The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (56 page)

“My dog is missing. I think someone stole her.”

“The little Shih Tzu bitch? Where was she seen last?”

“My grandmother’s house. About two hours ago.”

“The Beacon Hill mansion?” Yuri seemed doubtful. “That particular property is well protected. I did not make it past your grandmother’s manservant.”

Sky found this comforting. But she couldn’t seem to quit crying. “He’s from Nepal. His last job was working security,” she explained, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

“A professional.” Yuri nodded his approval. “Wise. Considering your grandmother’s estate. Her art collection alone …” He shrugged.

“What do you know about Izzy’s art collection? Nevermind.” Sky padded barefoot to the table and picked up her cell. “I need to call my grandmother.”

Yuri plucked the phone from her hand. “First you eat. Sit.” He pointed to the bed; the blankets were drawn, the sheets taut, the pillows plumped.

“You don’t understand. Tiffany’s pregnant. She could have those puppies any minute.” Sky sat on the bed because her legs were shaking. The tears started again. “I need to get there. I need to keep her safe.”

Yuri pulled a white Styrofoam container from the IHOP bag. “Just a bite,” he insisted, opening the lid. He emptied a tub of syrup over the stack. “Take this fork.”

Sky sat cross legged and took a small bite of the pancakes. Then a small bite of sausage. Before long, the food was devoured, the juice and coffee gone.

Yuri handed her the cell.

Sky texted Candace, apologized for running out on her, told her she’d explain later. Then she phoned Raj, told him she’d be there soon.

She hung up and leaned back, into the pillows. “I just need to rest for one minute,” she said, closing her eyes. “Then you can drive me to my car. Don’t you dare leave.”

Sky started to ask Yuri how he knew chocolate chip pancakes were her favorite, but before she could get the question out, she was asleep.

The nor’easter had passed, leaving the cramped houses and narrow streets of the Lake threaded in a gauze of fog.

It was late morning. Yuri steered the sedan through sparse traffic and pulled into the lot behind Sky’s office building.

“I have bad feeling. A sixth sense, if you will. Nothing concrete, but …” Yuri idled next to the Jeep and offered Sky a grim expression. “Return to your grandmother’s. That would be safest.”

“Just tell me one thing.” Sky fixed him with a stare. “Why is a documentary film director interested in the patent for a memory drug?”

“My thumb drive!” Yuri’s face brightened. “You found it. Excellent.” He pulled a pack of Sobranies from the breast pocket of his reefer and extracted a black cigarette. “Frankly, I had given up hope.” He snapped off the gold filter, lit the cigarette with a match, and took a deep drag. “I do not suppose you are going to disclose the whereabouts of my property?”

“What’s going on? Why are you here?” Sky pressed. “And don’t bother lying. I’ll know.”

A weary sigh escaped Yuri’s lips as he glanced around the parking lot.

“Why not?” he shrugged. “Because I have already decided to retire.” Smoke drifted from his mouth as he spoke. “My employer is an international conglomerate. Pharmaceuticals.”

“You’re a corporate spy?”

“Just so.”

“And the film you made at Wellbiogen? The Science of Happy?”

“A ruse,” he admitted. “Wellbiogen’s public relations woman welcomed our crew with open arms. We filmed everything within camera range. Sales offices, documents, labs.” Yuri waved his hand expansively. “It never ceases to amaze, the gullibility of brilliant minds. You flatter, you drop a few terms like Tribeca and Sundance. Mr. Manville truly believed that the world was breathlessly awaiting his debut on the big screen.”

Yuri laughed and took a hit from the Sobranie. “Regrettably, we found nothing useful in that footage. But the Boston University connection, that was a stroke of luck. Doctoral students,” he smiled. “Universally overworked, underpaid, and bitter. Ripe for the plucking.”

“What do you mean?”

“We developed dossiers on Professor Fisk’s research fellows. Both of them. We settled on Miss Mercer, she had the requisite profile. Close relationship with the mother, sexually promiscuous, insecure, dishonest. Most importantly, she suffered serious financial difficulties. In other words, the perfect leaker.”

“Leaker?”

“We were aware that Manville was developing a memory drug. I met with Miss Mercer in late February, offered her a tidy sum to procure information on said drug. She contacted me in March, suggested that she would indeed be successful.”

“The Ides of March,” Sky said.

