"Skeleton justice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Baden Michael)

BLOOD.

Jake had printed the word in block letters on the whiteboard in his office, retraced each letter with bold strokes of his red marker, drawn a box around it, sketched arrows radiating out from it. Still, the word refused to cooperate.

It was like a "Down" answer in a crossword puzzle that fit neatly into the allocated spaces but wouldn't mesh with the "Across" clues.

He tried again. "Just listen to me, Vito. Give me the benefit of the doubt while I work through the evidence." He hadn't seen or spoken to Manny all day. She was his preferred sounding board, but in her absence, Vito would have to do.

Vito Pasquarelli had pushed himself halfway out of the chair in Jake's office, but the plea in his friend's voice made him fall back into his seat. "You've been over it twenty times already. Be careful not to twist the facts to fit the theory."

Jake finished a Coke, which kept him from passing out at his desk, then crushed the can and flung it into the trash. He'd seen plenty of scientists, and plenty of cops, come to grief trying to make evidence support a theory they'd grown too fond of. Is that what he was doing here? he wondered. He started once more to run through the evidence, looking for the one fact that would make all the others come together coherently. Make no judgments; let the facts do the work.

"Victims one, two, and three, and possibly victim four, were children of the Desaparecidos." Of this, Jake was now positive. He'd spoken again to three of the early victims. Numbers two and three had readily admitted to being adopted. Both said they had no knowledge of their birth parents and had never tried to contact them. They assumed their birth parents were American, but when pressed, they admitted they really didn't know.

Victim number one, Lucinda Bettis, had once again reacted differently from the others, shouting "No" and slamming down the phone when Jake asked her if she had been adopted. To him, that was as good as a yes. It was this discovery, at least three of the four early victims linked through adoption, that had reluctantly brought Vito around to discuss the case with Jake again.

Jake stood and made notes on the whiteboard in the corner as he spoke. "Fiore, Hogaarth, Fortes, and Slade, by virtue of their ages, are not children of the Desaparecidos. The first three are too old; Deanie Slade is too young. But three of the four have definite connections to Argentina."

Pasquarelli's only response was to purse his lips into a tight line. He refused to make the leap from adoption to Argentina. He still hadn't completely let go of Islamic terrorists.

"The Vampire takes blood from all of them but tortures only the last three, and kills only Hogaarth and Fortes," Jake said. "Why?"

"Because he's a fuckin' terrorist nut!" Pasquarelli shouted. "Why do they strap bombs to themselves and blow themselves up in buses full of innocent people? They're nuts!"

Jake shook his head. "Not a nut. The Vampire's escalating violence may be a sign of increasing mental instability, but when he began this series of attacks, I'm sure he had a very specific purpose in mind."

The pained look returned to Pasquarelli's face, as if he were humoring a temperamental child. "Which is…"

Jake stopped writing on the whiteboard and chewed the end of the marker. "Identification. To be able to match the children of the Desaparecidos with their biological families."

"You just said the last four victims weren't des… des… des… peradoes. Why take their blood?"

"I've gone around and around on this point in my mind. That's the inconsistency I can't resolve. But identification still seems the most likely scenario," Jake said.

"Wait a minute," Vito objected. "Why go to all the trouble to knock them out and draw their blood if all he wants is to prove they're related to someone? He could've just broken into their homes and taken their hairbrushes or toothbrushes. Or followed them until they dropped a Starbucks cup in the trash and then fished it out. Those are much easier ways to get a little DNA."

"That had me puzzled, too," Jake said. "But remember, DNA analysis has only been in use since 1989. Before that, blood-group factors were used to establish paternity. Of course, it wasn't conclusive, but it was the best technology available. Right before I called you, I stumbled across this in all the research I've been gathering about the Dirty War. Take a look."

Jake tossed a journal article into Vito's lap. The detective's eyes glazed over as he scanned the dense columns of type. "Give me the highlights."

"After the right-wing dictatorship collapsed in 1983, parents who suspected their daughters had given birth while in custody, or whose baby grandchildren had been kidnapped along with their parents, began to mobilize to seek reunification between the children of the Desaparecidos and their biological families. They knew it might take years, so they established something in Argentina called the National Genetic Data Bank to collect evidence from the biological families. Nowadays, they preserve dried blood spots for DNA, but when they first began the project in the early eighties, all they could save were meticulous records of the blood-group factors of the grandmothers and grandfathers. ABO, Rh…"

Vito sat staring at a scratch on the front of Jake's desk. Jake could tell he was beginning to pry open a door in his friend's mind. "If any of these grandparents died before 1989, all that would be left as evidence would be their blood-group factors," Vito said. "So you're telling me DNA wouldn't be of any use in that case?"

"Exactly! DNA doesn't show blood-group factors. You'd need actual blood from the grandkids to try to make a match."

Vito held up a restraining hand. "Don't get too excited. Why does the Vampire have to knock them unconscious, steal their blood if he's trying to reunite them with their own grandparents?"

Jake scribbled on the whiteboard, his back to Vito. "Mrs. Martinette and Family Builders helped me understand." He stood aside to reveal the sentence on the board: BOTH PARTIES MUST WANT TO BE REUNITED. "The grandparents want to find the kids, but the kids might not want to be found. They have their lives here; they don't want to know about some awful past in Argentina."

Vito rubbed his eyes. "But that implies the victims were all contacted by this grandparents group and declined to be tested. Don't you think that would have come out when we first interviewed them, searching for connections? Like, wouldn't someone have said, 'Yo, here's something weird-some guy called me last week to tell me my biological mother was an Argentine political prisoner'?"

Jake grinned. God bless Vito. He was such a New Yorker. No chance he'd ever let you get too full of your own brilliance. "Of course you're right. If the victims had all been approached, we would have seen the pattern before now. But here's what I'm speculating. As far as we know, only victim number one, Lucinda Bettis, was openly approached about establishing her biological identity. And she didn't respond positively. And that's what set the Vampire into action."

Vito gnawed his lower lip. "When you talked to this chick, she was really cagey, right?"

"I think she might be more forthcoming in the presence of a New York City police detective."

Vito stood up. "All right, all right. I'll go talk to her."

Jake beamed. Finally, Vito was back in his corner. "I think you'll be glad you did."

"Humpf." Vito paused with his hand on Jake's office door. "Wait a minute-what about the other vics? The Vampire doesn't need their blood to match with grandma's. How do you explain that?"

The smile faded from Jake's face. The word BLOOD pulsated again from the whiteboard. "I'm working on it."

Jake's house, never tidy under the best of circumstances, had degenerated over the course of the Vampire investigation to something between chaos and biohazard. Plates of Chinese and Indian carryout lay around the first floor in varying degrees of petrifaction. The tower of unopened mail, some envelopes emblazoned with "Second Notice" imprints, threatened to consume the hall table. A battered cardboard box with a Romanian return address disgorged a suspicious ashlike substance.

Manny surveyed the scene with disgust. "You and Jake are going to supplant the Collyer brothers for the pack rat of the century title." She kicked aside some forensic journals. "At least they left little paths to navigate from room to room."

"How conventional." Sam finished a section of the Times and tossed it over his shoulder.

Manny reached to pick it up, then stopped herself. "You're trying to provoke me."

"Not so, dear woman. We simply represent different approaches to housework." Sam stretched out his legs on the couch and reached for another section of the newspaper. "I'll never be a clean-as-you-goer. Too Sisyphean-you push the rock up the hill every day, only to watch it roll back down again. I prefer the tactic Hercules used to clean the Aegean stables. Let things get really bad, then divert a nearby river and wash it all away at once."

"When do you plan to work that wonder, Herc?" Jake emerged from the kitchen bearing paper plates of Vietnamese spring rolls. "With all the china plates out of commission, we're limited to nonsaucy food."

"Food. The great motivator." Taking her spring roll, Manny plopped into an overstuffed chair. "Tell me again what Detective Pasquarelli said after he talked to the FBI."

Manny had reported her entire conversation with Paco to the police. Detective Pasquarelli had been very excited about the information and naturally wanted to interview Paco himself. But the FBI's involvement in the case had compromised his autonomy. Because of the Sandovals' diplomatic immunity, he had to get FBI clearance to proceed. As Manny had feared, it hadn't been forthcoming.

"Vito said the agent he works with directly seemed just as excited about this break as he is. But that guy's low on the totem pole. He had to kick it upstairs for permission. They're still waiting."

"That's preposterous!" Manny said. "Diplomatic immunity is a courtesy; it should not be absolutely inviolable. In a case this serious, there should be no question about pressuring the Sandovals to cooperate."

"Maybe tomorrow they'll catch a break," Jake said.

"Don't count on it." Manny leaned back in her chair and promptly shot back out again. "Ow! It's booby-trapped." She pulled the cushions away. "My God, there's a scalpel in there!"

"Sorry, dear. I was doing an experiment to see if a scalpel could make accidental incised wounds if you lean back on it in a chair. Guess the defense attorney will have to try harder because you just proved that his client intentionally killed her husband." Jake then patted a space beside him on the love seat. "Come sit with me."

Manny eyed the cobweb stretching from the floor lamp to the arm of the love seat. "No thanks, I'll just clear a space over here."

She pushed a box of old slides into the corner. "This is the problem with having a big house. The more space you have, the more junk you accumulate. You know, when I drove over to Club Epoch in Hoboken, I was seriously considering moving to one of those big loft apartments in a converted factory. Now I'm afraid if I lived there, I'd wind up hoarding like you two."

"I think you should consider it, Manny," Sam said. "Think of how you could expand your shoe portfolio. But the time to buy is now. There are only a few factories left to be converted."

"The ones that are left all have hazardous-waste issues," Jake said. "You wouldn't want to expose your footwear to radiation. A Manhattan studio is much more salubrious."

"Your concern for my health is touching." Manny began heaving newspapers off the window seat. "Couldn't we at least get rid of some of these copies of the Times? They're weeks old."

She paused to read a headline. "'Vampire Suspected in Death of Prominent Physician'-this one's from when Dr. Fortes was killed. 'Vampire's Lair Found in Brooklyn,' 'Vampire Tied to Bombing in Hoboken,' 'Mysterious Attacker Targets Opera Star.' Geez, the Vampire's been on the front page of the paper just about every day since this case started. This pile is an archaeological record."

Jake stopped chewing and stared at her, a crumb of spring roll stuck to his lip. He dumped the half-full plate onto the floor. Mycroft shot across the room and immediately tucked into the delicate melange of shrimp and vegetables.

"I hope you were done with that," Manny said as Jake crossed the room to the window seat.

Jake didn't appear to hear her. He fell to his knees and began digging through the newspapers, scattering them left and right.

"Jake, come on. I just stacked those for recycling," Manny protested.

"Help me find April fifth," Jake demanded.

"What's April fifth?" Manny asked.

"The day after the first Vampire attack. Lucinda Bettis, victim number one."

"Here it is."

Jake snatched the paper from her, quickly scanned the front page, then flipped to the Metro section. "Nothing," he said, checking the inside pages. "Not even a little blurb." He tossed the paper aside. "Now look for April eleventh."

