Antenna Syndrome (26 page)

There was a brief moment of silence in which the two
detectives gave thanks to the ancient gods of venality, still as
active as ever in this modern era. Just then my iFocals vibrated
with an incoming call. Mundt prodded me with his gun behind my
ear.

“Go ahead. Answer. Switch on Bluetooth so we can
share.”

I slipped on my goggles and saw 888-888-8888 on the
incoming. It was Finder’s digital equivalent of the Lone Ranger’s
mask. I hoped he wouldn’t say anything incriminating.

Mundt’s muzzle jabbed me harder. I enabled
Bluetooth. The muzzle patted me on the head, good boy. I looked at
Boyle and he nodded encouragement, his hand making puppet-mouth
motions.

“Savage. What’s up, bro?”

“Those two audio files you sent me last night? I ran
them through a voice analyzer. That screamer is one and the
same.”

I started to sweat. I didn’t want the detectives to
know I’d acquired Tatiana’s scream by nearly tearing her nose off.
Or admit to recording a kidnapping demand: when the Russian had
scheduled a ransom dropoff, Vivien had asked about Marielle, and
someone at the Russian’s end had screamed.

“Okay. What about the other file?” I said, referring
to the encrypted item on the blue flash drive Marielle had mailed
to Crabner last month. The drive LeVeen had given Tatiana in lieu
of the DMV data stick.

“I cracked the password,” Finder said. “Turns out it
was an MP3 created a month ago. Only a couple of minutes long, but
it’s a nasty little audio scene. Like to give it a listen right
now?”

The gun muzzle at my ear reminded me of an eager
audience.

“Sure.”

A slow-tempo blues song came over our headsets – a
simple walking bass and jazzy chords on a piano. The singer had a
fine voice but the lyrics were silly – something about having the
Ladybug Blues. Mundt snorted. Boyle gestured with his hand to be
quiet.

On the MP3 we heard a door open and close. The girl
stopped singing and the piano walked only another measure before
dragging to a halt.

“Jack, what are you doing up here?”

“Hi, kiddo, don’t stop singing. I just came up to
listen.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Sure have. Want a hit?”

“Go away. I’m busy.”

“Busy, huh? You’re just sitting around in your
underwear.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t hurt you, baby. Just wanna make you feel
good.”

“Take your hands off me. I’ll scream.”

“Scream your head off. Viv’s not around.”

The girl screamed so loudly that distortion came
through my headset.

“Oh yeah, I love a screamer. Let me take off your
T-shirt. Yeah, go ahead and holler all you want. Mm-hm, what a
lovely pair. Now let’s see what the rest of you looks like.”

The girl screamed and screamed.

“Mm-hm, looking good, baby. And tasty too. Now
you’re all wet. Just wait till I get my pants off.”

The scream became a cry of pain.

“Yeah, you’re tight, baby, but Uncle Jack’s coming
in just the same. Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh baby...”

Then there was just the rhythmic groaning of the
girl in the background. Then, after a few minutes...

“Okay, baby, I’ve got to run. Viv’s coming home
soon. You’re not going to tell on Uncle Jack, are you? No, I don’t
think so, ‘cause I’ll kill you if you do. And I’ll do your sister
too. Goodnight, baby. Sweet dreams.”

A door opened and closed. The girl cried. Then the
recording ended.

“Weird, huh?” Finder said.

“Okay, thanks, bro. You caught me in the middle of
something, but I’ll settle up with you later, okay?” I broke off
the call before Finder could say anything more.

“Kinky little scene,” Mundt said. “What’s that all
about, snooper?”

“I wish I knew.”

Mundt came off the desk and seized my throat with a
hand that could have throttled a gorilla. As the blood pounded in
my ears, he jammed his gun into my eye. “Don’t clam up on us,
friend. Last time, we were gentle. Start talking or we’ll put you
through a routine that’ll make the Inquisition look like a loan
interview at your neighborhood bank.”

“Hssst,” Boyle said. “There’s somebody outside.”

“See who it is,” Mundt growled over his shoulder as
he maintained the pressure of his gun muzzle in my bulging
eyeball.

Boyle drew his gun and held it against his leg as he
opened the door. In the hallway stood a tall skinny guy in a pair
of coveralls and wrap-around sunglasses. Globik’s bodyguard, Buzz.
His long arms were bent at the elbows, his hands pressed together
in front of his chest as if in prayer. He looked past Boyle to
Mundt and me clinched behind the desk.