“Correct.” Yuri seemed surprised. “How did you know?”

“Manville took the whole lab to dinner at Papa Razzi that night – Professor Fisk, Zach and Nicolette. According to Zach, Nicolette flirted outrageously with Manville. A server at the restaurant saw Manville slip Nicolette his phone number on a Papa Razzi napkin. I found the napkin in one of Nicolette’s books.”

Sky remembered interviewing Zach in the Allston apartment. Zach had tried to blow her off, said he was meeting someone. Kept nervously checking his cell phone. Sky had mistakenly assumed he was meeting Porter Manville. “You tried to get Zach Rosario involved, didn’t you? You met with him after Nicolette was murdered,” Sky said. “The Brown Sugar Café.”

“Impressive.” Yuri rolled the window down and tapped ashes from the burning cigarette. “If I were not retiring, I would invite you to join my team.”

“Thanks. I think.” Sky brushed a shard of dried mud from her trench coat. “All of this? Surveillance, dossiers, a fake film company? For one lousy memory drug? Seems so elaborate. You must cost your employers a fortune.”

“I have an operating budget like you would not believe,” Yuri admitted. “Are you aware, Doctor? Death rates have declined for most major diseases – prostate cancer, heart disease, stroke.” Yuri stubbed the cigarette out and dropped the butt in his coat pocket. “But deaths from Alzheimer’s are up sixty-six percent. Thirty-five million cases in the world, and that number expands daily. An effective memory drug, can you imagine the money at stake? The sales in China alone will be staggering.” He shrugged. “I am simply the price of doing business.”

Yuri flashed Sky a self-conscious smile, he seemed embarrassed. “To be honest, I am not terribly interested in the money. It is just that career options for someone with my qualifications are somewhat limited.”

Kyle’s ringtone interrupted and Sky checked the text message: mt me our lady’s stat

“I have to go.” Sky studied Yuri’s face, memorizing the sharp features, the lank hair that just brushed the top of his shoulders. Because she knew she’d never see him again.

“Thanks for the great night’s sleep,” she said, extending her arm for a handshake. “And for saving my life.”

To Sky’s surprise, Yuri kissed her hand in the French style.

“I would like to think I have repaid the debt I owe your father. And yet …” Yuri shook his head. “The world seems to grow more dangerous by the hour. Take care, Skylar Winthrop Stone.”

Sky opened the passenger door and climbed out.

“I almost forgot,” she said, turning for a last look at Yuri. “Your thumb drive is in the white rubber rat. Can you lock my office when you leave?”

Teddy’s funeral service was breaking up. Mourners in black drifted down the church steps to the desolate drone of Highland bagpipes.

Our Lady’s Parish was the spiritual center of the Lake, her peak spire visible from all points. Teddy had been an altar boy there. Jake, too. Teddy rang the bell at the consecration, Jake carried the metal container suspended from chains. What was that called? Thurible, that was it. Hot coal and incense.

Sky parked on Adams Street and searched the crowd.

Magnus was there, lion head down, comforting a young woman, probably Teddy’s girl friend. The mayor stood beside Magnus checking his cell phone. Sky saw Jake moving through the crowd with Theresa Piranesi trailing behind him.

Cars queued up along Washington Street behind Teddy’s flower-draped hearse, preparing for the final journey to the cemetery.

Porter Manville was nowhere to be seen.

Sky slipped into the churchyard through the east entrance, beneath the gaunt verdigris angel, and joined Kyle. The detective was lingering near the bagpipe players, smoking a cigarette.

“You missed Teddy’s service, darling.” Kyle studied Sky’s face. “And what happened to your jaw? I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

“Did the judge issue the warrant?” Sky asked. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Kyle tossed his cigarette to the ground and lit another.

“Why? What happened?”

“Thought you should be the first to know. Only fitting, under the circumstances …”

“What?”

“Porter Manville is now a person of interest in the murder of Teddy Felson.”

“Teddy?” Sky was confused. “Why now? Did forensics find something?”

“Negative.” Kyle shook his head. “Jake got a tip last night. Called a meeting bright and early this morning. Turns out Manville is in possession of certain papers belonging to Teddy. Jake’s on his way to get a search warrant as we speak. Bad timing, what with Teddy’s funeral. By the way,” he said, changing the subject. “Have you seen Axelrod?”

“I had dinner with him last night in Chinatown. Why?”