"What are you-"

"Here!" Jake held it up and immediately began paging through the issue. "Nothing on page one, nothing on the front page of Metro, but here on page B-four we see it. 'Police Curious about Strange Similarities in Attacks.' A six-paragraph story comparing the MO of the attack on victim two with that of Lucinda Bettis. Now, find April twenty-third."

Manny handed it to him.

"By victim three, the story's moved to the front page. Prominent mention of the blood draw and the needle mark left on the victim. As I recall, this is when the Post first dubbed him 'the Vampire.'" Jake sat back on his haunches. "From then on, it's been headline news every day in every local paper. That must be it."

"What must be it?" Sam and Manny said almost simultaneously.

Jakes pointed to the sea of newsprint surrounding him and Manny on the floor. "This is why the Vampire drew blood from Fiore, Hogaarth, Fortes, and Slade even though they aren't children of the Desaparecidos. He must crave publicity for his cause. When he realized what a stir his weird blood draws were causing, he decided to use that as his signature, even on victims he intended to torture and/or kill. The blood draw itself was unnecessary, just done as a flourish."

"A signature," Manny whispered.

"For someone who seeks publicity, he's done an awfully good job of covering his tracks," Sam said. "He's got the police chasing after imaginary Islamic terrorists. You and Manny are the only ones who seem to know this is about the Desaparecidos."

Jake's and Manny's eyes met; then they both turned slowly to look at Sam. "He's planning something," Manny said. "Or, I should say, they're planning something, because we know there's a woman involved in this, too. She's the one who posed as Tracy and recommended me to Maureen Heaton. She intentionally drew me into this case"-Manny reached for Jake's hand-"and I bet, by extension, drew you into this case. They wanted us because of who we are, because of the results we achieved on the Lyons case."

"I think that must be it," Jake agreed. "The story of the Desaparecidos has been around for about thirty years. The mothers and grandmothers keep up their protests, but the outrage has faded. There are still victims who've never been accounted for, kids who don't know their true heritage. But people aren't listening anymore. They want to forget about the Dirty War."

"And there are still perpetrators who've never been brought to justice," Manny said. "I sympathize, but I don't want to be part of the Vampire's vigilante scheme. I won't allow myself to be used this way!"

"We may not have a choice," Jake said. "There's no doubt in my mind that Travis plays into their plan for a grand finale. I'd like nothing better than to deprive the Vampire of his big bang, but we can't endanger Travis. If we can't anticipate the Vampire's next move, we may have to play out the game according to his rules."

Manny rolled over in her bed and squinted across the room. The numbers 5:09 glowed greenly from her programmable coffeemaker. Given how exhausted she'd been the night before after coming home from Jake's, she was surprised to find herself awake before the deafening sound of the built-in grinder pulverizing French-roast beans was due to kick in at 6:00 a.m.

She'd been tempted to spend the night at Jake's. The growing suspicion that she was just a pawn in some unpredictable scheme of the Vampire's had made her jumpy and grateful for company. But she had an eight-thirty deposition in the Greenfield case and she didn't intend to arrive for it wearing yesterday's clothes. When she stayed at Jake's, she lived out of her handbag, slept in his WELCOME TO THE BOWELS OF FORENSIC PATHOLOGY T-shirt, and returned to her apartment in the morning to change. She had no intention of moving parts of her wardrobe into his house. She didn't want her cashmere and silk absorbing the smell of formaldehyde, and besides, it wasn't that kind of relationship. She'd gone so far as to buy some French hand-milled rose petal and jasmine soap for his bathroom, strictly as a defense against the red bumps she'd developed from showering with his ghastly little bars of hotel-room freebies, but that was as domestic as she intended to get.

Manny stretched out and closed her eyes. She wouldn't fall back asleep, but she could rest in bed for a while until the coffeepot started its routine. The light lavender scent of her bedding lulled her, and she drifted, blissfully unconnected to the problems of the day to come.

Somewhere in the apartment, a sound.

Manny bolted straight up. There it was again: the unmistakable sound of a poodle retching. She realized that must have been what had awakened her early.

She clicked on the light. No Mycroft at the foot of the bed. A bad sign. Whenever he was sick, he slunk off to the corner of her closet. The last time he'd had an upset stomach, a six-hundred-dollar pair of Jimmy Choos had taken a one-way ride on a Department of Sanitation truck.

"Mycroft, sweetie, what's wrong?" Manny opened the closet door and peered under the racks of neatly hanging suits and blouses. Sure enough, she spied a little mound of red fur in the far corner, behind last year's handbags and her Uggs. Falling to her knees, Manny crawled forward and extended her hand. "C'mere, baby. Let Mom take a look."

Mycroft yelped as she slipped one hand under his trembling body and slid him toward her. When she got him into the light, Manny's heart constricted. This was no "I shouldn't have eaten all that mozzarella." Mycroft's eyes were glazed, his belly was distended, and he was breathing in short, sharp pants.

My God, what had he eaten yesterday? Had he stumbled into rat poison in the park when she had tossed those gourmet treats to waylay Paco? Or was it that spring roll he'd devoured at Jake's? Was there some herb in Vietnamese food fatal to dogs? Lemon-grass? Cilantro?

Whatever the cause, Mycroft was in a serious crisis. As her panic rose, Manny's mind went blank. What should she do, call 911? Pound on the door of her neighbor, the cardiologist?

She took a deep breath. Getting hysterical wasn't going to help Mycroft. Dr. Costello was on her speed dial. The vet could tell her what immediate action to take until she could get My croft over to him.

She lunged for her BlackBerry, then waited impatiently as the vet's office voice-mail system droned through its options. "Our office is closed now. To schedule an appointment, press one. To leave a message…" Manny's heart was pounding so hard, she could barely hear. Hurry, hurry. Finally, "… If this is a true medical emergency, please dial 212-555-3680. The doctor will respond to your page within ten minutes."

Manny dialed the pager number with trembling fingers. Ten minutes! Mycroft could be dead by then. She felt as if she were having an out-of-body experience, listening to a voice describing Mycroft's symptoms, begging for help, a voice much higher-pitched and rapid than her own.

Ending the call, she sat next to Mycroft to wait, stroking his silky head. The little dog's trusting brown eyes gazed up at her, begging silently for her to ease his pain. Why had she used him as a decoy? Why had she let him eat all that people food? Please, God, let him live and I promise I'll give him nothing but Science Diet for the rest of his days.

The phone rang. Manny snatched it up eagerly. "Dr. Costello? That was quick! Thank you so much for calling." Manny described Mycroft's symptoms and answered the doctor's questions.

"It sounds like he's gotten everything out of his system," Dr. Costello said. "But I'm concerned about the labored breathing. Keep him warm and get him over to my office." Then he gave a little grunt of displeasure. "No, that won't work."

"Yes! Yes it will!" Manny's voice was shrill and insistent.

"It's on the other side of town. If he is in true respiratory distress, time is of the essence," Dr. Costello explained. "My wife says you better bring him here, to our home. I have everything I'll need here."

"Oh thank God! I'll leave right away. What's the address?"

Manny scribbled on the only piece of paper she could find-page two of her Saks bill. She had no idea Dr. Costello lived so close to her. She could walk to his apartment; it would be faster than trying to find a cab before dawn. She threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and clipped on Mycroft's leash. The poor dog was too sick to walk. She'd have to carry him, but she preferred to have him in her arms, where she could see how he was doing, rather than in his carrier.

In the elevator, she pressed the B button. If she went down to the building's basement and exited out the rear service door, she could cut one block off her walk.

As she walked out into the gray dawn, the scents and sounds of the city greeted her, but the street and sidewalks were empty. At the end of the block, a trash truck beeped insistently as it backed toward a Dumpster. The smell of urine drifted up from the gutter. Tucking Mycroft under her arm, Manny trotted across the street in mid-block. A drunk sprawled on a sheet of cardboard, his dirty fingers still clutching a bottle of cheap wine, even in sleep. Manny averted her eyes as she passed him.

Something caught at her ankle. Manny looked down in surprise and saw the drunk's grinning face. She tried to shake him off, more in annoyance than fear. She had no time to be mugged this morning. She could hear other footsteps approaching from behind, and she took a deep breath to scream for help.

An unwise choice. As her lungs expanded, they filled with the cloying scent of ether. The buildings dipped and spun. The sidewalk came up to meet her. Mycroft fell from her arms.

"My dog! My dog!" Maybe Manny only thought those words, or maybe she spoke them aloud.

Either way, no one heard.

Jake extended his right arm, groping for Manny in the darkness of his bed. Pillows, blankets, sheets, but no soft curves, no tumble of hair. Then he remembered: Manny hadn't stayed last night, something about an early-morning deposition. He was surprised by the depth of his disappointment.

Oh well, I might as well get out of bed and catch up on a few things before going to the office. Jake headed downstairs for coffee and his laptop, nearly pitching headfirst off the second landing when he stumbled over a banker's box containing the evidence in a police-restraint death that had arrived two days ago from Los Angeles. Manny was right: This place really was careening toward Health Department condemnation.

Once the coffee was on, Jake popped open his laptop and logged on to his e-mail. The screen beamed at him, showing he had eighty-three new messages. He rubbed his eyes-could that be right? E-mail, a blessing and a curse.

Cutting the green spot off a bagel he found in a bag on the counter, Jake poured his coffee and settled down to tackle his in-box. Yes, he'd be happy to speak at Quantico on the subject of bioterrorism; no, he regretted he would not be able to travel to Latvia to address a conference on investigating civilian explosions. Would he come to Athens in September for a week of in-service training? Damn! That sounded good, but Pederson would never give him the time off. These days, it seemed that keeping Jake's light under a bushel was Pederson's top priority.

Fifteen e-mails answered, twenty, twenty-five. Jake glanced at his watch. It read eight-forty-five. How did it get so late? I better get a move on. Somehow, Pederson was always standing by the receptionist's desk when Jake rolled in at nine-fifteen, but never when he left at midnight. He scanned the list of remaining e-mails. Nothing urgent, except-

What was this from [email protected]? Could it be a response from one of those eBay collectibles dealers Manny had contacted about Nixon's mug? He clicked and read the message. The dealer remembered the transaction. Jake stared at the screen. The buyer's name sounded awfully familiar. He trolled through the many dusty file drawers of his memory. Sometimes his brain felt as cluttered as his house.

Jake slammed the laptop shut. He knew that name! But from what part of this sprawling investigation? He'd have to wait until he got to the office and started searching the files. He headed for the door, then stopped and reached for the phone. Manny would know. She had the most amazing memory, able to recall the tiniest details instantly. He claimed it was because of her youth. Her brain filled her cranial cavity with the sulci and gyri of a virginal youngster. Not like his brain, shrunken and flattened.

He dialed, but the call rolled immediately to voice mail. Of course-look at the time. She must be in her deposition now. Even Manny turned off her cell phone during depositions. He left a message and continued on to the office. • • • Manny's head throbbed and her throat, parched and raw, protested every swallow. She opened her eyes a slit but quickly shut them when the room started to roll. She must be hungover. Odd, because she really wasn't much of a drinker.

