Final Sins (36 page)

Abby saw that she had wound some fabric around the hand, but it was already soaked through with red. “Who says I still don’t? It’s not like we’re pals again. And by the way, Vic Wyatt is dead.”

Tess lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Everybody keeps saying that like it’s their fault. Oh, wait. In your case, it is.”

“I never meant for anything like that to happen. And I want to thank you for coming here. With everything that’s gone on, I never thought ...” Tess looked away. “I just never thought you’d do that.”

“Kind of took me by surprise, myself.”

“You saved my life.”

“I guess you returned the favor a few seconds ago. Would’ve been
kinda
ironic if I’d been run down by my own car. For a second there, I wasn’t thinking too clearly. Just wanted to keep shooting until I hit him.”

“Or until he hit you.”

“Yeah, well, that was the downside of my strategy.” She stared down the alley toward the street where the Miata had disappeared. “So what do we do now?”

Tess shrugged wearily. “He’s gone, Abby.”

“You’re telling me he gets away? After all this, we just let him go?”

“Give me your phone and I’ll call it in. Maybe the police can pick him up. There aren’t too many vehicles on the street yet. But I think ...”

“What?”

“He had some sort of escape plan in mind. Something he had already arranged. He seemed very confident about it.”

“Meaning the cops won’t catch him.”

“Maybe not.”

“Damn.” Abby thrust her hands into her pockets. “We
have
to do something.”

“There’s nothing we
can
do.”

“Yes, there is. There’s always something.
Always
.”

“Not this time,” Tess said.

Abby didn’t answer. She was staring into the night.

It was noon when Tess finally got out of the last debriefing at the federal building.

She had spent three hours at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center having her head injuries examined and the wounds on her left hand cleaned, sutured, and bandaged. Then another four hours in an interview room in the field office, telling and retelling the story of her captivity and escape. She would have taken some small comfort from the thought that Abby was being similarly detained—but before the feds had arrived at the art gallery in response to Tess’s phone call, Abby had vanished into the night.

Tess had no idea where she had gone or how she had made tracks without her car. She wasn’t at home, that was for sure;
Michaelson
had agents watching the Wilshire Royal. Not that Abby was in any sort of trouble, but she had to be interviewed, if only to satisfy the ruthless demands of Bureau procedure.

The media knew about the ongoing manhunt for Faust, though Tess’s role in the case had not been publicized. A crowd of reporters occupied the lobby of the federal building. Not wanting them to see her, Tess requisitioned a Bureau car and took the elevator directly to the parking garage. A Protective Services employee raised the gate for her, and she drove out of the garage and onto the street.

What she needed was a shower, long and hot, followed by sleep, hours of it. She had been up for more than twenty-four hours, and she wasn’t feeling her best. Not looking her best either, she assessed as she glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Deep circles bruised her eyes, and her face was pale and drawn.

On the other hand, she looked a lot better than she would have if Faust’s knife had continued its work on her. She had Abby to thank for saving her. If only she knew where the hell Abby was.

It occurred to her that Abby might have tried calling. Her smashed cell phone had been replaced by an identical unit, programmed with her existing phone number. She’d had the new phone turned off all morning. Any calls would have been shunted to voice mail.

She reviewed her messages as she headed west on Wilshire Boulevard toward the
MiraMist
Hotel in Santa Monica, her usual destination when in town. There were no calls from Abby, but three from Josh.

She wondered if he’d heard what happened. He wasn’t supposed to know. Her abduction remained a closely held secret. Then again, Mark Brody’s death had been kept secret too, but he had known about that.

She called his work number and reached him at his desk. She tried to sound casual. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, but this Faust thing has been making us crazy.”

“Yeah, I think I may have heard a little something about that.” He chuckled. “So how come the big news only happens when you’re in L.A.? We could use some of that media attention around here, you know. The Denver field office likes to make headlines, too.”

It sounded as though he wasn’t in the loop, after all. “There aren’t as many crazies in Denver. Besides, I really didn’t have much to do with this one.”

“No, huh? So you just happened to be there when all this stuff went down?”

“I may have made a minor contribution. But I’m only a bit player this time.”

