Twisted (36 page)

I crawled into the kitchen, grabbed a paper bag, and breathed into it until the hyperventilation subsided.

I wasn’t going to die. I had to find another way to fulfill my mission.

Seeking inspiration, I went into the room I’d crafted for Artemis, stopping to collect my precious childhood book. I sat on the floor, slowly turning the pages, starting, as always, by reading and rereading the loving inscription. I read on, pausing on the story of Demeter, then focusing on the illustrations of Artemis and Apollo. The archer god and goddess, both depicted with their bows and arrows.

That’s when I remembered the photo I’d seen on her dresser.

And suddenly there was hope.

Again, the gods are smiling down upon me. My alternate plan for a substitute for Tyche exceeds the original by far. Professor Crowley had been an excellent choice. But this is a windfall.

I smile as I think of the age-old sales pitch: “Buy one, get one free.” I wish I could let its creator know how far I’d surpassed it. My slogan would read: “Buy none, get two free.”

Hunterdon County, New Jersey

11 A.M.

Sloane was frustrated and edgy.

She and Larry still hadn’t finished a comprehensive list of everyone who’d crossed paths with her in her lifetime. Analyzing and reviewing it at least a dozen times hadn’t helped. She never realized how many people she knew. And the list just kept on growing. However, none of the individuals she’d come up with seemed to fit the profile of a serial killer.

Of course there had been some shady characters, along with violent ones, whom she’d helped convict when she’d worked at the D.A.’s office. Larry was checking into any of them that might have been recently paroled. As for her
FBI
career, it had been brief. Plus, she’d been working white-collar crimes, not violent ones. So unless one of the offenders she’d talked into surrendering during a hostage negotiation crisis was out of prison, that seemed like a dead end.

Her current life as a consultant was no more fruitful when it came to producing likely suspects. The clients who retained her services were either corporations or law enforcement—and, in the case of the latter, her assignments were in a teaching or investigative capacity. She was no longer a special agent, nor did she have the strength and dexterity to pull the trigger of her gun with enough speed and accuracy to suit her. So actively assisting in the apprehension of criminals was out.

From there, Larry had questioned her about her male friends, both longstanding and new, about guys she’d been involved with and dumped, as well as about the men enrolled in her Krav Maga class. They talked about colleagues, acquaintances, and neighbors from
A
to
Z
in New York, in Cleveland, and here. Everyone from Andy Zarelli her hairstylist to Luke Doyle, her friend from 9/11, had been added then crossed off the list.

That brought up the subject of Burt. Larry put an asterisk next to his name. He was single, a little eccentric, able to come and go with relative ease, and overtly interested in Sloane.

Sloane was so overwhelmed by the whole procedure, she didn’t know what to believe.

What she did know was that, when they touched on Elliot, she realized how long it had been since they’d talked. She’d been at John Jay a host of times this past week, but she’d been totally focused on the investigation. So she hadn’t thought to drop in on Elliot. He was doubtless at his desk—where he was a permanent fixture—working on the software program he was so diligently developing to help stop cybercrime. And in between, he was probably looking out his office window at the police presence on campus, cringing at the invasion of privacy, and fraught with anxiety over what had happened to Cynthia Alexander.

He might be a geek, but he was a kindhearted guy. Fine, so he wasn’t James Bond. A violent crime like this—one that struck so close to home—threw him and, yes, scared him. He felt vulnerable to the attacker, and claustrophobic from the press. But, most of all, he was worried about Cynthia. Elliot truly cared about people, particularly his students.

Initially, it was that caring, coupled with Sloane’s genuine affection for Elliot, that prompted her to pick up the phone and make an appointment to see him. But as she was about to dial his number, an interesting idea occurred to her.

Elliot was a genius at what he did. Always had been, always would be. He was committed to his work, with a fervent sense of responsibility to the financial institutions bankrolling his research. Add to that his great and longstanding aspirations to utilize his talents in ways that could truly benefit society.

The sum total of that thought process got Sloane wondering if the program Elliot was developing—albeit focused on subtle patterns in financial transactions—was robust enough to be utilized in other ways.