Had she been celebrating, or drowning her sorrows? She couldn't recall. Something scratched at her wrists. She tried to brush it away but found she couldn't move her arms. That was odd, too.

Nearby, a dog barked-very loudly. How could Mycroft be barking so ferociously? Maybe someone was outside. She should check on that. She certainly should. But she was tired, so tired.

The barking continued.

In a minute, Mycroft. In a minute… Jake's cell phone vibrated in the middle of the weekly staff meeting. He ignored it. A few seconds later, it started again. As Charles Pederson paced across the front of the room, pontificating, Jake discreetly looked down at the phone. The display said LITTLE PAWS.

He frowned. Why would Mycroft's silly doggy day care be calling him? Then he remembered he had given Manny permission to list him as one of three emergency backup numbers. If they were calling him, it must be because they couldn't reach Manny, or Kenneth, or Manny's mother, Rose. Well, Manny and Kenneth were together at the deposition, and Rose was probably out somewhere having fun. She kept her cell phone turned off, using it only for emergencies, which she defined as times when she needed to reach others, not times when they needed to reach her. Jake turned his attention back to the meeting. Little Paws could wait.

Again, the cell phone vibrated. Annoyed, Jake reached down to turn it off. This time the display read KENNETH BOYD.

His heart rate quickened. If Kenneth was calling him, where the hell was Manny? Jake glanced at the clock on the wall. The meeting had been going for half an hour and Pederson showed no sign of wrapping it up.

"And now, I'd like to share this PowerPoint presentation with you," Pederson said. "Lights, please."

The lights went down and Pederson began fiddling with his laptop. Nothing appeared on the screen. Finally, one of the secretaries took pity and got up to help the chief. As they huddled together over the computer, Jake slipped out the rear door of the conference room.

Back in his office, Jake dialed Kenneth. "Where's Manny?" he asked without a greeting.

"That's what I'd like to know. She never showed up for the Greenfield deposition."

Jake could practically see his adrenal gland preparing for fight or flight. "Little Paws also called me. Do you know why?"

"Because when they opened up this morning, they found Mycroft sitting at the door all by himself, dragging his leash behind him."

"Let's get her up," a woman's voice said.

"I don't think she's-"

"I said it's time." A door clicked.

Manny opened her eyes and found herself looking into a very beautiful face: shiny black hair, almond eyes, high cheekbones. Human beings are hardwired to respond positively to beauty, but Manny did not smile. Neither did the other woman.

The room she was in had a very high ceiling, dingy green walls, and no furniture other than the bed she lay on and a small table. None of it meant anything to Manny. She hadn't recovered the ability to reason; she could focus only on her physical needs-to drink, to eat, and to stop the incessant pounding in her head.

"Can I have some water?" Manny's voice came out as a harsh croak, unrecognizable to her own ears.

The woman moved to the table and poured water from a bottle into a plastic cup. Manny watched, her mind grinding slowly into gear. The woman looked vaguely familiar to her, but she didn't know why. Mostly, Manny was interested in the water. She propped herself up on one elbow, took the cup, and drank the water straight down. The fluids primed her brain and she looked around. The room was so dusty and dim, it couldn't possibly be someone's home.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Snippets of memory returned to her. A dirty man. A smell. A fall onto the sidewalk. A slight jingling sound…

Manny sat straight up. "My dog! Where's my dog?" The sound she remembered was the tinkle of Mycroft's tags as he ran. "Where's Mycroft? He was sick. I was taking him to the vet."

The woman observed her coolly but said nothing. Where had Manny seen her before? She was beautiful enough to be an actress or a model, but Manny didn't think she'd seen her on TV or in a magazine. Besides, what would a famous person be doing in a grungy place like this? She took in more details of the room: unfinished wood floor, dirty barred window, exposed pipes. What was she doing here? Manny swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pushed herself up. "Look, I have to-"

Her knees buckled and her vision blurred. She plopped back down. "What's the matter with me?" Manny closed her eyes and rubbed her temples until she felt a little better. When she looked up again, a man stood in the doorway.

Manny smiled. A familiar face, a kind face. Then her smile faded. A face that didn't belong here.

"Dr. Costello, what's going on? And where's Mycroft?"

The vet turned his back and looked out the only window, a barred opening facing an air shaft. "My wife, Elena, will explain."

"Surely by now you realize who we are, Ms. Manfreda?"

Manny's hands gripped the rough covers of the bed. A man and a woman working together, a person with some medical expertise, born in the late seventies. "You're the Vampire? The two of you?"

Elena smiled.

"Why are you doing this?" Manny continued. "What do you want from me?"

"We want you, and your friend Dr. Rosen, to tell the world about the Desaparecidos," Elena said. "And we have taken measures to make sure the world is finally listening."

This was it. The endgame she and Jake had been predicting the previous night. Manny turned to face the other woman.

"You poisoned my dog to get me here? How?"

Elena laughed. "Mycroft is a creature of habit. He takes a walk in the park every day with his keeper from Little Paws. A woman walking six small dogs is used to getting a lot of attention. While Frederic fussed over the others yesterday, I slipped Mycroft a little treat."

"What did you give him?" Manny demanded. "You killed my dog!"

Dr. Costello looked offended. "Certainly not. It was just a little something to upset his digestion. He didn't get enough to cause serious damage."

"But where is he?" Manny asked again.

Dr. Costello and his wife exchanged a glance. "Don't worry about your dog," Elena said. "Suffice it to say that Mycroft has brought you here in a way that is virtually untraceable. No one knows where you are, Manny. If Jake Rosen wants to save your life, and the life of Travis Heaton, he will have to tell the world about the torture and death our parents suffered."

No longer cool and elegant, Elena paced around the room in rising hysteria, her skin flushed a muddy red beneath her tan. "Jake Rosen will tell the world how my husband and I and Esteban Sandoval and so many others were ripped from our mother's wombs and given away to be raised by the very people who had killed our parents. When Lucinda Bettis and the others see how all our parents were tortured, they will finally renounce this lying life they have lived for all these years."

She grabbed Manny by the shoulders. Her eyes were wild; her nostrils flared. "They don't believe what I have told them. It's only words to them, and pictures. They have to see it lived. They have to witness how our parents were tortured. Then they will understand. You and Jake Rosen will make them understand."

The first thing Jake noticed when he entered Manny's apartment was a strong, scorched scent of Hawaiian Peabody roast left over-long on the warming plate of the coffeemaker. He looked into the tiny kitchen area. "Pot's full-she left without drinking any," he said to Kenneth and Pasquarelli, who had come with him to search for signs of Manny's whereabouts.

Kenneth looked in the other direction. "And the Murphy bed is still down. Manny always makes the bed before she leaves. Says it tricks her into believing her bedroom and her living room aren't the same room."

"All right, so we know she slept here last night and we know she left in a hurry this morning," Pasquarelli said. "Why? Where'd she go? And how did the dog wind up alone at Little Paws?"

"She never would have left him outside alone," Kenneth said for about the fifteenth time. He chewed on a long pink fingernail as his eyes darted around the tiny apartment.

"I'll get started subpoenaing her phone records," Pasquarelli said. "Get a list of her incoming and outgoing calls this morning."

"That will take hours," Jake said. "There must be some evidence here that will give us a lead sooner."

"Her closet!" Kenneth shouted. "Let's see if we can figure out what she was wearing. Then we'll know where she intended to go."

Pasquarelli raised his eyebrows. "That's one approach."

Kenneth flung open the doors of the walk-in closet, revealing neatly hanging blouses, skirts, pants, and dresses, not to mention towers of shoe boxes spaced between a floor shoe rack.

"It's hopeless," Jake said. "How can you possibly tell what's missing from all that?"

But Kenneth was down on his knees. "Look at how most of the shoes on the shoe rack are thrown around. She was searching for something." His voice grew muffled as he crawled farther into the depths of the closet.

"Eeew!" Kenneth came scuttling out backward, holding his right hand out in front of him. "There's something wet and disgusting on the floor in there."

Jake grabbed Kenneth's wrist, stared at the greenish slime under the manicured nails, then lifted them to his nose to sniff. "Dog vomit," he pronounced. "Mycroft must have been sick in the night. Manny left in a rush to take him to the vet."

Kenneth's eyes lighted up, then immediately dimmed. "But she must never have gotten there. And neither did Mycroft."

"Let's call the vet." Jake snapped his fingers. "What's his name again?"

Kenneth returned from washing his hands. "I have the number here on my phone." He clicked a few buttons and started talking. Jake would have snatched the phone away from him, but Kenneth seemed to be asking all the right questions.

"The vet said she paged him at five-fifteen this morning to say that Mycroft was vomiting," Kenneth reported. "He said he told her it sounded like he'd eaten something toxic to dogs and that she should take him to the Animal Medical Center on Eighty-sixth Street and York. They have an animal poison-control center there that's open twenty-four/seven."

"You call the Animal Medical Center to check if she ever made it there," Jake told Kenneth. "Vito and I will go down and talk to the doorman."

At 10:00 a.m., the morning rush had ended and the doorman in Manny's lobby had settled into signing for deliveries and assisting a few elderly residents and stay-at-home moms.

"Who was on duty at five this morning?" Jake asked.

"I was." The doorman yawned. "We're all working overtime this week to cover for one guy's vacation. I've been here since midnight."

"Did you see Ms. Manfreda leave with her dog?"

"Manny? No, I haven't seen her all day."

Jake stepped closer to the doorman, a good-looking guy of about thirty. He seemed like a heads-up person, but he might have been busy or distracted when Manny passed by. "This is very important," Jake said. "She was probably in a hurry. Maybe you missed her."

The doorman shook his head insistently. "Miss Manny? No way. She always says hello, no matter how fast she's moving. Not like some others in this building."

Vito took over. "Look, we know she came home last night, and she's not in her apartment now, so she had to have gone out. We're trying to trace her steps."

"I didn't say she couldn't have gone out; I just said she didn't pass me. From five to six, no one left but Legere in 12B-he swims laps every morning before work." The doorman shook his head at this insanity. "But lots of people go out the west side service door in the morning. It puts them one block closer to the E train station."

Jake shook his head. "Manny never takes the subway. And she certainly wouldn't take a sick dog on the train. Besides, that subway doesn't take you anywhere close to Eighty-sixth and York. It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe she went out the back door to go to her garage," Vito suggested.

"Her garage is that way." The doorman pointed uptown, proving he knew Manny's routines. "And when she's taking a cab, she always lets me hail it." He dangled the silver whistle around his neck. "She can whistle pretty loud, but this is louder."

Jake looked down, concentrating. Manny was sometimes impulsive, but never irrational. There had to be a good reason why she'd exited through the rear door. What was it?

Kenneth emerged from an elevator and crossed over to them. "The Animal Medical Center has no record of Manny or Mycroft being there today. Something had to have happened to her on the way there."

Jake continued to stare at the tasteful pattern of the lobby carpet. "Illogical." He looked up at Kenneth. "Mycroft should be at Little Paws now?"

"Yes."