“I noticed
Michaelson
didn’t mention you in his news conference. He was in his element, though, really soaking it up. You sure he wasn’t stealing your glory?”

“There’s no glory to steal. It’s his turf and his case. His people did everything that counts. They deserve the credit.”

“Sure, I guess.” Josh paused. “I mean, all
you
did was find the secret room where Faust was hiding his current victim ... then get yourself kidnapped ... then manage to escape. No big deal.”

She shut her eyes. “Gary Palumbo?” she said, remembering his pal in the D.C. office.

“This year I need to send him something really nice for Christmas. So why were you holding out on me?”

“We’re trying to keep my involvement low-profile.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“
Michaelson’s
.”

“And you’re letting him get away with it?”

“Yeah, I guess I am. He’s been pretty reasonable about ... well, about a lot of things.”

“Am I hearing you right? Have you made peace with the Nose?”

“I wouldn’t call it peace. More like a temporary cessation of hostilities.”

His tone changed, his jocularity fading. “How bad was it, Tess?”

She glanced at her bandaged hand. Prescription painkillers, antibiotics, and a tetanus shot had minimized the aftereffects. Doctors did not believe there was any permanent damage to nerves or tendons, and did not expect any loss of motor control. There would be a scar, of course. A jagged shape like a lightning bolt—the beginnings of a
wolfsangel
.

“It could have been worse,” she said.

“That’s not exactly an answer.”

“It was bad. Scary. But I’m all right now.”

“I heard there was ... torture.”

“He inflicted a few cuts on my left hand. They’re healing. That’s all.”

“I hope we find that cocksucker. I hope—” He pulled in a ragged breath. “Sorry. But I’d like to be alone with him—just for a few minutes.”

Tess felt a chill. She knew there was a chance Josh’s hope would come true, and not in the way he meant.

“How’d you get away?” he asked.

He didn’t know about Abby, it seemed. That part of the story hadn’t made its way through the grapevine. “It’s complicated. I’ve related my exploits too many times already.”

“Then I’ll wait till you get back to hear the details.”

“Okay.”

He wouldn’t hear
all
the details, though. She might or might not tell him about Abby—that was an open question at this point—but she would not tell him about Faust’s threat. Not yet, anyway.

So far she had told no one. She had said not a word about it in any of her debriefings. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to remain silent. Perhaps because revealing the threat against Josh would inevitably reveal their relationship.

But there was more to it than that. She didn’t want Josh to know that his association with her might have put him in danger. She didn’t want to be Typhoid Mary, spreading fear and death to anyone she touched.

For the moment she could afford to stay quiet. Faust presently had higher priorities than going after Josh. With any luck he would be captured before too much time passed.

If not, she would have to speak up. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“When you do get back,” Josh said, “we ought to do something to celebrate your safe return.”

“Have anything specific in mind?”

“We could get married.”

She had to tighten her grip on the wheel to avoid steering off the road. “What?”

“Us. Me and you. Husband and wife. To love, honor, and obey. Well, maybe not obey. They don’t usually say that anymore.”

“Are you making a joke?”

“No. I’m not.”

“We can’t get married. We can’t even let anyone know we’re dating. Remember?”

“Because of the wrath of the almighty Bureau?”

“Well ... yes.”

“But don’t you get it? That’s the whole point. They can’t touch you now, Tess. You’re the one who took down Peter Faust. You’re golden.”

“Nobody knows that.”

“The Bureau knows it. D.C. knows it. That’s all that matters.”

She considered this. “Maybe ...” she said slowly.

“No maybe about it. You’ve never known how to use your status. You never really capitalized on Mobius or the Rain Man or Medea.”

“I never
wanted
to capitalize on any of that.”

“I understand. But sometimes you have to play the game. And right now you can cop to any violation of policy, and they can’t do a damn thing about it. Tell them you’ve been taking J. Edgar’s skirts out of storage and wearing them to parties. What are they
gonna
do?”

“Hoover wasn’t a cross-dresser. That’s an urban legend.”

“I think you’re missing the bigger picture here.” He hesitated. “Unless you’re trying to change the subject. In which case I’ll drop it ...”