“Looking for someone?” Boyle said.

Nothing happened for a moment, then everything
happened at once. Buzz snapped his arms straight out, seized
Boyle’s shoulders and jerked him forward with the swift precision
of a machine. Boyle’s gun fired a slug into the floor.

Buzz’s face split open in a line across his chin.
Two bony appendages the size of butcher knives came out of his
mouth and severed Boyle’s neck the way garden shears snip rose
stems. His arms snapped back out again. Boyle’s body, a fountain of
blood pulsing from the neck, crumpled to the floor. His head rolled
under the desk and hit my feet.

Buzz entered the room. Mundt released me and turned
his gun on the more obvious threat. Buzz and I went into action at
the same time. Lucky for me Mundt was in between us. I snatched the
flash drive from the laptop, threw my arms in front of my face and
dived through the window. I heard Mundt’s gun bark once before he
made a terrible scream.

Amid a shower of broken glass I landed in the
dumpster below, cushioned from death by bags of shredded paper. I
heard another scream, or maybe it was still the same one. I didn’t
stick around to listen for more. I vaulted out of the dumpster and
ran for Mr. Kim’s, the flash drive still clutched in my fist.

Chapter 46

I stood inside Mr. Kim’s office, still panting after
my run. From behind barred windows I watched my building to see if
Globik’s bodyguard would come looking for me. Buzz had killed Boyle
and Mundt without a moment’s hesitation. I knew he’d like to nip me
in the bud too.

“Everything okay, Mistuh Savage?” Mr. Kim asked from
behind his desk.

“Do you have a handgun I could borrow?”

He laughed. “I am in parking business, not shooting
business.”

Up the block, a tall skinny figure emerged from my
building. Buzz stood there a moment, entirely motionless. He moved
to the middle of the street and did a 360-degree scan. Seeing
nothing, he crossed the street and got into the parked blue
van.

I opened Mr. Kim’s door and put half an eyeball
around the corner. The blue van drove away.

My phone rang. It was Vivien, coming on like a
banshee. “Mr. Savage, have you lost your mind? If you don’t return
Marielle’s paintings immediately, I’ll call the police.”

“What are you talking about? I was with you
yesterday afternoon when they were stolen.”

“You knew Jack and I’d be out half the day. You
tipped your pal Walker to steal Marielle’s paintings while we were
gone.”

“Walker? How do you know about him?”

“Jack told me. You and Walker are partners in crime.
Blackmail, burglary, drugs, extortion, whatever...”

“You’ve got it backwards, Vivien. Jack knows Walker
from when they both worked at the Hustler Club. Jack sent him to
rough up Myers, the astrologer, because he was jealous, or afraid
he’d advise you to divorce him.”

“Jack said you’d lie to protect yourself, and accuse
him too.”

“Did he tell you Walker was dead?”

“He saw it in the news this morning. That’s what
freaked him out. He confided his fears in me.”

I knew Jack had lied about seeing it in the news
because the police had withheld Walker’s name pending contact with
surviving family. Jack knew about it because he’d been at Pier 57
when Walker was killed. Ignoring that for the moment, I picked up
where Vivien had left off. “What fears?”

“He said you killed Walker. That you’d threatened to
kill him too.”

“When? I was there yesterday afternoon. We parted on
good terms.”

“You called him last night, warned him to destroy
the security video showing Walker breaking into the house.”

“That wasn’t Walker on the video. It was someone
from Dr. Globik’s organization.”

“Globik?”

“I told you about him. He runs a medical clinic in
Tribeca specializing in prosthetics. It’s where I think Marielle’s
being kept.”

“You think? What proof do you have?”

“Let me talk to Jack.”

“He’s not here. He left half an hour ago.”

“Where’d he go?”

“He wouldn’t say. He said he might have to leave
town for his own safety. Because of your threats.”

“Why would I threaten Jack?”

“Because he knows what you did.”

I sighed. “Jack’s a liar and worse. Did he actually
delete that video?”

“He said he did.”

I cursed under my breath. Jack had probably deleted
the security video to conceal any connection he had with whoever
had stolen the paintings. Likely his Russian friends. He’d planted
spyware on Jordan’s phone, possibly bugged Tatiana’s apartment for
pillow talk. If I had time, I’d probably find the entire house in
East Massapequa was wired too, keeping the Russians one step ahead
of Jordan’s political strategy.