"Call them and find out how he's doing," Jake commanded.

Kenneth did not reach for his cell phone. Instead, he put his hands on his hips and glared at Jake. As devoted as he was to Mycroft, he was more devoted to Manny, and he clearly thought they should be focusing their efforts on the owner, not the pet.

"I want to know just how sick the dog is," Jake explained as he walked toward the elevator. "Maybe Manny changed her mind about taking him to the Animal Medical Center."

"Why are you going back up to the apartment?" Vito asked.

"I want a sample of the vomit."

"Why?" Manny asked.

Dr. Costello had reentered the room and now he carried a gun. Earlier, he'd acted nervous, almost embarrassed, but the weapon seemed to impart confidence.

He pointed the gun at Manny and waved her against the wall. "She's wearing pants. That's not ideal," he said to his wife.

Elena eyed Manny up and down. "She's bigger than I am, but I'll find something that will work."

Bitch. Manny watched her leave the room.

"Why are you doing this?" she repeated to the vet. "You've spent your whole life taking care of sick, helpless animals. How can you hurt people like this?"

"I haven't hurt any people," he said. "Amanda Hogaarth and Raymond Fortes were lower than the lowest cockroach that crawls across this floor." He spit in the dust at his feet. "They used their medical training to inflict more pain than the stupid soldiers and police could have dreamed up on their own. For that, they deserved what they got."

Manny wasn't about to argue the negative value of vigilantism with a man holding a gun on her. Still, she couldn't resist probing more. "What about Boo Hravek and Deanie Slade? They have no connection to Argentina."

"Boo Hravek was a thug who sold drugs and beat people up for gangsters. We can't mourn his death." He hesitated. "The girl, Deanie, well… I didn't really want to leave her like that. But Elena insisted. Said it was necessary to send a message."

Elena insisted. Costello had taken over the animal hospital when Mycroft's previous vet moved out of state. He had immediately impressed her as a strong, confident man, but she'd known strong men who'd acted against their better judgment to please their wives. Usually, it took the form of buying a bigger house than they knew they could afford, or having another child they really weren't prepared for. But torturing an innocent girl because your wife insisted? Man, that was some screwed-up relationship.

Elena returned at that moment carrying a flowered sundress. She tossed it at Manny. "Put this on."

"Why? Why do I have to change clothes?"

"You ask too many questions." Dr. Costello pointed the gun at her heart. "Just do as you're told."

Reluctantly, Manny took off her jeans, cashmere T-shirt, and Golden Goose boots and put on the dress. It was sleeveless and well above her knees, made of some thin, slippery fabric. She felt cold, inside and out.

"Turn around," Elena said. She tied Manny's hands behind her back. Then she tied her ankles together. "Go get him," she said to her husband.

Manny noticed that the rope that bound her was quite loose. She knew damn well from what the Costellos had done to Deanie Slade that they were capable of better work. The loose ropes made her uneasy.

A few moments later, the door opened and Dr. Costello returned. He was not alone.

"Travis!" Relief at seeing her client again momentarily buoyed Manny's spirits. At least he was still alive, but he looked terrible. Always thin, his bones now protruded at sharp angles. His sunken eyes peered at her from under matted, greasy hair.

He smiled slightly and shuffled over to her side. What can you say in a situation like this? "Good to see you. How've you been?"

Manny's dread returned as she watched the vet loosely tie Travis. Even if she couldn't save herself, she had to save Travis. She didn't discern an iota of compassion in Elena, but Dr. Costello was different. He had treated Mycroft so tenderly; surely he wouldn't want to hurt a kid. "Travis is just an innocent child," she reminded Costello. "Paco was the person you intended to implicate in that bombing."

"Yes, we wanted his parents to know the pain of having a child imprisoned unjustly," Elena replied before her husband could. "Unfortunately, that part of our plan didn't work out perfectly. Even in this country, the Sandovals are above the law."

"So why punish Travis? Keep me, but let him go."

Dr. Costello turned to his wife. "Please, we could-"

"No!" Elena grabbed her husband's upper arms. She was nearly as tall as he, and she held her face inches from his. Manny could see her chest heaving as she harangued her husband. "You are such a coward. You turn whatever way the wind blows, just like our countrymen who cooperated with the junta. I might have known that when it came to the end, you would be too timid to act."

Impugning his masculinity, the oldest trick in the book. Surely Costello wouldn't fall for it. But no, Manny saw the doctor narrow his eyes, thrust out his chin. That's why it was the oldest trick, because it worked so predictably.

Manny knew she was losing him, but she wouldn't stop trying. "Dr. Costello, stop and think! It's not cowardly to protect the innocent. How can hurting a defenseless teenager ever be justified? Don't sink to the same level as the soldiers who tortured your parents. You're better than that."

Elena whirled around. "Shut up, you pampered American bitch! You know nothing about suffering, nothing. I have suffered." Her voice was raw, her breathing like a runner's at the end of a hard-fought race. "I will decide what is justified."

Manny watched Costello put his arm around his wife's shoulders and kiss the top of her head. She relaxed into his embrace.

Manny had no ally now.

"Raisins," Jake said, looking up from his lab table. "As few as seven raisins can cause kidney failure and even kill a little dog."

"Must've been that Vietnamese food Mycroft shared with us last night," Sam replied. "The Vampire must've been watching Manny's apartment, just waiting for a good opportunity to grab her. To see her leave alone at five in the morning-I bet he couldn't believe his luck."

Jake shook his head. "The Vampire doesn't rely on luck. This was planned."

"But how could he know Mycroft would get sick from eating Vietnamese food?"

"He didn't. I called the Saigon Sunset. There's no raisins in their spring rolls, just a little scallion. I found four partially digested raisins in Mycroft's vomit; someone must have known he is a food slut. Probably gobbled them in a millisecond. Someone did this on purpose."

Sam looked down at the bundle of red fur reclining on a pallet of morgue sheets next to Jake's desk. "Manny would never let a stranger give Mycroft food. How did the Vampire get close enough to the dog to do this? The only time he's away from her is when he's at-"

"Little Paws," Jake concluded. "I'm speculating the Vampire waylaid the group of dogs and did this to Mycroft during one of his walks in the park."

"So that means the dog walker has seen the Vampire. Can't she describe him?" Sam asked.

"According to Sheila, the owner, the walkers are approached all the time. Even jaded New Yorkers get a kick out of seeing six or eight cute little dogs romping together. And Sheila encourages the dog walkers to talk to people-that's how she brings in new customers. The unemployed actress walking Mycroft yesterday passed out Little Paws business cards to four or five people. None of them made an impression on her."

Sam knelt and stroked Mycroft's head. "I wish you could talk, buddy. Tell us who grabbed Manny and how you made it back to Little Paws."

The dog lifted his head weakly and his tail twitched in what passed for a wag.

"Do you think he's really okay now, Jake?" Sam asked. "He still seems awfully listless. Kenneth took him over to the Animal Medical Center and they gave him the all clear. Kenneth wanted to take him to Dr. Costello, too, but he couldn't get-"

Jake's head snapped up from his microscope. He felt a prickle run across the back of his neck as the piloerector muscles in his skin contracted. "What did you say?"

"I said that Mycroft still doesn't seem himself. Maybe we should take him to Dr. Costello, his regular vet."

"Costello? Costello is the name of Manny's vet?"

"Yeah, the new guy. The one that Kenneth thinks is so hot. Why?"

Jake swung around to face his computer, his fingers wildly tapping the keys. "Nixon's coffee mug. Through a subpoena on the eBay seller, we tracked down the name of the seller. The seller sent me an e-mail with the info. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I hadn't yet tracked it down when Manny disappeared." A final mouse click and Jake leaned forward to squint at the screen. "The buyer is one Elena Costello. The billing address on her credit card is in Manhattan. This can't be a coincidence."

Picking up on his brother's excitement, Sam asked, "Where in Manhattan-uptown or downtown from Manny's place?"

"The fifties, midtown, near her. That could explain why she went out the back door of her building. Dr. Costello claims he told Manny to take Mycroft to the Animal Medical Center uptown, but he must really have told her to bring the dog to him."

"Is there anything else the eBay seller revealed?" Sam asked.

"It says the mug was shipped to a PO Box in Paterson, New Jersey," Jake continued. "The last known address for Freak, the guy who set the bomb, the guy who has a prior for organizing dog fights, was in Paterson. Pasquarelli tried to locate him, but none of his street friends are talking."

Sam jumped up. "I'll find him."

"I should have seen this earlier," Jake said. "The expertise in drawing blood, the rats, what happened to Mycroft-it all points to a veterinarian."

"No time for recriminations, Jake. You put the police on the Costellos' trail. I'm going to Paterson."

Jake's phone rang. He signaled his brother to wait, but Sam was already out the door.

"All right." Dr. Costello handed a remote-control device to his wife. "Are you ready?"

Elena smiled and nodded. Walking to the far corner of the room, she pressed a few buttons while her husband watched the screen of a laptop. Snapping her fingers to get Manny's and Travis's attention, she pointed above her head to a tiny camera by the ceiling. "Smile, you two. You're on Candid Camera. Or candid Web cam, I should say."

Manny looked up at the glass eye focused on her. She'd known military families who used Web cams to let the soldier mom or dad witness their kids' lives in real time. And she'd heard of live porn distributed over the Internet. But what exactly would be gained by showing her and Travis tied up in this otherwise-empty room? Stress, exhaustion, and ether had combined to dull Manny's mental reflexes. She tried to use her imagination to sort things out, but she came up blank.

She looked over at Travis, who stared listlessly up at the camera, then hung his head and coughed hoarsely. He'd been with the Costellos for days now, and he'd lost all his defiance, all his anger. What had they done to replace his youthful passion with this weary passivity? Travis had accepted his status as victim. Would she?

"Is it working?" Elena asked.

Dr. Costello tilted the laptop so his wife could see. A delighted smile spread across her face. Then the vet turned the laptop toward Manny and Travis.

Manny wouldn't have recognized the haggard red-haired woman on the screen except that she was sitting next to Travis, so it had to be her. Instinctively, she lifted her hand to smooth her wild hair. The woman on the screen's hand went up, too. Manny dropped her hand; the screen hand dropped. Creepy.

"What do you think?" Elena asked.

Manny sat stoically. She refused to perform.

"Come now, smile. Soon you'll be a star. Because we've sent an e-mail from the Vampire to every news outlet in the city, so that they can watch what's about to unfold here. And, of course, we'll ask your friend Dr. Rosen to tune in."

"What's about to unfold?" Manny asked.

"You'll see. The whole world will see. Finally."

"Lookin' for Freak."

Sam had circled Paterson in Jake's car, studying the clusters of young men gathered on certain corners. Although it was the middle of the day during the beginning of a work week, Paterson didn't lack for guys with no time clock to punch. After careful observation, Sam selected the group he would least like to meet in a dark alley, parked, and strolled up to them.

"Lookin' to get me a dog," Sam elaborated after his opening gambit elicited no response. "Friend of mine said Freak's the man to see about that."