“No. Don’t drop it. I’m just a little ... rattled, that’s all. I never thought ... It never occurred to me that the two of us could have a future.
This
kind of future. You know what I mean.”

“We can have it. But the window of opportunity won’t stay open long. A month from now the shine will start to wear off, and you won’t be so golden anymore.”

“It’s now or never. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Not that I’m trying to put you under any pressure.”

Tess stopped at a red light. She let herself forget the traffic and the night with Faust and how tired she felt. She let herself just imagine it—no more sneaking around, no more lies, no more doubts. A life together. A real life.

“Tess? You still there?”

She smiled. “You know, when you ask for a lady’s hand, it’s customary to go down on one knee.”

“I’m kneeling. Really.”

“Now that’s a bad sign.”

“What is?”

“Starting off our marriage with an obvious lie.”

“Did you say our marriage?”

“Yes, Josh. That’s what I said.”

* * *

Tess was pulling into the parking lot of the
MiraMist
when her cell phone chirped. Had to be Josh again. Their conversation had ended only moments ago.

“Think of a few more declarations of love you want to recite?” she teased.

“Gee, Tess”—Abby’s voice—“I didn’t know you cared.”

Her mood switched instantly from elation to annoyance. Abby’s phone calls had a way of doing that.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. “In case you don’t know, there are a lot of important people who have questions for you.”

“Those important people will get to ask their important questions eventually. Meanwhile, remember the Boiler Room?”

Tess wrinkled her nose. “That greasy spoon in Santa Monica?”

“The spoons aren’t greasy, just naturally shiny. Can you meet me there?”

The place was only a few blocks from the hotel. Still, Tess was reluctant. “I was hoping to get some sleep.”

“You can sleep when you’re dead. Which you already would be, if not for me.”

“Is that your subtle way of saying I owe you?”

“I didn’t think it was subtle. Fifteen minutes?”

“Right,” Tess said with a sigh. Her long, hot shower would have to wait.

Tess found Abby in a booth away from the windows. She slipped into the faux-leather bench seat on the opposite side of the table.

“You look like hell,” Abby observed.

“You, too.”

“We’re both operating on zero sleep. Adrenaline can carry a girl only so far. Hungry?”

Tess realized she was. There had been some sort of tasteless breakfast pastries at the field office, but she’d hardly touched them, and she’d had no dinner last night. “As I recall, hamburgers are the house specialty.”

“They are. And I already ordered some for both of us.”

“Kind of presumptuous of you.”

“Tess, by now surely you’ve learned how cocksure I am. Hey, I like that word—cocksure. Conjures up an interesting mental picture, doesn’t it? How’s the left paw?”

“Throbbing. I’m due for another dose of painkiller.”

“Industrial-strength Tylenol?”

“Something stronger. The hand’s okay. I can still move my fingers.”

“But can you
give
somebody the finger?”

Tess tried it. The middle finger of her left hand saluted Abby. “Nothing personal,” she said.

Abby grinned. “You sure about that?”

“I must say, you seem a lot less stressed than when I last saw you.”

“It’s a by-product of sleep deprivation. I’m so zoned out, I’m giddy.”

The febrile gleam in her eyes seemed to confirm this. “Then I think,” Tess said slowly, “you should get some sleep,”

“Later. First we talk. Then we eat. Then we sleep.”

“All right. Where have you been, anyway?”

“Wyatt’s place.”

Abby said it so casually that it took Tess a moment to hear, really hear, the words. “Wyatt ... ?”

“I have a key. And he has—had—a computer with an Internet connection. I do, too, of course, but I figured if I went back to my condo, I’d end up in long, pointless conversations with boring men in suits.”

Tess still couldn’t get past the idea. “You were in Wyatt’s apartment ...”

“Last place anyone would look, right?” Abby smiled again. There was something empty in that smile. “I can be a coldhearted bitch when I want to be. I needed a computer, and I got hold of one.”

“What did you need it for?”

“Research. But before we get into that, how about giving me an update on the investigation? Dish me some of that inside dirt.”

Tess nodded. “First of all, we found your Miata. It was abandoned at the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and
Centinela
Avenue, not far from here, actually. It will be returned to you as soon as the crime scene guys are through with it.”