“The rookie was a no-show at the funeral. Very bad form. And he’s not answering my calls.”

“Exactly what papers did Manville have that belonged to Teddy?”

Kyle rubbed his close-cropped gray hair with a reluctant expression.

“What papers, Kyle?”

“Okay, okay. Were you aware that Jake hired someone to watch you while you were on Nantucket?”

“Yes. Candace told me.”

“It was Teddy,” Kyle said. “Jake was worried about you being on Nantucket by yourself so he hired Teddy to keep an eye on you.”

“My Teddy? Teddy Felson was spying on me?”

“Yeah. We were the only ones who knew about it – me, Jake, Teddy. So how did Manville get that surveillance log? That’s what Jake intends to find out.” Kyle threw his cigarette to the ground and lit another. “Teddy should never have agreed to work for you. But you know Teddy. He was a gambler.”

“Was Axelrod at Jake’s meeting this morning?”

“Yeah. He ran out before it was over, the little twerp. Haven’t seen him since.” Kyle’s cell phone rang and he took the call. It was brief.

“Molly Payne is missing,” he said. “She was riding her bike on the sidewalk. Didn’t come in when her mother called her. Mrs. Payne found the bike laying in the street. But no Molly. Kid’s probably at a friend’s house. Hey!” Kyle yelled. “Where are you going?”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

The split-level was shrouded in fog, barely visible through the grove of birches.

Sky ditched the Jeep on Hunt Club Road and approached the house on foot.

She eased the snubnose from the holster. Maybe Jake had to wait for a search warrant, but Sky didn’t. An ugly scenario was playing in her head: Manville panicked after listening to the interview with the Tempest coroner. Somehow, he’d stolen Tiffany, used the dog to lure Molly into his car.

Sky moved up Manville’s U-shaped drive with the revolver raised. She was nearly to the front steps when she saw the peacoat and the blonde boyscout haircut, the body on the ground.

Axelrod’s eyes were closed.

Sky crouched down and searched for an entry wound because he seemed to be bleeding from the mouth.

“Axelrod,” she said.

At the sound of Sky’s voice, the rookie’s eyes opened. His mouth moved and Sky put her ear to his lips.

“He’s got the girl,” Axelrod whispered. “Sorry.” His eyes drifted shut.

Sky fumbled for her cell and tried to call 911 but her phone was dead. No juice.

She kissed Axelrod on his forehead and stood up.

The front door hung open, as though Manville were expecting her.

Sky stepped through the doorway and moved directly into the kitchen, scanning the corners. It was quiet.

She pulled a Captain’s chair from the head of the massive trestle table and dropped to her knees. Reaching with an arm, she touched the front panel of the secret compartment, the place where slaves had been hidden during the Underground Railroad.

Fear made her hesitate.

Was Molly inside? Curled up like a fetus, dead?

Sky forced herself to press on the panel. It sprang open. She edged a hand inside, bracing herself for the touch of cold flesh.

The box was empty.

Relieved but confused, Sky got to her feet.

Molly was somewhere in the house, confined. Sky could feel the child’s presence. But where? Sky tried to recall the layout, Manville’s tour as he talked about the house’s history.

The wine cellar.

Manville had made such a big deal about his wine cellar at Carnivale.

He’d been on the brink of showing it to Sky during her visit that night. But Sky had spotted the green thong in the rolltop desk, and distracted Manville by playing the piano.

A dull thump issued from somewhere deep inside the walls, like a sliding door slamming shut. But the house didn’t have any sliding doors, not that Sky remembered.

She moved back to the front door and slipped into the living room.

The house was dark, the fireplace was dark, no fire.

Sky crossed the room to the archway and stepped out on the wrap-around balcony.

Below, on the black and white marble floor of the conservatory, the massive grand piano gleamed, silent.

Sky’s eyes moved to the Edwardian desk. The rolltop was open and she caught the glint of a flaxen curl dangling from the far right pigeonhole.

With pistol drawn, she descended the stairs.

She flashed back to that night. Her panic attack, her phony excuse to use the restroom. Manville had suggested the bathroom
across from the wine cellar
. He’d waved her toward the south wall.

Sky reached the marble floor and crossed the conservatory, exited through the south door to a hallway she’d never seen before.

Bookshelves ran the length of the entire left wall, maybe thirty feet.