The men shifted, dropping their hips and rolling their shoulders. The tallest man stared at Sam. Sam stared back. This lasted a good forty-five seconds. When Sam didn't wet his pants in fear, the big guy broke into a grin, revealing four shiny gold teeth.

"Nice grille," Sam said. "I think you must be the guy the fellas over on Fifteenth Street told me to look for."

This cracked them up. Sam smiled, too, happy to have brought a little sunshine into their lives.

"Freak ain't been around lately," the big guy finally said through his laughter.

"Well, like I said, it's a dog I want. Who takes care of his dogs when he's gone?"

The big man looked Sam up and down, trying to determine his line of work. Suburban drug dealer? Pimp? Pornographer? "You can't use his dogs for protection, man," he advised. "They fightin' dogs-too mean for much else. Ain't nobody but Freak can handle 'em."

"But Freak's not around. Who's taking care of the dogs?"

"Pauly feeds 'em. But he can't help you." The big guy touched his forehead. "He's not all there, know what'm sayin'?"

"Got it. Okay, then. Be seein' ya."

Sam got back in his car, slipped on his sport coat, and drove two blocks to the Mother of Mercy Soup Kitchen. He entered the crowded dining room, scanned the crowd, and walked purposefully toward a stocky middle-aged woman with a wooden cross on a leather string around her neck.

"Good afternoon, Sister." Sam beamed. "I'm looking for a young man named Pauly." He dropped his voice. "A little developmentally delayed? But I understand he's a hard worker, and I was hoping I could hire him for a few odd jobs around my warehouse over on Philips Street."

The nun clasped her hands in delight. "Ah, the Lord always provides! Pauly was just here, hoping for a loan to tide him over until his disability check arrives. I'm sure he'd love the opportunity to work, Mr.-"

"Pettengil," Sam said, lying without hesitation. "Where can I find him?"

"Right down the street. He lives above the bodega."

Sam felt a momentary twinge of guilt for having hoodwinked a nun, but it evaporated once he met Pauly. Not only was the young man happy to talk to Sam about his cousin Freak and the dogs, but also he immediately sought Sam's advice.

"Don't know what I'm gonna do. Freak said two days, watch 'em two days. But it's been five-no, six-no, five-five days he's gone." Sam trotted to keep up as the young man walked hyperkinetically along the dingy street. "Runnin' outta food, yes I am. And I ain't got money to buy more. Gotta give 'em meat, that's what Freak says. No dog chow, nope. Only meat."

Sam nodded sympathetically. Pauly didn't require much in the way of dialogue. When he finally got a chance to get a word in, Sam asked, "Where is Freak anyway?"

"Don't know. Bizness, he got bizness." They had reached a dilapidated house, one of only three still standing on the block. A tall board-on-board fence, sturdier than the building it was attached to, enclosed the small backyard. Pulling out a key, Pauly unfastened a thick padlock and pushed the gate as far as he could-about a foot. He slipped through the narrow opening, followed by Sam.

Recoiling from a tremendous volley of ferocious barking, Sam instinctively moved to duck back through the gate. But Pauly shuffled forward and Sam realized the dogs-at least twenty pit bulls-were all caged. They snapped and snarled, their small eyes rolling in fury, their powerful jaws seeking something, anything, to clamp onto. Pauly had been feeding them, but he obviously hadn't been taking care of any of their other needs. The dogs were covered in their own filth and some had bloodied their paws trying to escape their small pens.

The stench, the noise, the rage-it all reminded Sam of a tour he'd once taken of a maximum-security prison in Texas. There, too, the inmates had hurled themselves against the bars, angered beyond reason by the sight of a free man.

Sam looked at these canine prisoners and knew there wasn't much he could do other than call the ASPCA and hope the dogs could be tended to humanely. He gripped the young man's shoulder. "Come on, Pauly-we need to call for some help. You can't keep taking care of these dogs on your own. It's not safe."

Pauly looked uncertain. "Freak said he'd pay me five dollars. If I don't do my job, I won't get paid."

Sam pulled a ten from his wallet. "You did a good job, Pauly. Let's get out of here."

Pauly's eyes lighted up. "Maybe you're right. It sure does stink in here."

Just then, a breeze blew through, stirring the fumes from the uncleaned cages. Sam coughed as he moved toward the gate, then stopped. The powerful smell of dog waste permeated the air, but under that was another smell, much worse, just as distinctive.

"Wait for me outside, Pauly." Sam gave the kid a gentle shove, then crossed the yard to a garden shed in the corner. Covering his face with a handkerchief, he quickly yanked open the door.

What had once been a thin man, wearing a baseball cap with a ponytail extending out the back of the hat, slid out. Sam thought he saw a ghost-his ghost. Instead what he was looking at was the real killer of Boo Havrek.

The dogs began to howl.

The door opened once more and the Costellos returned. Between them, they pushed a large cage on wheels.

They stood aside. Travis screamed.

"He's a little cranky. He hasn't eaten," Elena said.

Manny looked into the eyes of an abused, angry, and restless pit bull. It stared back, its small gray eyes as flat and emotionless as a shark's. Hard to believe that this creature was from the same species as Mycroft. Now Manny understood the plan. She and Travis would be left alone and unprotected to be tortured by this animal while people watched on the Web cam, powerless to help them.

"Wait!" Manny screamed. "You can't leave us here with that, that… We've never done anything to hurt you. I would have helped you with your cause if you had just come to me and asked."

"I'm sorry that you and Travis have to suffer," Dr. Costello said. He looked sad. The nervousness had returned. "So often, the innocent do."

Manny sensed his weakness. Elena was ferocious, but Manny felt she could prevail with Dr. Costello. "We can still work this out," Manny pleaded. "I'll help you file a lawsuit against the government."

"The time for that is long past." Elena waved her hand while groaning in disgust. "To get what, lip service-skeleton justice? This is the only way. The right way."

Elena stepped up to the cage and checked what appeared to be a timer attached to the door. The white-and-brown dog lunged at her hand, but she didn't react. "He's not that big. Freak said he wasn't a great fighter. He won't kill Manny and Travis, just as the dogs they used on our parents didn't kill them. These two can survive the bites. This was our plan. To show the world the torture our parents suffered."

Dr. Costello nodded. Manny couldn't be sure if he was agreeing or convincing himself.

"This is wrong," Manny said, trying one last time to convince him. "This isn't justice; it's pure cruelty. It's not what your parents would want to avenge them."

"You can't know that." Elena's voice, low and steady now, chilled Manny more than her screaming had. "You don't know our parents. We never knew them. They're nothing more than decaying flesh and bones to us. But we have vowed to keep their souls alive for them, for us, and for all others like us. You preach justice. Can you guarantee you could get us true justice, Ms. Manfreda?"

Manny averted her eyes. She had no answer.

"We will do this. The others want to forget about the Dirty War, pretend it never happened. We will finally make the world see."

"The Costellos' apartment and the veterinary office are both empty," Pasquarelli reported by phone. "No one's seen them since yesterday afternoon. We're watching all three airports and the train stations."

Jake nodded without much interest. He knew the Costellos wouldn't try to escape before they carried out their final plan, whatever it was. Finding them mattered to him only if it led to finding Manny… alive. "Any information they left behind to indicate where they're holding Manny and Travis?"

"Our computer guys are searching the office computer, but so far it seems to be strictly business. At home, it looks like they used a laptop, which they must've taken with them. There was some ash residue in the kitchen sink, and the smoke alarm was disconnected-they probably burned some papers before they left."

Meticulous. He hadn't expected anything less. Elena Costello's purchase of the Nixon coffee mug using her own name was the only mistake they'd made so far. Any forensic psychiatrist would say it was her way of getting caught-purposely. So that the world would know of her accomplishments, and she would be glorified. The twenty-first-century version of Jack the Ripper. But implicating Travis instead of Paco in the bombing was a more mundane blunder. But they'd made that error work to their advantage, milked it for even more publicity. As his mentor used to say, the hallmark of a professional lay not in never taking a misstep, but in knowing how to recover from it. Jake knew he couldn't count on the Costellos to trip themselves; he would have to trap them.

As soon as he hung up with Vito, the phone rang again. The caller ID indicated it was Sam, who was obviously reporting in from Paterson.

"Hi-what've you got?" Jake said.

"I found Freak."

"Already? Fantastic!"

"Not so fantastic for him. He's dead," Sam said.

Jake's grip on the phone tightened. The Costellos were tying up every loose end, eliminating every person who might intentionally or unintentionally disrupt their plan. Manny seemed to be part of their plan. But when they were done with her, what then? "What happened to him?"

"Shot through the back of the head, apparently while he was getting food for his dogs out of this shed. There's blood and brain matter everywhere."

"Where are you? What's all that noise?"

Jake listened as his brother described the house in Paterson and the condition of the dogs. "The local police are here. We're waiting for Animal Control and the morgue meat wagon to arrive," Sam said.

"Don't let them move the body," Jake said, already out of his chair. "I want to see it in situ."

"But the Passaic County ME will be handling this case," Sam said.

"I don't care who has jurisdiction. Just don't let them move the body until I get there." As Jake swiveled his chair to leave, the phone rang again. Caller ID blocked-a Pederson trademark. Damn it-he had to take this call.

Elena knelt at Manny's feet and started untying her legs. A surge of hope energized Manny. If they were to be moved, she might have an opportunity to escape. Then Manny realized what was really going on and the hope fizzled out. Elena wanted them to be able to run from the dog-it would make for a better show.

Manny watched Elena work and considered her options. She could wait until Elena was untying Travis, then kick her hard in the head. If she could knock Elena unconscious, she might stand a chance of reasoning with Dr. Costello. It was a long shot, but-

A sensation of being watched made Manny look up. Dr. Costello had his gun trained on her. Amazing how that small black object drained the strength from her legs.

With Travis's feet untied, Elena pulled out a cell phone and dialed. "Dr. Rosen? Are you sitting in front of your computer?"

Manny could feel her heart rate kick up a notch. To hear Jake's name spoken, to know he was on the other end of that phone. "Jake!" she screamed.

Elena waved at her in annoyance, like a mother hushing her clamoring children. "Never mind who this is," she said into the phone. "You need to go to this Web site: www.the-disappeared-dot-com. You will be interested in what you see there."

Manny looked up at the camera. Could Jake see her now? Hear her?

"Dr. Rosen?" Elena coughed, then continued. "Do you see what I see? Good. Then you also see the list of other people you must get to tune into this Web site, starting with Lucinda Bettis and the others, as well as the Sandovals. And expect your phone to start ringing. Because we've sent an e-mail from the Vampire to every news outlet in the city. And we've given your phone number as the contact person. Only you can explain why this is happening."

Elena paused for a moment as Jake responded to her, careful to stay out of range of the camera. "Well, I think you understand why I can't tell you where they are, Dr. Rosen. But you're a clever man. That's why we chose you. I'm sure you'll rescue them… eventually."

Then Elena grabbed her husband by the arm and pulled him out of the room.

The door to safety slammed shut.

They were alone with the pit bull.

