The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (33 page)

"Did she see his face?"

“No. Just his back." Sky remembered Molly's pantomime of the man's running style, pigeon-toed and side to side, like a boxer. Sky hadn't been able to gauge Manville's running gait last night because he'd been behind her.

“What about the brother?”

“Noah was behind the boat house, says he didn’t see or hear anything.” Sky pulled a map of the crime scene from the folder. “Nicolette was strangled here, across from the pond, about fifty yards from where the kids were fishing.” She pointed to the picture of the caiman tattoo. “The killer cut this off the small of Nicolette’s back after he strangled her.”

Teddy grimaced. “What a sick fuck.”

“Manville planned it. Why else carry a knife?”

Teddy studied the caiman. “Anything else?”

“Nicolette was four weeks pregnant.” Sky remembered something Jenna Weems had said. “The roommate described Nicolette as a user. Said she was always short on cash, claimed Nicolette repeatedly shafted her on the rent.”

“A pregnant woman with money problems,” Teddy gave a wry smile. “Every guy’s worst nightmare.”

“Ciao, bella,” Carmine Coppola appeared at the table with a dessert plate in each hand. “Special for you, dolce pesca.” Carmine’s face crinkled with affection below the thatch of silver hair. “Nonna Marie’s recipe, God rest her soul. Peaches stuffed with figs and pine nuts.” He set the plates down, brushed a few crumbs from the saffron table cloth, and patted Sky’s cheek. “Mange,” he ordered, and moved on to the next table.

Between bites of brandy-soaked peach, Sky told Teddy about Nicolette’s rats and Manville’s role in Professor Fisk’s drug research. “He attended this particular Friday lab meeting,” she pointed to the graph. “The research team was upset because the rats didn’t perform as expected.”

Sky held up the altered data from the lab log. “Phony numbers. Fabricated by Nicolette to make the experiment look successful. But she didn’t do it until after that lab meeting.” Sky handed Teddy the napkin with the Papa Razzi logo, the one she’d found embedded in the encyclopedia of magic spells.

“Nicolette saved this. Just like she saved the Mr. Viper note. Both had meaning for her. I want you to go to the Papa Razzi on Newbury Street, talk to the servers who worked the night of March fifteenth. See if anybody saw anything happen between Nicolette and Manville. Ask them about any other men she might have talked to, maybe one is Viper. Take those photographs. Talk to the bartenders, too.”

Sky slipped the remaining papers in the manila folder. “I have some questions for Zach Rosario and Professor Fisk. Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll meet you at Genuine John’s around eleven.”

“Genuine John’s?” Teddy smiled his approval. “I know the owner. Old gambling buddy.”

“Well, well. Two of the Lake’s biggest losers.” Seemingly out of nowhere, Angel Butera had materialized at their table. He issued a beery belch. “Pity. Some people just aren’t cut out for law enforcement.” He sneered at Sky with piggy, bloodshot eyes. “You need balls to be a cop.”

“Is that how you speak to a lady, Butera?” Teddy’s chair screeched back and he jumped to his feet. An air of menace vibrated from his shoulders as he headed around the table for Butera.

Heads turned and the restaurant grew quiet.

“Whoa,
mush
.” Butera stumbled backwards in naked fear and made his way to the door; he left without looking back.

Teddy sat down and picked up his fork. “One question,” he said, not skipping a beat. “Who stands to gain from that altered data?”

“Wellbiogen, I suppose. That’s Manville’s pharmaceutical company.” Sky reached across the table and squeezed Teddy’s hand in a silent gesture of gratitude. “He told me this new drug could be worth billions.”

Teddy washed down the last bite of dessert with a sloppy gulp of chianti. “Do you have anything from forensics that points to Manville? Prints? Fiber? DNA?”

Sky shook her head and watched candlelight flicker across Teddy’s brown eyes. “Jake shut me out. We’re on our own.”

“Fuck him.” Teddy killed the chianti and slammed the wineglass to the table. A bemused look rippled across his face.

“What?” Sky said.

“Isn’t it just like Jake to shoot himself in the foot?” Teddy snorted. “Why the hell kick out the only person on his team with a perfect record?”

“Jake’s jealous. He accused me of being in love with Ellery.” Sky drew invisible circles on the saffron tablecloth. “It makes no sense. Ellery is ancient history. And Jake is with Theresa now.” She shrugged. “Jake got rid of me and now he can go after Ellery without any blowback.” She leaned forward. “Do you think that’s possible, Teddy? For a man to let his emotions blind him?”