Eager to explore the possibility, Sloane had set up an appointment with Elliot for later that day. The plan was for her to come by his office around three, after which they’d catch a drink together.

Pacing around the kitchen, Sloane refilled the hounds’ water bowls and—for the tenth time—looked out the window toward Elsa’s house. She’d been hoping to see Burt’s car so she could chat with him. He’d called her the night of the break-in, asked if everything was okay. Since then, nothing. Which was odd, since he was taking constant care of Elsa these days.

Maybe it was time to go over there and check things out.

She was just about to leave the house when her phone rang. She ran back in and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Sloane? It’s Gary.”

“Gary.” She felt a surge of guilt. She’d been meaning to call her friend for the past two days to thank him for rushing over at the drop of a hat
and
at 11 P.M., no less. But she’d been so busy and preoccupied working with Larry that she’d literally forgotten.

“I’m so glad you called,” she told him sincerely. “Although
I’m
the one who should be calling
you
. I’m so sorry. I’ve been crazed by this case, and I let the time get away from me. But that’s no excuse. I can’t thank you enough for what you did the other night.”

“No apology necessary. It’s obvious you have your hands full. But the thanks I’ll accept, especially since you’re about to have even more to thank me for.”

Sloane’s ears perked up. “Go on.”

“Your hounds are off the hook,” Gary informed her lightly. “The strands of hair I plucked off your pillow were definitely human.”

“What a relief.” Sloane smiled. “Now I won’t have to revoke their bedtime privileges.”

Gary sobered, relaying the information Sloane had been waiting for. “I’ve got results from the
DNA
analysis. There was no match to existing offenders in
CODIS
. However, I ran it through the forensic index, as you requested. There were three hits. One
NYPD
case, and two local New Jersey cases.”

Sloane bit her lip. A serial killer had been in her house, on her bed. That fact was more than a little unsettling. Still, on a purely professional level, this was a lucky break. The offender who was committing these heinous crimes was now officially identified—through
DNA
evidence—as the same man who was stalking her and who’d invaded her home. It provided another factual piece in this puzzle, one more link that could result in finding and convicting their Unsub.

“You’re right, I do have more to thank you for,” Sloane replied. “Originally, I planned to spring for drinks. Now it’s dinner. Your choice of restaurants.”

“Sounds great. Give me a day to check out
Zagat’s
and pick the most expensive restaurant in New Jersey.”

“Take all the time you need. Oh, and Gary? With regard to the matching profile you found on that
NYPD
case, I know it probably referenced the Fifth Precinct. But could you also send the results to Sergeant Bob Erwin at Midtown North, and Special Agent Derek Parker at the New York field office’s C-6 squad? These crimes are all tied to their cases as well.”

“Not a problem. I’ll take care of it right away.”

“After you e-mail everything to me first, of course.”

“Of course.” A dry chuckle. “I’m not pissing off the Queen of Krav Maga.”

Sloane waited long enough to print out Gary’s attachment and to forward the entire e-mail to Larry so he could have a heads-up on the new information. Then she took the hounds out to do their business. Once they were back inside, comfortably snoozing on the living-room sofa, she gathered up all the material she needed to go over with Larry, left the house, and hopped into her car. Across the street and right on cue, Denny Sparks, her daytime security guard, started up his silver Toyota Corolla and waved at Sloane, letting her know that all systems were go. Sloane waved back.

First stop, Elsa’s, she thought as she drove next door. She wanted to check on her neighbor, and find out why Elsa had been alone these past few days.

Pulling up to the top of the Wagner driveway, Sloane got out and rang the doorbell.

A redheaded woman with a kind smile and a professional air answered the door, along with Princess Di, who was barking protectively—until she saw Sloane. Then she jumped up, front paws on Sloane’s leg, and began wagging her tail and pawing Sloane for attention.

“I can see you’re not a stranger,” the redheaded woman said with a twinkle. “May I help you?”

“I’m Sloane Burbank.” Sloane pointed toward her house as she bent forward to stroke Princess Di’s ears. “I live next door. And you are…?”

“Charlene DeSoto. I’m a registered nurse. Mr. Wagner hired me to look after his mother part-time, while he’s working at his bookstore.”