Jake cradled the phone to his ear, all the while staring at his computer screen. This must be what it's like to suffer from visual agnosia, that rare condition in which your visual acuity is perfectly good but you can't make sense of what you're seeing.

He had first thought the voice directing him to this Web site was pulling a hoax, but he had checked it out just to be safe. And now, instead of the blank screen or porn site he had expected, he saw with horrifying clarity the woman he loved and her client, hands tied behind them, in an empty room with a large cage that had some kind of animal in it.

And this was apparently a live feed. When Manny shook her head on the screen, that meant that at the very same moment she was shaking her head in a room where he could see her but not find her. When she had looked up and stared directly into the camera, straight into his eyes, her terror had been as immediate as if she were sitting across the desk from him. His heart felt crushed by it. He slammed down the phone as if that would end Manny's fear.

Jake couldn't bear to look at Manny and couldn't bear to look away. But there were words on the screen, too, running in a column beside the streaming video. He dragged his eyes there to read the text. As he read, the bile rose in the back of his throat. The Vampire was planning on torturing Manny and Travis and broadcasting this live over the Internet for all the world to see. And this monster expected him to participate in the spectacle, provide the color commentary for an act of madness. Well, forget that.

He'd see to it that this live feed was blocked and deprive the Vampire of the publicity he craved. He'd shut down this Web site, and then he'd find Manny. Jake reached for his phone again, but before he could lift the receiver, it rang.

It was the same woman. "Hello, Dr. Rosen. By now you understand what is happening here."

"I understand, and I'm not participating in your madness."

"Don't make that decision until you know all the ramifications, Doctor."

A knot of dread tightened in Jake's gut. "What do you mean?"

"You have one hour in which to contact each of the Vampire's victims. Tell them to log on to the site. Your friend the detective can help you with all the phone numbers you need. Once there, they must click the 'Contact' button to send an e-mail that verifies their presence. Do the same for the Sandoval family. Once everyone is watching, the show begins."

"And if I don't?"

"Then Ms. Manfreda and Travis Heaton will be executed with a single shot to the head before your eyes. You have sixty minutes from the end of this call."

The phone clicked off.

Manny could see Travis's arms trembling, his eyes wide with fear. He went into another spasm of coughing. Her own throat was raw and she felt like crying, too, but she couldn't. She had to remain calm, make a plan. Hysteria wouldn't help them.

Manny glanced up at the camera. Jake was watching, but so was Elena. Even if she couldn't think her way out of this mess, Manny wouldn't give that woman the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart.

Could Jake see what was in the cage? Did he know what was happening here? Or would he not understand until the timer released the door and the dog charged out? She looked down at her bare legs and arms. Now she understood why Elena had made her wear this ugly dress. She was totally exposed, totally vulnerable.

"What are we going to do?" Travis asked in a soft voice. "Are we just going to stand here and wait for the door to open?"

"Don't panic. That's the most important thing." Manny tried to speak with confidence, but inside she was shaking. Being attacked by an animal, eaten alive. It was as if Dr. Costello had sensed her worst fear. Couldn't he have chosen something else to make his point?

She looked around the room. Surely the door must be locked, and there was only the one window, heavily barred. And absolutely nothing to use as a weapon. Except maybe the cage itself. Could they use it to bludgeon the creature, even if they couldn't force it back inside? Did she have it in her to kill a dog, even one that was trying to kill her? In a way, the dog was a victim, too. Some say pit bulls aren't inherently vicious. But there was no mistaking that this dog had been crossbred to be bigger, and trained to kill. It had been mistreated and punished from birth to turn it into a crazed fighter. She felt sorry for it, but she couldn't undo the damage.

"Why did they untie our legs but not our hands?" Travis asked.

"They want us to be able to run from that thing, even though there's no place to hide, no way to escape. It'll provide more excitement." Manny twisted her hands. The rope was definitely loose. It was as if they had been tied to hold them still just long enough for the Costellos to get away and the cage to open. Everything had been planned for maximum drama.

"If we could get these ropes off quickly, we might be able to use them to tie the cage shut before the timer springs the lock." Manny's voice sounded choked and uneven to her own ears, like it had years ago at her first trial. What she wouldn't give now to have her terror inspired by a two-hundred-pound man in black robes instead of an eighty-pound dog with teeth so big, they jutted out of its mouth.

She'd seen bigger dogs, but she'd never seen an angrier one. Lean and muscular, the dog circled endlessly in the cage. It probably hadn't been out in days. Mycroft went bonkers whenever he was cooped up on a long car trip. Imagine what this much bigger breed, which craved exercise as much as food and water, must be feeling. It wanted out, and when it got out, nothing would stop it from venting its manic energy.

The look on the dog's face drove every rational thought out of Manny's mind.

"Do you think we can gang up on it?" Travis asked.

Manny glanced over at him, and for a terrible, selfish moment she was glad that Dr. Costello hadn't taken her plea seriously and released the boy. A terrified, weakened kid wasn't going to offer much defense, but it was reassuring not to be facing this thing alone.

Manny thought about what Travis had said. "If one of us can distract him, the other might be able to subdue him. But whatever we do, we can't run. Running will just incite his instinct to hunt."

"So if we just stay still, it'll leave us alone?"

Travis sounded pathetically hopeful, the way she used to when she begged her father to promise lightning could never strike their house. Just say it and make it so, Daddy.

Her father used to tell the reassuring lie. Manny couldn't. "Let's work on getting our hands untied."

They backed up to each other and Manny worked by touch to pick open Travis's bindings. As she struggled, they talked.

"Why did you circumvent your electronic bracelet, Travis? Where did you go when you left your apartment?"

"I went to meet Paco. We weren't supposed to talk at school or phone each other, but I knew he had information he needed to tell me. I managed to pass him a note at school and told him where to meet me-a Laundromat down the block. I never made it there. Elena and Frederic grabbed me."

"Why did they want you?"

"From what I could figure out, they were still working out the details of the Webcam." Travis looked up at the camera lens, which captured their every move. "I didn't understand what they were planning, but I heard the word camera over and over again. I think they were afraid that if the police and the FBI kept interrogating me, they'd figure out the bombing was linked to the Vampire too soon. They had to buy time until they got this"-he gestured to the cage-"set up."

"I wish you hadn't been so loyal to Paco, Travis. I could have helped you if you'd told me the whole truth." Travis let out a quiet sob, and Manny regretted her words. This was no time for recriminations. "How many minutes have passed?" she asked as she unraveled another knot.

"About five, I think."

They paused in their conversation. The only sound was the steady tick of the timer.

And the click of the pacing dog's sharpened nails.

With the help of the police and the FBI, Jake met the Vampire's demands. The audience was tuned in. Manny and Travis would not be executed.

Vito had also mobilized a crew of computer geeks to track the transmission and see who owned the Web site, but Jake had little hope that they would be able to work fast enough to do Manny any good. Anyone clever enough to come up with this scheme would know how to cover his electronic tracks. The experts might be able to suss him out eventually, but they didn't have days to rescue Manny and Travis; they had only minutes.

Jake had never felt so helpless, so close to panic. He couldn't let fear get the upper hand, or he would be of no use to Manny whatsoever. He used the only resource available to steady himself: scientific method.

He called Sam and updated him. "I can't leave my office and go to Paterson now. I need you to be my eyes and hands. That body may contain evidence that will help us find Manny."

"What do you want me to do?" Sam asked.

Jake felt a swell of gratitude for his brother. They could sit around for hours arguing for sport, but in a crisis, Sam followed orders without question. "Look at his clothes and skin. Describe any foreign material you see there."

"Well, he's wearing destruction jeans and a T-shirt, and the jeans have a lot of white dust on them from the knees down. Like he knelt in something, or walked through it."

"Collect some of that and bring it back to me."

"Jake, I don't happen to have sterile specimen-collection envelopes on me."

"Improvise. Scrape it onto a clean sheet of paper and fold it up. It doesn't have to be sterile."

"Okay, I'm using a receipt from my pocket. Got a sample. What else?"

"Take a crisp dollar bill and use the edge to scrape out some of the material from under his nails," Jake directed.

"Done. That it?"

Jake sighed. That body might be a treasure trove of information, but he could use only what could be analyzed quickly. "Yes. Get back over to my office as fast as possible."

Knowing that the Sandovals and the Vampire's other victims were also watching, Jake sat in front of his computer screen and waited to see what would happen next. He clung to the hope that, having their undivided attention, the Vampire might be satisfied with just delivering a message.

Manny was untying Travis's hands. He wished she would have had the kid untie her first; she would be most useful free. He could hear the low murmur of their voices, but the audio quality was poor. He figured the microphone must not be near them. He wished he could shout encouragement or directions, but of course they could not hear him.

He studied the narrow field of vision displayed by the camera, looking for clues. He could see one large, dirty window, covered with a heavy grille. An old unvarnished wood floor. No furniture.

Manny was still working on freeing Travis's hands. Her work was interrupted when the boy's shoulders hunched, his torso shook, and his face turned red. He was coughing hard, although the sound reached Jake as a distant rustle.

Suddenly, a loud sound filled his office. Harsh, piercing, violent. Jake jumped and saw Manny and Travis do the same. The dog had barked. The microphone was on his collar. So even if the dog and his prey moved out of the camera's range, the witnesses would always be able to hear the barks and growls of his attack. And the screams of his victims.

He watched as Manny's and Travis's heads turned.

Manny looked directly into the camera. Her mouth was open, too. He didn't need the audio to know what she was yelling.

"Jake!"

"What do you see?"

Jake's head hunched over his microscope. He could hear the impatience in his brother's voice, but he needed to study this sample carefully He sought certainty, not conjecture.

"There are two types of fibers in the dust you found on Freak's body. One has a very distinctive shape-thin and needlelike." Jake looked up. "It's asbestos, and it's in this sample in a very high concentration."

"And the other fiber?" Sam asked.

"Cotton. Simple cotton."

"I don't see how that helps us," Sam said. "We don't know that Freak picked it up from the place where Travis and Manny are being held."

"True, we can't be certain. But Freak was the dog handler. And a pit bull is there with Manny, so it stands to reason Freak took it there. I'm sure he was once where Manny is now."

"Yes, but he may have picked up the dust elsewhere," Sam argued.

"I would be more willing to accept that if it weren't for the fact that Travis has been coughing steadily since he appeared on camera. Elena Costello also coughed when she spoke to me on the phone. Asbestos is tremendously irritating to the lungs. In these concentrations, the exposure would be enough to provoke coughing in a day or less."

Sam twisted a pencil in his long fingers. The computer terminal had been angled so both men could watch the screen, but neither could bear to keep their eyes on it for long. Manny still struggled with Travis's bindings. The dog had barked twice more.

"Okay, so they're in a place contaminated by asbestos. There must be thousands of locations in metro New York that fill that bill. Asbestos was a commonly used building material-it's in old linoleum, insulation, all kinds of stuff. Seems like every time a building gets remodeled, they have to call in the guys in the white moon suits to clean it up."

"Yes, but these fibers aren't from linoleum or insulation," Jake said. "There are no other building materials mixed in. Just asbestos and cotton."

