’s a gorgeous day.”

“Let me close my eyes. Five minutes, that’s all.”

“No way. I know what you’re thinking,” She leaned over and kissed him. It was a prelude to après sex smooching, something she knew he wanted no part of. “Ready?”

Damn, she’s got dick breath.
Randy pushed open the door and jumped out. “I gotta take a pee. Be right back.” Randy walked around to the back of the pickup, pulled a Budweiser out of the cooler, and popped the top. “That’s better.”

They were parked just a few yards from one of the many swamps that were found in The Pine Barrens—Randy still had the Budweiser to his lips while hanging hog. “You’re right, sure is a nice day.” He found a large rock to pee on, and began to give it a good shower. The large stone was brown—Randy was tickled to see that it was white beneath where his stream had washed away the mud. He tried to clean off the entire surface. It wasn’t until he had zipped, that a small frog sprang from an indentation in the rock, and Randy realized that the rock he had peed on wasn’t a rock at all.

“T
he pellet with the poison’s in the flagon with the dragon.
The vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true.”

“What?”

Twain and I were alone for a moment, away from the others, sitting in the waiting area. That silly grin was back on his face. God only knew what he was blabbering about now.

“The pellet with the poison’s in the vessel with the pestle. The chalice from the palace has the brew that is true.”

I could only assume that the mescal he had consumed was still in his system and was taking him on another ride.

“The chalice from the palace has the brew that is true—you sound really silly, Nigel. That’s an exchange from an old movie, isn’t it?”

Twain was still grinning. The Court Jester, I saw it last night.”

“And that’s funny, why?”

“Because, dear girl, because the chalice holds the brew that is true.”

“I’m not chalice, Nigel. I’m
Cha-lee-see
. Snap out of it before someone hears you.”

“I absolutely adore Danny Kaye. He was bloody hysterical.”

“I loved Dean Martin, but you don’t hear me crooning, ‘That’s Amore’, do you?” It’s a good thing you didn’t lose it while you were with our suspect, you could have compromised the entire case.”

“Oh settle down, Missy, I’m very much under control.”

I didn’t know if it would help, but those coffee vending machines were all over the place, so I procured a cup of steaming hot swill for Twain. It had the opposite effect of that intended.

He began laughing uncontrollably. “Is the pellet with the poison in there?”

Judging by the last cup of hospital joe I’d had, it certainly could have been. “Settle down, we need to talk.”

Twain dragged his hand across his face, using it as a prop to dramatically transform his expression to a serious one. He took a sip of the coffee and pretended to wretch. “That’s bad enough to sober anyone. What’s on your mind?”

“I want to know what you really think about our suspect.”

“I’ve already told you.”

“I know, but is he for real? Is he capable of kidnap and murder?”

“Everyone’s capable, Stephanie, you just have to push them hard enough. That man certainly has reason enough to commit a heinous act. Is it possible that somewhere in his warped mind he plays with the delusion that he can switch skulls with someone else? The answer is probably yes. Does he fancy Paul Liu’s skull? Maybe, but on the basis of his mental attributes, he doesn’t have the wherewithal to pull off anything that elaborate, not nearly so.”

“So you’d say no.”

“I’m saying I don’t know. I need considerably more time with him to make an intellectual assessment. At this moment, I’d have to say that all options are possible. He may be a child or he may be a monster—I’m not yet sure of which.”

I heard the elevator ding behind me and caught R.C Liu’s profile as he emerged. I did my best to slink down in my seat and hide my face. Ambler, Lido, and a small army of cops were just outside our suspect’s room. Surely they could deal with the annoying R. C. Liu without me.

“Who’s that?” Twain asked.

“That’s R.C. Liu,” I whispered. “He’s the Chinese ambassador.”

“Ah, the missing lad’s father.”

“That’s right.”

“Why are you trying to avoid him?”

“He’s not a pleasant man. He wants to take control of the investigation and he wants answers I don’t have yet.”

“How could he take over? He has no jurisdiction over police matters.”

“Jurisdiction, no, power, influence, and high level connections, yes—a word in the wrong ear and I’ll have the brass telling me to take a hike. Besides, who knows what kind of connections he has. Just because he dresses like royalty doesn’t mean he can’t get down and dirty if he needs to.”