This was worrisome. It now looked like Jack, Tatiana
and Rossikoff all worked for the
bratva
. While I’d been with
Tatiana last night, Jack had transferred the paintings to Rossikoff
at Pier 57. When Walker had tried to get their plate numbers,
they’d killed him. Now Jack was in the wind, and Tatiana might soon
follow.

I regretted not having called the cops when I’d
discovered the Bobcat in her possession, the gun that had likely
killed LeVeen. Ironically, I’d feared Boyle and Mundt might pin it
on me. Now it was worse. They’d been killed in my office. I might
as well have died with them, given my chances now of a fair hearing
from the police.

I couldn’t return to the Realistik Gallery for the
painting I’d left a deposit on. Possession would make me party to
the theft, as Jack had told Vivien. And if Jack warned Rossikoff,
the art dealer would move the paintings elsewhere, and deny he’d
sold me anything. I was going to get screwed, and I didn’t like
it.

“Jack arranged to have Marielle’s paintings stolen
while we were out,” I told Vivien. “He owed a fortune to the
Russian mob for gambling debts.”

“He’s not in debt. He stopped gambling seven years
ago.”

“Not according to what his Russian girlfriend told
me.”

“What girlfriend?”

“Tatiana. She was in on it. She’s the one who
screamed in that phone call from the kidnappers.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I’ve got a nose for dirt, and I’m discovering lots
of it. If you weren’t in denial, you’d admit you had suspicions
too. You know Jack’s a sick man, you just don’t know what to do
about it.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Go up to Marielle’s suite. I need you to look for
something.”

“Okay, I’m going.”

“On the way, consider this. Within the last few
months, did you notice any change in Marielle’s behavior? Loss of
appetite, reluctance to socialize, excessive sleeping...”

“She did seem tired lately. She usually had
breakfast with me but in the past month, she was sleeping until
almost noon. When I asked her if she felt okay, she said she had a
cold. It made sense because when I cleaned her room, her
wastebasket was always full of used tissues.” A door opened and
closed. “Okay, I’m in her suite. Now what?”

“Start her computer.”

“It’s already on.”

I got her to search Marielle’s directory for a file
called ‘Ladybug Blues’. She found it but couldn’t open it.
Password-protected. I put her on hold, called Finder and got the
password from him. Back to Vivien.

“About a month ago,” I said, “Marielle asked you to
mail an envelope for her, am I right?”

“How’d you know?”

I gave her the high-level view. Marielle had
addressed the envelope to Crabner at the Avatar Clinic where he’d
been living ever since his surgery. But someone there, unwilling to
admit Crabner’s residency, had rejected the package and given it
back to the USPS carrier with Crabner’s last-known address,
LeVeen’s apartment.

“Who’s LeVeen?”

“An investigative journalist. He was working on a
story involving corrupt city officials.”

“What’s that got to do with Marielle?”

“Nothing. But up until last year, Crabner was
LeVeen’s roommate. And by coincidence, LeVeen’s research may have
uncovered some dirt that led back to Jordan.”

“What was in that envelope?”

“A flash drive containing an audiofile, and a tissue
with DNA evidence of a crime.”

“How could Marielle have been involved in a
crime?”

“She was a victim.”

“Of what?”

Abused and threatened by Jack, Marielle had been too
afraid or embarrassed to tell Vivien. But she’d probably collected
some post-rape evidence in a tissue, a mix of her own DNA and
Jack’s, and mailed it to Crabner along with the audio. Although it
would have been smarter to mail it to the police, maybe she’d
feared bad publicity for her father. So she’d confided in Crabner,
who’d enlisted Buzz to help her escape.

“
You’ll understand after you
listen to that MP3. You won’t like what you hear, but it’ll explain
Marielle’s disappearance.” I told Vivien the password. “I’ll give
you some time alone, then call you back. Make sure you pick up. We
need to finish this conversation.”

I borrowed Mr. Kim’s key to the rooftop door, jogged
up three flights and went out onto the roof. I switched my goggles
to binocular mode. From a corner of the rooftop, I looked up and
down the intersection, two blocks in either direction. No sign of
the blue van.