"What's the significance of that?"

Jake crossed to another computer. "Time for a little research."

"I'll help," Sam offered.

Jake eyed him. Sam had been notorious for completing term papers in a hurry by making up any missing information.

"Don't look at me like that. I want to help. It'll go faster with two."

"Okay, search 'asbestos in clothing.' Let's see what we come up with."

Manny finally freed Travis of his ropes.

"Wow, thanks. Now let me untie you."

Manny hesitated. "Maybe it would be better if you used your piece of rope to tie the cage shut before you untie me."

Slowly, Travis bent to pick up the short piece of rope. He took two steps toward the cage, as if he were fighting against a strong gravitational pull from the opposite direction.

The dog barked and flung himself against the metal bars.

Travis leaped back.

"Never mind," Manny said. "Untie me quick and I'll go." As Travis untied her, Manny studied the bars on the cage, wondering if she could sprint across, thread the rope through the bars, and tie it tightly enough to hold that powerful beast in once the lock released.

Hours-days-seemed to have passed in getting themselves untied. She had no idea how much time she had left until the lock sprang open, or if she could work on the bars while keeping her fingers away from those jagged teeth.

When the rope finally fell off her wrists, Manny grabbed it and ran straight at the cage. She slid to her knees in front of it, inches away from the dog's rolling eyes and snapping jaws. He barked furiously, lunging so hard at her against the bars that the entire cage rocked.

Manny fumbled with the rope. She had acted so quickly, she didn't have time to notice that her arms and fingers were numb from being tied behind her for so long. Clumsily, she threaded the short length of rope through the bars. The dog snapped at her fingers, but she pulled them back in time. The rope dropped and she started again.

"Hurry!" Travis called to her.

Not helpful. Really not helpful at all. The dog continued barking, high, staccato yelps of fury and impatience. Every time he barked, Manny flinched reflexively, and the tying process stalled again. Finally, she got one knot tied, and she set about threading the rope through the cage again to reinforce her work.

Ting.

Such an innocuous sound, like playing the highest note on a piano. The lock clicked and released. The dog lunged against the cage. The door popped open partway. Manny slammed it shut and frantically tried to tie the second knot.

The dog reared back and hurled his broad chest against the front of the cage. The door flew open, and the rope came free in Manny's hand. The dog bounded right over her, heading straight for Travis.

Jake could barely register the words coming into his ear through the phone, because his eyes were mesmerized by the action on the computer screen. The dog had Travis cornered.

The director of the police K-o unit was on the line, claiming the greatest danger lay in struggling against the dog. Once his teeth clamped down, nothing short of death would get him to release. Struggle would provoke his fighting instinct. He would attack, biting and tearing, until his prey was vanquished. Playing dead might cause him to lose interest.

And then what? Move on to his next victim-Manny.

Normally, Jake found strength in knowledge, but what good did knowing this do? He couldn't get the information to the people who needed it.

Jake slammed the phone down and his eyes returned to the computer screen. What the hell was Manny doing? She was running toward the dog. Oh God-she was trying to save Travis. • • • Manny scrambled to get her feet under her, rubbing the long scratch on her leg where the dog's nails had dug into her flesh as it bounded out of the cage. Across the room, Travis pressed himself against the wall, in the vain hope the plaster might open up behind him.

The dog reached the boy in five strides and immediately went up on its hind legs. Instinctively, it sought Travis's throat, but it wasn't tall enough and snapped instead at the elbows Travis had raised to protect himself.

Manny reacted as she always had when a bully terrorized someone small and defenseless. She ran up and kicked the dog's rear hard, just as she had once kicked Johnnie Appleton in the ass when he was pounding little Barry Neufeld on the playground.

The dog swiveled and snapped at her, but Manny was prepared now that she knew how fast the thing could move. She tore across the room toward the one spot that offered a chance of refuge-the window with its metal grille.

She managed to climb up on it just as she used to scale the chain-link fence around the town pool when she was a kid. The dog arrived, enraged that she was just out of his reach. The metal cut into her fingers. She couldn't hang here like Spider-Man for long.

She looked down. The dog lay right beneath her, its eyes riveted on her legs. It exuded some prehistoric evil. But it wasn't evil; it operated on pure Darwinian survival instinct. Kill or be killed.

Not reassuring.

"Travis, get up slowly and get both pieces of rope. Tie them together. Maybe it'll be enough for us to use to subdue him."

But Travis didn't answer. He sat against the far wall, shaking.

Manny was in this alone.

"What about this?"

Sam had been calling out random bits of asbestos-related information while Jake sat transfixed by Manny's predicament. He was astonished and impressed that she had managed to distract the dog from Travis. Her maneuver, whatever it was, had been out of the camera's range. All he'd heard was screaming, growling, a thump, and a yelp. Then Manny appeared, streaking across the room and climbing up that metal window grille. His joy at seeing her safe didn't last long. The opening in the window grille wasn't big; her toes kept slipping out. Manny was supporting most of her weight with her arms, and he knew her upper-body strength wasn't that great. Inevitably, she would fall off that grille, right onto the waiting dog.

"Jake, does that sound likely?" Sam asked.

"Huh? Say it again."

"I really might be onto something here. Asbestos was used in the manufacture of fire-retardant work clothes up until the 1960s. Then they started to realize that wearing asbestos next to your skin might be more dangerous than getting burned, so they switched to chemical retardants and other materials."

"Uhm…" Manny's toes slipped off the grille and she flailed for a moment, then pulled herself back up.

"Jake, seriously, listen. There's an old factory in West New York called Fireproof Apparel. Here's a story in the Business section of the Times: 'Redevelopment of West New York Waterfront Stalled by Fireproof Apparel.' It turns out the factory is so contaminated, they're afraid to tear it down or remodel it because of the dust it will release. So it's been abandoned for years. According to the article, even homeless people won't squat there because it makes them cough."

For the first time in ten minutes, Jake's eyes turned away from the live streaming video. "West New York is near Hoboken and Club Epoch," he said.

"Exactly. And not far from Paterson. And look at this picture. The building's big enough that no one would hear them, or the dog. And look at the windows."

"All covered with metal grillwork." He grabbed the phone. "Vito can have guys over there in two minutes."

Manny couldn't hang on much longer.

The sharp edges of the grille cut into her fingers. She could have borne that pain if not for the terrible ache in her shoulders and biceps. Somewhere around age thirteen she'd lost her tomboy sinew, and it wasn't coming back. She pumped only enough iron to look good in a strapless dress, not to support her entire body weight for what seemed like hours.

She needed a new strategy, but she had precious little to work with. Somehow, she needed to distract the dog without redirecting its attention to Travis. Then she could get down and… what?

Distract and get down. That's all that mattered at the moment, because if she waited one more minute, she'd simply fall into the dog's jaws.

Calling up the last ounce of strength in her right hand, Manny used her left to remove her large turquoise and silver earring. Clinging to the grille with one hand, she tossed the earring low and far. The dog reacted as predictably as Mycroft, chasing down the skittering object.

Manny let go and jumped. The sweet relief chased every other fear from her mind-but only for a moment. She knew the dog would realize the earring held no interest as prey and would turn its attentions back to her. When it did, she had to be ready.

She had already dismissed the rope and the cage as too far away to be useful. In one fluid motion, Manny grabbed the hem of the sundress and pulled it off over her head. Quickly, she twisted it into a long coil.

Attracted by her movement, the dog spun around and charged toward her. Manny stood still, with the window behind her, watching the dog's muscular legs propel it closer. At the last moment, she sidestepped.

The dog reared and hurled itself against the spot where Manny had been standing. Manny used that instant to get behind the creature and loop the dress around its neck.

She twisted and pulled. The synthetic fiber had much less give than cotton would have, and the garrote tightened. She struggled to maintain her balance and keep the fabric taut.

The dog strained and wheezed against the unfamiliar restraint. Certainly he had never been walked on a leash, and for that Manny was grateful. A trained dog might have backed up to ease the pressure, but this dog continued to pull forward, cutting off his own air supply and making her work easier.

The dog staggered and sank to its knees. Manny could sense Jake's presence on the other end of the camera, coaching her. Don't let go. It's not over yet. Jake always scoffed at the way strangulation deaths were portrayed in the movies-thirty seconds of airway compression and the victim was dead. In reality, it took several minutes of total oxygen deprivation to bring about a human death. Manny didn't know the canine equivalent, but she wasn't taking any chances. She continued to pull, although her arms ached from the effort.

The dog slumped onto its side and its eyes rolled back in its head. Still, Manny didn't release the noose. She glanced over at Travis, hoping that he might see fit to come and help her now that the dog had weakened. But he sat curled in the corner, glassy-eyed. Shock had rendered him useless.

The dog's legs twitched involuntarily and a puddle of urine appeared from beneath its body. A good sign-it must have lost consciousness. Manny's arms trembled with the effort of keeping the dress pulled tight. If she hadn't spent all that time hanging from the window grille, she would have had more strength for this. She resolved to keep up the pressure for two more minutes. Under her breath, she counted, "One one thousand, two one thousand."

She reached 120 and cautiously loosened her grip. The dog lay immobile. Manny knew she should check for a pulse.

She extended a trembling hand toward the carotid artery in the dog's neck. Its fur was short and coarse, nothing like Mycroft's. Scars from the many fights it had survived crisscrossed its neck and chest. Her fingertips hovered above the dog's body; her eyes swam with tears.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to touch this dog. Searching for his pulse would seem too much like petting him, scratching him under the chin the way she did with Mycroft and every other friendly dog who lifted a grinning muzzle to be caressed.

Manny backed away from the dog's body. She was tired, so tired. In a minute, they would look for a way out of here. But first she had to rest.

Manny's bravery stunned Jake. But the elation he should have felt at her amazing victory over the dog couldn't take hold. His central nervous system hadn't yet recovered from the shock of seeing the woman he loved go after that brute with her bare hands and a scrap of fabric.

Manny seemed to have shocked herself. She sat a few feet away from the dog, her head in her hands, breathing in deep, shuddering gasps. Not an uncommon reaction to unbearable stress. But Jake had confidence that she would come out of it soon and start looking for an escape route from her prison.

He hoped that Sam was right about the Fireproof Apparel building, although it was a long shot. Manny and Travis might be anywhere. But at least the pressure was off. With the dog out of the equation, it didn't matter if the search dragged on for hours.

Jake shifted uneasily as he watched the static scene on his computer screen. Were the Costellos still tuned in? They would be furious at the failure of their torture display. Furious enough to risk returning to the scene to unleash some other horror?

"Get up, Manny," he urged her through the screen. "Get up and start looking for a way out." Manny sat crossed-legged on the floor. The only sound she could hear was the unsteady in and out of her own breathing. The current craze for yoga had passed her by-she preferred Pilates or exercising with her Wii fitness program. Nevertheless, she found herself focusing on her breathing, trying with all her will to bring it back to normal. Maybe then she could get up.

Another sound entered her consciousness-a slight whimper from across the room. Travis. She'd nearly forgotten him.

Manny looked up, to see him pointing limply. She let her gaze follow his finger.