“You’re suggesting he has criminal alliances?”

“Stranger theories are possible.”

Twain grinned another exaggerated grin.
Please, not another mind freak.
“You know, Stephanie, you get this expression on your face when you have conviction. It’s absolutely irresistible.” His eyes looked absolutely crazy.  

Drugged as he was, I didn’t know what Twain had in mind. He was a godly looking man, but infidelity was the last thing on my mind. Okay, maybe not the very last thing, but it certainly wasn’t on my top ten list—what with psychotic suspects, missing persons, and a snow white skull bouncing about, it was better to keep the blinders on. I gave him a peck on the cheek. “Go home, my friend.” His pupils were dilating before my eyes. “Come, I’ll put you in a cab.”

“I so enjoy helping you.”

“You already have. Don’t undo the good work you’ve done by having someone accuse you of acting unprofessionally.”

I could see him weighing the gravity of my comment. “As you suggest, I’m ready to go.”

I had an ulterior motive in mind. I wanted to slip out of the hospital before Liu tracked me down. I put Twain in a taxi and gave the driver the address. I wasn’t taking any chances that Twain couldn’t remember where he lived, looking the way he did. The cab had just pulled away when Ambler rolled up in front of me.

“Get in,” he said.

“What’s going on?”

“The Chinese ambassador is looking for you everywhere and we got a call from the FBI office in Suffolk. Another skull turned up—Zugg’s already out there.”

Skulls were becoming as prevalent as dandelions on a weed-laden lawn. I had been wondering where our case was going to lead us. Our perp had been forced to abandon his old lair. So, if Zugg was right, Rat couldn’t have realized his insane dream without help. The question in my mind was who would help a madman?

A
mbler and I were standing in the Medical Examiner’s office in Hauppauge, Long Island, watching the forensic photographer hover around Zugg as he irrigated the skull with water until the silt began to wash out of the porous surface.
The camera’s shutter snapped, accompanied by the strobe’s flash—simultaneously, the strobe’s discharged capacitor began to recharge, filling the air with a high-pitched buzz. Snap, flash, buzz. Snap, flash, buzz. The photographer took a succession of shots as Zugg began the painstaking task of freeing the decedent skeleton from the mud it was encased within.

A microphone was clipped to Zugg’s collar, allowing him to record data as it was unearthed. “Judging by the porosity of the skull, I’d say these remains are at least three years old.” He looked up at the photographer. “Concur?”

“I’m not sure,” the photographer replied.

Zugg shook his head with disappointment. “Go out on a limb for Pete’s sake—you’re not being graded.”

“Two to four.”

Zugg smiled at the photographer. “Ballsy.”

Using a soft-haired brush and the irrigation tube, Zugg meticulously washed out the oral cavity as the photographer continued to chronicle his every movement. A dental explorer was used to remove grit from between the teeth. Using a mouth mirror, Zugg inspected the oral cavity. “The decedent has a gold crown on #13. This too is in keeping with the cadaver’s suspected age. Precious metals are rarely used in contemporary dentistry—synthetic laminates over inert metal is generally used for cosmetic reasons and to lower the cost of the prosthesis.”

Zugg worked at arm’s length now, so that the photographer could position his camera directly over the oral cavity to shoot pictures of the teeth. Zugg pulled down the mandible so that the anterior aspect of the teeth could be photographed. A palatal reflector was used to chronicle the lingual surface of the teeth, including the aforementioned prosthetic premolar. Once again, the photographer snapped several pictures before stepping back. Zugg made note of the large metallic fillings that were in evidence. “There is crowding of the lower incisors, which may be the result of mesial drift.” Zugg was through with his initial observation of the oral cavity. Subsequently, a forensic odontologist would complete the process Zugg had started. The teeth would be X-rayed, dental work and anomalies in the teeth would be noted—finally the teeth would be matched to the dental records of heretofore unidentified victims. Dental records are usually well documented making for a high rate of success.

Zugg pulled off his gloves one at a time and strolled toward us. “What do you think?” I asked.

“The evidence is conclusive. He’s dead.”

His crack made me laugh. I was constantly assessing Zugg’s appearance to determine his relative health. His quip took me off guard. “I see that you’re in a good mood.”