“Are you kidding? This planet is run by men blinded by emotion. Why do you think we’re always so fucking close to Armageddon?” Teddy shook his head. “Some things never change.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jake could marry ten different women. Who knows? Maybe he will.” Teddy smirked like a gambler with inside information. “But it’ll always be you, Sky. Always.”

Sky’s phone vibrated against her untouched wineglass and Manville’s name scrolled across the screen. She took the call.

“Doctor Stone?” The velvet voice had a tentative quality. “Chief Moriarty tells me you’re taking some time off. I was glad to hear it, frankly. Homicide is dangerous work.”

The skeletal features of Manville’s
bauta
popped into Sky’s head, the bony eye ridges and the elongated, pointed chin of the Carnivale mask.

She listened but said nothing.

“I hope there are no bad feelings,” Manville continued. “Could we meet somewhere for a cup of coffee? Start over?”

Sky’s mind raced. There was so much she didn’t know, so many questions. Where to start?

“You offered to show me your wine cellar at Carnivale,” she said. “Is the offer still open?”

“Absolutely.”

“Tomorrow evening,” she suggested.

“Dinner at eight. I’ll pick you up.”

“No,” Sky said. “Weston, isn’t it? I’ll drive out.”

“Perfect.”

Sky hung up.

“Manville?” Teddy said.

She nodded. “I’ll get inside his house, look around.” At Sky's feet, Tiffany barked in her sleep.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. It’s not every woman who invites herself to the monster’s lair.” Teddy stirred a spoonful of sugar into his espresso. “Manville is letting you get close. Seems careless.”

“He’s not careless. Just comfortable with risk. There’s a difference. Besides,” she added, “he knows I’m off the case.”

There was something about Porter Manville that Sky couldn’t quite put her finger on. It wasn’t his blatant attitude of dominance. Lots of men were hard wired to dominate, they couldn’t help themselves. She’d run into her share of such men.

Then it occurred to her. It was Manville’s aura of certainty that rang the odd note. Most scientists larded their language with cautionary phrases when they spoke of their work, but not Manville. He lacked what Sky called scientific prudence.

“He’s confident,” Sky tried to put it into words. “Too confident. Totally devoid of self-doubt. Devoid of fear.”

Teddy frowned. “What if he’s using you?”

“For what?”

“To pump you for information on the case.”

Sky gazed at the PI in the flickering candlelight and smiled. “I’m counting on it, Teddy.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Zach Rosario’s apartment smelled like sweaty feet. Sky stood outside his door in the third-floor hallway of a ramshackle Allston triple-decker, resisting the urge to cover her nose.

“Those detectives were already here. Jeez, I told them everything I know.” Zach eyed Sky with suspicion, the door barely ajar. “Why are you alone?”

“The team doesn’t always work together,” she said. Which was technically true.

“I’m meeting someone. And I’m late.” He began to shut the door in Sky’s face.

“Just a few questions, Zach.” Sky wedged her left foot against the closing door and winced in pain; her ankle still throbbed. “I have something to show you. It’s about the lab.” She dangled this carrot in front of the graduate student as a last resort.

“I’ll give you five minutes, that’s it.” Zach opened the door and pointed to the kitchen. “In there.”

The gray Formica table was littered with gnawed chicken bones and black plastic tubs of oily sauce. Zach sat down across from Sky and munched from a giant bag of Extreme Chili Heatwave Doritos.

“Yeah, I remember that lab meeting,” he said in response to Sky’s query. “Because the data sucked so bad.”

Sky gave a noncommittal nod and eyed the winged Icarus arching across the front of Zach’s black Led Zeppelin t-shirt; it barely covered his gut.

“They swill floetazine for a month and the little fuckers
increase
their swim time. Weak.” Zach’s black corkscrew curls quivered with each movement of his head.

“You ran the Sprague Dawleys?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Zach blinked at Sky in mild surprise. “You know your rats. The other detectives didn’t know rats. That was fairly obvious.”

Sky pulled the March fifteenth graph from the packet and held it up. “Floetazine made the Sprague Dawleys even more depressed. Is that a reasonable interpretation of this chart?”

Zach’s small features pinched into a sneer. “Ugly, isn’t it?” He shrugged. “On the other hand, Porter took us to Papa Razzi. So I got a free meal out of it.”

“Tell me what you remember about that evening.”