Abby waved her hand as if the return of the car was immaterial.

“Faust left my gun in the car, for some reason. Apparently he didn’t think he needed it anymore. Which is kind of worrisome, inasmuch as it suggests an awfully high degree of confidence that he won’t be found.”

“Confidence that so far has proven to be justified,” Abby said.

“True. We have no idea where he’s gone, but we’re showing his photo at all the major local airports, train and bus stations, rental car agencies, and so forth. He can’t get out of town. We’re also working the room where he kept his victims. It was a secret room in his house, soundproofed and hidden behind a false wall. He had a cabinet in there filled with mementos—a dozen human hands, each one branded with his insignia. Always the left hand.”

Abby’s glance flicked to Tess’s bandages, then traveled away. “If they haven’t deteriorated too badly, you can get fingerprints off them.”

“He preserved them in formalin, which is basically a solution of formaldehyde in water. Yes, we can pull prints. In fact, we’ve identified one victim already. Roberta Kessler, a girl who went missing three years ago.” She sighed. “The police knew he was good for that one. They just didn’t know where to look. If they’d found the room ...”

“Faust is smart, Tess. He knows how to play the game.”

“Yes.” She shook off her regrets. “We found something else in the cabinet. A scrapbook. He liked to keep clippings about missing girls. We expect to be able to match the girls in the news stories to the hands in the jars.”

“What else was in the scrapbook?” Abby asked, her eyes narrowing.

Tess frowned. “What makes you think there was anything else?”

“The way you placed your right hand over your left when you mentioned it.”

Tess looked down and saw that she had unconsciously covered her wounded hand. “You’re good,” she said with a smile. “Better than most Bureau interrogators. There
was
something else. There were clippings about me. He was ... interested in me.”

“I know all about that kind of interest. In my line of work, we call it obsession.”

“That’s what we call it, too. I have to admit, I don’t like knowing he’s still out there. Faust isn’t your ordinary psycho. He’s ...”

“Not just evil,” Abby said, finishing for her. “He’s Evil with a capital
E
.”

This was so close to Tess’s way of thinking about Faust that she straightened in her seat. “I guess you could say that.”

“I just did. Let’s face it, we both have a major beef against this guy. He tried to shoot me and run me over. Not to mention he was kind of rude to me on the phone. Also, I’m not expecting to be paid for my work on his case, which is the kind of thing that really chills my grapefruit.”

“They’ll find him,” Tess said, not quite convinced.

A waitress arrived with two plates piled high with hamburgers and macaroni salad. Two glasses of ice water accompanied the meal.

“Hope water’s okay,” Abby said. “They don’t serve anything stronger, and soda rots your teeth.”

“Water is fine.”

Tess couldn’t have cared less what she had to drink, just so long as she could satisfy the hunger that was now clawing at her insides. She took several greedy bites of the burger before continuing the conversation. “So what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Abby leaned forward in her seat. Her eyes had that feral glint again. “I’ve been thinking about skulls.”

“Skulls?”

“Yeah.”

“You
really
do need some rest, Abby.”

Abby showed her a fierce stare. “No, I don’t. I need to talk about skulls.”

“I’m listening.”

“Faust is part owner of the Unblinking I. Did you know that?”

“I assumed as much, from his access to the place. The Bureau is running a check on the gallery’s financial records.”

“Faust kept his ownership a secret, supposedly because his reputation would be bad for business. But I’m thinking there’s another explanation.”

“Go on.”

“Piers Hoagland. who hails from Faust’s native country, has a deal with that gallery. Hoagland specializes in holograms. His artwork was on display last night. You saw it. He specializes in dead things. Rotting carcasses, bones. Skulls.”

“Yes ...”

“Faust’s victims were all decapitated. Their skulls have never been found, right? You’ve got their hands in formalin, but not their heads. Right?”

“That’s true.”

“Okay. Now where did Hoagland get the skulls he uses in his art? Has anyone ever asked?”

“I don’t know,” Tess said quietly.

“Suppose he got them from Faust. A cozy little arrangement on their part. Hoagland gets the materials he needs for his work. Faust has the fun of displaying his victims in plain sight. He liked to say that murder was art. This was his chance to be the artist he always wanted to be.”