“That’s the oldest joke in the book, Chalice. I’m surprised you fell for it,” he said. “I slept better the last couple of nights than I have in months. I think the case is helping to distract me.”

“I’m glad.”

“It’s good to be useful. I’ve been spending too much time dwelling on my health problems.”

“But seriously, do you have any initial ideas?”

“Well firstly, it’s not Paul Liu’s skull, that’s for sure. This one’s been out here for years.”

“That’s a relief. Anything else?”

“The victim was an Oriental male. The structure of the cheekbones and the flat nasal ridge indicate such.”

“So, there’s a good chance that this victim ties to our case. Kevin Lee, Paul Liu, our suspect, and this victim are all Asian.”

“I would say so,” Ambler said. “The question is what will we find when we start looking? The Pine Barrens cover a one hundred thousand acre maze of woods, swamps, and forest. There could be dozens of bodies out here.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

Ambler’s statement frightened me to the core. I was not interested in our case escalating into the next John Wayne Gacy debacle, nor was I interested in having my name in the record books for apprehending the psychopathic murderer who had claimed the largest number of victims. The remains of twenty-eight young men and boys had been found in the forty-foot crawl space beneath Gacy’s house. That was not what I wanted, not at all—didn’t want any piece of it. “Herbert, what you’re saying is all well and good, but the burning question in my mind is not how much collateral damage we can dig up, but why here, and where is Paul Liu now? We’re relatively sure that Rat had a coconspirator, someone who could help him with his fantasy skull transplant. Unfortunately, Rat isn’t willing or is unable to tell us who his accomplice is.”

“This skull may fill in some of the blanks,” Zugg said. “We might have luck with the dental records. In addition, the FBI crime lab has highly advanced facial reconstruction programs. The computer is capable of producing a reasonable likeness in a matter of mere hours.”

“That’s our most direct angle,” Ambler said. “If we can come up with the victim’s likeness, we can go widespread in distribution and attempt to identify him—give his picture to the press if need be. I have a terrible feeling about all this. I feel like we’re running out of time.”

“I agree, but I certainly think there’s more to be gotten out of Rat. Twain only spent a few minutes with him.” There was no point telling anyone that Twain had examined our suspect while under the influence, it wouldn’t have done anyone any good. Besides, even on his worst day, Nigel Twain was better than most on their best day. “I understand our suspect has his issues, but I can’t help feeling he knows more than he’s telling us.”

“I’d like a crack at him as well,” Zugg said. “Any chance you’re heading back to the city?”

I turned to Ambler. “I can do more good back in the city, working with our suspect. Do you agree?”

“Yeah, you head back into the city with Damien and I’ll stay out here to oversee the dredging of the swamp. There’s a possibility we may find the victim’s body when we start snooping around. We’re setting up a mobile command post while we search The Pine Barrens.”

“I know you’re always up to a commune with nature—don’t forget your bug spray.”

Ambler scowled at me. I could see he’d have preferred to have said something uncomplimentary. In fact, it looked like he was biting his lip. “I’ll arrange to have you driven back.”

I was concerned about the task of finding clues in a place as vast as The Long Island Pine Barrens. Although Manhattan was significantly denser, I was much more comfortable investigating on my own turf. By comparison, The Pine Barrens was incredibly vast, and with such diverse topography, it represented a real and difficult challenge. I was torn--hoping that Ambler’s work would prove fruitful, just not too successful. It would take the FBI significant time to cover the area, and as we all know, time was running out. 

T
he mobile command center had been positioned some twenty yards from the swamp in which the last human skull had been found.
Ambler roamed the grounds, kicking stones, as he composed his thoughts and waited for the special operating teams to arrive. Searching The Pine Barrens represented a significant challenge. He felt a hollow gnawing in his chest as he waded through the myriad of possible strategies for recovering evidence over such a formidable terrain.

He looked forward at the wall of towering trees in front of him, the dramatic countenance beyond which lay one hundred thousand acres of densely contiguous forest: forty-foot pitch pines and oaks, tidal wetlands, coastal ponds, maple swamps, and cranberry bogs. The victim’s body and perhaps many others were hidden somewhere within this snarl of obstacles. He didn’t have to wait very long.