“I see.” Well, that explained Burt’s absence. “Is Mrs. Wagner worse?” Sloane asked. “Does she need anything? Because I was just going out, and I’d be happy to pick up groceries, or medication, or even food for Princess Di.”

“That’s not necessary, Sloane.” Elsa’s voice, weak but reassuring, echoed from the living room. “And, no, I’m not worse. If anything, I’m improving. The pain is better and I was able to come downstairs today. So stop sounding so anxious. Please come in.”

Nurse DeSoto stepped aside and gestured for Sloane to comply. She did, going straight to the living room, Princess Di at her heels.

“As you can see, I’m feeling better. Just not at peak strength.” Elsa was lying on the sofa, a crocheted afghan draped over her. She looked pale and tired, her face drawn. “Burt is just a worrywart. He doesn’t like the idea of my being here alone. And your friend Luke was kind enough to help us find an excellent nurse whose services would be covered by our insurance.”

Sloane relaxed. “I’m glad to see you’re out of bed, and looking more like yourself. But I don’t blame Burt for worrying. I do, too. Why didn’t he call me to help out? I’d gladly have come over and kept you company.”

“After what you’ve been through this week? We wouldn’t hear of it. In fact, it’s
you
I’m concerned about, not me.” Stiffly, Elsa winced and struggled to ease herself into a half-sitting position.

Charlene hurried over, skillfully assisting Elsa, then propping a cushion behind her back. “Mrs. Wagner really is much better,” she assured Sloane.

“Indeed I am,” Elsa concurred. “I just need to be given different types of pain medication at specific times. Plus, I need to have my blood pressure checked regularly. That’s why Burt thought a nurse would be beneficial.”

“I understand,” Sloane replied.

With a nod of thanks to Charlene, Elsa continued. “I heard the commotion outside your house on Monday night. Burt said he saw at least one police car turn in to your driveway. He assured me that he’d called you, and that you’d said you had a break-in, but that no one was hurt and nothing was taken. Is that true?”

“Yes.” Sloane was
not
going to upset Elsa with unnecessary details. “Some items were moved around, and the hounds were confined to the spare bedroom behind a shut door. So they were quite peeved. But that was the extent of it. For all I know, it was a couple of teenagers, playing a not very funny prank.”

“Well, thank goodness that’s all it was.” Elsa sank back, visibly relieved. “I was hoping Burt wasn’t shielding me from the truth. Obviously, he wasn’t. By the way, I asked both him and Charlene if they’d noticed anyone prowling around on Monday, but they hadn’t.”

“Not a soul,” Charlene confirmed. “And I was outside several times, taking Princess Di for her walks. As was Mr. Wagner, when he returned.”

“I appreciate your vigilance,” Sloane responded. “With all the woods around here, it’s easy to come and go without being spotted.”

“Burt has been keeping an eye on your property every night,” Elsa added. “He’s at the bookstore now, but he should be home by midafternoon. Fortunately, it’s a quieter day. He needs a break, given the number of hours he’s been putting in.” A questioning look. “You said you were heading out. Will you be gone long? Because I know Burt would be happy to look after the hounds. He can pick them up and bring them over here. Princess Di would love the company.”

Sloane was about to decline the offer, when it occurred to her that, given her commitments in the city, she might not be home until late. Plus, it would give her a chance to talk to Burt.

“Actually, I’d really appreciate that—
if
Burt wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course he won’t. You know how fond of your pups he is. He’ll take good care of them. And if you’re running late, just call, and they can stay the night.”

“Thank you, Elsa.” Sloane rose. “I’ll check in with Burt later. In the meantime, you take care of yourself.”

“I am and I will.” A resolved smile. “Those are my doctor’s orders, not to mention my son’s. Between the bunch of you, I’ll be myself again in no time.”

A few minutes later, Sloane said her good-byes and drove off. She was glad Elsa was in good hands.

She just wished that one of Lady Di’s strolls had corresponded with the arrival of her intruder. Maybe then, either Charlene or Burt would have spotted him.

Holland Tunnel

1:45 P.M.