“Not much to tell. Porter and Horace talked opera, mostly. Horace is a wicked Wagner fan, went on and on about a ring cycle he wanted to see in some German town. At first I thought he was talking about Lord of the Rings. No such luck."

“Did Manville and Professor Fisk talk shop?"

"Lab stuff? In public? God, no."

"Really?” Sky was surprised.

"I’ll let you in on a little secret about Porter and Horace." Zach inclined his head towards her. "Those guys think the whole world is out to steal our precious data. They’re both paranoid as hell.”

“Paranoid, how?”

“Last November, for example. Horace and I were flying to a neuroscience conference in Heidelberg. I wanted to tweak the floetazine stats. Nothing better to do when you're thirty thousand feet in the air, right? Horace wouldn't let me open my goddamn laptop. Said it wasn’t safe. Said there might be spies on board." Zach snorted. "Spies. Jesus help me." He put a finger on the graph. “I’m kind of surprised he let you take this out of the lab."

“What about Nicolette? What did she talk about while you were at Papa Razzi?"

"She was doing her usual bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Smiling, giggling.” Zach rolled his eyes.

“Flirting,” Sky said.

“Yeah.” Zach’s brow collapsed into a philosophical wrinkle. “Women have unfair advantage, when you really think about it. All they have to do is push their boobs out and men salivate. Where’s the justice?”

“Did Nicolette flirt with you?”

“Me? No way. I was the invisible man. Unless she needed something.”

“Do you hunt, Zach?”

“No.”

“Have you ever hunted?”

“No."

“Can you use a knife?”

“What do you mean? Like, to cut my meat?”

“Have you ever used a bowie knife?”

“No. I’m from Brooklyn, okay?” Zach glared at her. “Wait a minute. What are you getting at? I’ve got a solid alibi. My roommate Carl can vouch –”

“I’m not accusing you,” Sky interrupted. “Do you know what a bowie knife looks like?”

“Of course.” A belligerent scowl. “Well, sort of,” he hedged. “Big blade, right?”

An electronic version of
Stairway to Heaven
emanated from somewhere close and Zach pulled a cell from beneath the giant bag of Doritos. He checked it and texted something before slipping the phone into the pocket of his black chinos. “I need to go. Can we pick up the pace?”

“Have you ever spoken to Porter Manville about hunting?”

“No.”

“Does Manville ever come to the lab, just to see you? To hang out and talk?”

Zach tapped on the Formica table with a dimpled finger and gave Sky a funny look. “Why would Porter Manville hang out with me?” He stood up abruptly. “I have to go.”

“Wait.” Sky pulled out the transcribed data and held it up. “Does this look familiar?”

“Sure. A page from the lab book.” Zach leaned in for a closer look. “Weird. Nicolette logged my data.” He grabbed the sheet from Sky’s hand and studied it. “I always record my own stuff. But this is her handwriting. This doesn’t make sense.”

“Nicolette left a sticky note saying she had to transcribe the data because she spilled coffee on the pages.”

“Oh.” Zach cocked his head. “Shit happens. Mystery solved.”

“Not quite. Compare the transcribed data to the original.” Sky handed him her copy of the raw data. “Notice anything?”

“What the hell?” Zach’s eyes darted back and forth between the pages. “She copied the numbers wrong.” He tossed the sheets on the table with a disgusted look. “I know she’s dead and all, but seriously? Nicolette was an idiot. This proves it.”

“Look again, Zach. There’s a pattern.”

His eyes returned to the pages. “Holy Jesus, you’re right. She added twenty seconds to each swim time.” He paused to do more calculations. “She subtracted thirty from mobility.” His small mouth dropped open. “Nicolette fucked with the data.” Zach sat down and frowned at Sky. “Why?”

“Who enters these numbers into the lab computer?”

“I enter my own data. Right after I take the rats back to the LALQ. Nicolette enters hers. Entered hers,” Zach corrected himself.

“I’m just curious,” Sky said. “Why didn’t you catch this?”

“I set the spreadsheet up so the numbers crunch automatically. All the statistics you could ever want. Nobody looks at the raw data once it’s in the computer.” Zach shrugged. “No reason to.” He arched his eyebrows up and down in a feeble impression of Groucho Marx. “It’s all about the mean, if you get what I mean.” He smirked briefly at his own joke and grew sober. “Does Horace know? About the fake data?”

“I’m going to the lab now. Come with me,” Sky urged.

“Sorry. I’m meeting someone.”