The dog was standing up.

Manny scrambled to stand up, too, but her limbs responded as if they were controlled by some other brain.

Time seemed to be moving in slow motion. The dog, never graceful before, floated through the air, coming closer and closer. She could no longer see her foot because her leg was inside a dog's mouth. How odd. She thought she was having an out-of-body thinking experience. Dr. Suzanne Levine will never get me into my stilettos again.

The pain she felt was real, not the sharp pain of teeth tearing her flesh but, rather, the shocking blow of a hammer swung at full force. That was odd, too.

And here was another strange thing. Travis was running. Running right toward her, screaming. Running straight at the cage, which he picked up and swung at the dog. It didn't like that. It opened its mouth. She rolled away.

And then there was another crash. The door flew open. The room was full of men. A shot rang out, awfully close to her head.

Manny dragged herself upright and scanned the faces in the room.

"Where's Jake?"

"How's your leg? Have another Percocet."

Manny averted her head from the pill. "Those things make me woozy. Just raise the pillow a little. Couldn't I have a glass of Veuve Clicquot Rose instead?"

Jake scurried to the end of the sofa and fluffed the pillow under Manny's bandaged leg. "How's tha-" Her ear-to-ear grin stopped him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"It's almost worth being eaten by a pit bull to see you doing this Florence Nightingale routine," Manny said. "And look at this house. You must've had Heloise and Mr. Clean here while I was in the hospital."

"Sam and I did it all," Jake said, looking around the spotless living room. "I thought the bowl of potpourri was a particularly nice touch for your homecoming."

"It would be nicer if the dried lavender wasn't trickling out the eye sockets of the skull."

Jake took her hand. "I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to have you here."

Manny evaded his gaze. "Well, I appreciate your taking me in. But it's only for a few days. As soon as the doctor says I can walk unassisted, I'll go back to my place."

Jake stroked her hair. "There's no rush."

Sam entered carrying three mugs of coffee on a tray, followed by Mycroft, who bounded into Manny's lap.

"You're serving from a tray now?" Manny asked, glad of the distraction. "What are you, channeling Amy Vanderbilt?"

"Just living up to my surroundings," Sam said. "You should see how nice my manners are when I'm invited to Buckingham Palace."

"Speaking of foreign travel, is it true the Costellos were intercepted at Kennedy Airport, waiting for a flight to Buenos Aires? I thought I heard that on the news when I was lying in my hospital bed, but they had me so doped up, I didn't know if I was dreaming or not."

"You didn't dream it," Jake said. "That's one upside of terrorism. No one can make a hasty escape from the country anymore. Airport security apprehended them as their carry-on bags were being screened. They're in federal custody. Bail has been denied. And the government even added animal abuse charges. The killer pit bull survived both your assault and the police, and now he needs to be a 'kept dog,' courtesy of the Costellos."

"Justice. Travis Heaton and the Costellos trade places. Kind of like your shrimp story." Manny inhaled through her nose, then exhaled though her mouth. "Who's representing them?"

"Why, do you want the job?"

"No thanks, although I do have some free time now that all the charges against Travis have been dropped." Manny sipped her coffee. "What about the Sandovals? Has Senora Sandoval had a complete nervous breakdown since she's learned the truth about her family?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Sam said. "She called while Jake was picking you up at the hospital. She sounded good to me-asked how you were, said she'd call again later."

"And the Vampire's other victims? Were they really all watching Travis and me getting chased by that damn dog?" Manny asked. "Did it have the effect the Costellos were hoping for?"

"They watched," Jake said. "But I think their reactions are as different as they are as people. Lucinda Bettis is the only one still in denial. The others may have some interest in learning more about their roots, or they may prefer to put it all behind them."

"That's what drove Elena Costello crazy: She couldn't accept that not everyone clung to their anger as she has," Manny said. "She was right that we should never forget the victims of the Dirty War. But she let her anger destroy her."

Jake took her coffee cup from her. "That's enough talking about the investigation. Why don't you relax and watch a little mindless TV?" He handed Manny the remote control. "No CNN, no Fox News, no MSNBC."

"Yes, Doctor." Manny snuggled up with Mycroft and began rolling through the channels. "Sorry, buddy-no Animal Planet, either." They settled on a home-decorating show. Turn an old chest of drawers into a high-tech entertainment center… paint an Oriental rug on your wood floor… Manny dozed off just as she was about to learn how to banish the musty smell from an antique armoire.

Her painkiller-induced dreams churned with vivid scenes and choppy transitions, an art-house movie for one. Jungle animals sat on a jury; winding corridors led to rooms full of broken glass; an exam for which she had no answers was interrupted by the ringing of the school bell. The bell rang and rang.

Manny sat up, hot and disoriented. There was no exam; the ringing was real. Looking out through the living room window, she could see daylight fading. Sam and Jake were nowhere around. She stretched to the end table and picked up the phone.

"Hello."

"Hello, is that Ms. Manfreda?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Monserrat Sandoval. I hope I am not disturbing you, but I wanted to call and thank you."

"Hi, Senora Sandoval. I was just asking about you earlier. How are you? I know Paco has been very worried about you."

"Ay! I have had a long talk with my son and my husband." Her voice sounded strong and confident. "I told them they were very foolish to keep secrets from me all these years. So much pain could have been avoided if my husband had told me the truth when Esteban was a baby."

Manny sat up straighter, fully awake. So, it was true that Ambassador Sandoval had always known Esteban had been taken from an imprisoned woman. "Would you still have adopted him?"

"Ah, that was the problem. You see, at the time, my husband worked part-time for a government ministry while going to school. Jobs were scarce in those days; the economy was terrible. The junta rulers were technically his bosses, but he did not really support their policies. He was just a-a how do you say?-flutie."

"Flunky," Manny said, correcting her.

"Exactly. So when the nurse, who was called Anna Herrmann then, but here she called herself Amanda Hogaarth, offered us this baby, we accepted, believing that he was an orphan whose parents had died in an accident. Six months later, my husband learned the terrible truth.

"By that time, I loved Esteban so much, my husband knew I could never have given him up. He told me he was afraid to protest the death of Esteban's parents, afraid we would have been disappeared ourselves." Senora Sandoval paused for a moment, evidently thinking back on those dark days. "After the regime fell, that is when he should have told me. I would have tried to find Esteban's birth family. His grandparents, aunts, and uncles-they deserved to know that he was okay. But my husband thinks he always knows what is best." She gave a bitter little laugh.

"So that is why I'm calling to thank you. Because of what has happened, Esteban is going to Argentina to meet his birth family. Finally, they will know that he was not raised by killers or torturers. He will tell them he had good parents. He will tell them how sorry we are for hiding the truth. I hope they understand my husband acted out of love for me and for Esteban. I hope they can forgive us."

"I hope so, too, Senora Sandoval. Seems like forgiveness is the only way to move past what happened during the Dirty War. I guess Amanda Hogaarth was looking for a little forgiveness, too. That must be why she left all her money to a legitimate adoption agency."

"You sound strong, Ms. Manfreda. You have not been crushed by what the Costellos did to you," Senora Sandoval said.

"No, my leg's a little smushed, but my spirit is strong," Manny agreed.

"Then I hope you, too, will be able to forgive. You know, the story of the Vampire has been all over the news in Argentina. I have been reading the coverage there online every day."

"Paco told me you didn't follow the news."

"That was true in the past. But I have learned my lesson. It's not good to bury your head in the sand." Senora Sandoval sighed. "The story of Elena Muniz Costello has been in every newspaper in Argentina. It is very sad. She was adopted by a policeman and his wife, a very brutal man who worked for the secret police during the Dirty War. He was cruel to Elena all through her childhood and her adoptive mother was powerless to stop him. Elena never understood why her father hated her so much. Then, as a young woman, she discovered the truth about her birth. But by then, her birth grandparents and aunts were dead. She never got to know them. She couldn't believe that all of Argentina was not up in arms about the terrible injustice she and the other adopted children suffered. After that, Elena made it her mission to make sure every adopted child of the Desaparecidos knew about their birth families."

"Even the ones who didn't want to know," Manny said. "I guess that explains why she did what she did, but it doesn't justify it. And what about Frederic Costello? Was he mistreated as a child, as well?"

"No. It seems he was adopted as a toddler by friends of his birth parents after they disappeared. They never hid the truth about his past-just the opposite. They were activists in the cause. It is through them that Frederic met Elena."

Manny shifted on the sofa. Her leg had begun to throb. "But I don't understand. Why did he allow himself to go along with his wife's cruel and crazy scheme?"

"I suppose we will never truly understand. But me, I think it was a case of the student surpassing the teacher. He got her involved in the cause; then she became more impassioned than he."

"Maybe if they'd never met… if they had each married someone else…" Manny said.

"None of this would have happened," said Senora Sandoval, completing the thought. "You would not have had to suffer."

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm not one to carry a grudge. I'll have to testify at Elena's trial, but I'll make sure she has adequate representation. She deserves a fair trial."

"You are a very brave woman," Senora Sandoval said. "You have inspired me to be brave, too. You know that charity, Home Again, that you got me to write the check to? I have become one of their rescue volunteers. Tomorrow, I fly to Gulfport, Mississippi, to work for a week in the shelter."

"Good for you! I know you'll do a great job."

Manny hung up just as Jake came through the front door. "There you are. I thought maybe you and Sam were upstairs scrubbing tile grout with a toothbrush."

"Ah, you're awake. I just went out to get us some dinner. Your favorite."

Mycroft sprang off the sofa and began to sniff the bags. "None for you, mister. You have dog food in your bowl in the kitchen." Mycroft continued to stare. "Do you know what they do to guys like you in the joint? Can you say rottweiler?" Jake pretended to growl.

Offended, Mycroft jumped back into the protection of Manny's arms. "Ignore his petulance, Mycroft. But I am afraid he's right, Mikey. We can't take any chances with your stomach. Remember, you're currently without a vet," she said.

As Jake arranged the carryout dinner, Manny told him about her conversation with Monserrat Sandoval. She still was troubled by Dr. Costello's involvement, and she came back to that point with Jake. "So, I can understand why Elena was so crazy, but why did Dr. Costello go along? He seemed a genuinely kind vet. How could he have helped Elena torture and kill?"

Jake gave Manny a fork but did not release her hand. "Sometimes, when two people get together, they can assume different personalities. One without the other would have never committed crimes. Put them together and he becomes Jack the Ripper, and she, Elizabeth Bathory. It's a phenomena we have seen in the past."

"Really?"

"Love for a beautiful, passionate woman made the man lose his good judgment and his mind a little. I can relate."

Manny pulled her hand away and tapped Jake's forehead. "Your mind's right where you left it."

"You should have seen me when I was watching you on that Web cam, powerless to help you. It wasn't one of my more scientifically impassive moments."

"But you still managed to help the police figure out who the Vampire was and where we were being held."

"Based on your hunch about Nixon's coffee mug being bought on eBay."

Manny grinned and dug into her comfort food. "Forensic pathology, law, shopping, and Mycroft. It's an unbeatable combination!"