Tess thought about it. “When he had me in the gallery, he told me that death is art. And he said he’d had to publicly downplay that philosophy in order to protect himself. I didn’t know what he meant.”

“To protect himself from being linked to Hoagland. I think that’s the real reason he kept his participation in the gallery a secret. It wasn’t about his reputation. It was that he couldn’t afford to have anybody looking at Hoagland’s skulls too closely.”

Tess finished off her burger and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She was astonished at how quickly she’d consumed the meal. “Thanks, Abby. This is helpful. If it pans out, we can get hold of the holograms and identify the victims from dental records.”

“What is this,
CSI
? I’m not interested in
ID’ing
the victims. I’m interested in getting Faust.”

“Tell me how.”

“If Hoagland was getting human skulls from a man like Faust, he had to know what was up. He’s not just a dupe; he’s an accomplice. An accessory. And if he was willing to look the other way on the skulls, how else might he have assisted Faust?”

“In his escape? That’s what you’re thinking?”

Abby nodded. “Hoagland has family money, lots of it. He owns a private jet. A Gulfstream. Transcontinental range.”

“Does he?” This was interesting.

“You bet. Faust told me on the phone that he’d done twelve girls in all. They can’t all have been local or he would have been caught by now. So I’m assuming he traveled.”

“Yes.”

“And he left no trail. No airline reservations, for instance.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because if he’d left a trail of plane tickets that matched up with his victims’ disappearances, you
feebs
would have arrested him months ago.”

“Okay. You’re right.” Tess frowned. “Don’t call us
feebs
.”

“So he wasn’t flying commercial. He could’ve driven, but a man with a busy schedule like his can’t afford to be out of touch for extended periods. And he’s well known enough that he could have been spotted anywhere along the way. Too risky. So I’m guessing he traveled a different way. He used Hoagland’s plane.”

“All right ...”

“If he used it on other occasions, who’s to say he didn’t use it to get out of town last night? You said my car was ditched at Santa Monica Boulevard and
Centinela
. Someone else must have picked him up there. From that location it’s a straight shot down
Centinela
to Santa Monica Municipal Airport. Which just happens to be where Hoagland’s Gulfstream is stored.”

Tess felt a tremor of excitement. “We can check the airport and find out if the plane left early this morning.”

“Or you can take a leap of faith and assume I’m right.”

“Suppose I do. I’ll still have to obtain the flight plan to learn where Faust went.”

“No, you won’t. I already know.”

“Do you?”

“Well, okay. I don’t actually
know
. I mean, in the literal sense of being certain beyond any doubt. But I have a pretty strong hunch.”

“And what does your hunch tell you?”

“Where does a person go when his whole world is falling apart? I’ll tell you where. He goes home.”

“Home,” Tess echoed.

“Piers Hoagland lives in Manhattan. But he also keeps a small country villa in Paderborn, Germany. If Faust left before dawn, he’s probably refueling at some private East Coast airfield right around now. Then it’s another eight hours or so to the land of beer and bratwurst. He’ll be there tonight.”

Tess sat very still. Her hand was throbbing worse than before. “It’s possible,” she said finally.

“It’s more than possible. Hoagland’s villa is the perfect place for the world’s most wanted fugitive to hide out. Isolated, remote, and it has no obvious link to Peter Faust. Unless someone made the connection between him and Hoagland, nobody would look for him there.”

“I’ll give the lead to Interpol. If you’re right, they’ll intercept him when he lands.”

Abby pursed her lips. “That’s one way to handle it.”

“Is there another?”

She drummed her fingers on the table, a slow, staccato rhythm. “Faust has already been a subject of the German legal system once. They put him in a mental hospital for a couple of years. When he came out, he was a celebrity.”

“It’ll be different this time. These murders were committed on U.S. soil. The U.S. has an extradition treaty with Germany. They’ll hand him over to us.”

“We can hope so.”

“Are you saying they won’t cooperate? In a case this high-profile?”

“The high profile is the problem. Our Mr. Faust has a lot of fans in Germany. And a lot of powerful friends. And you know we’ll have to seek the death penalty.”

“Yes,” Tess said slowly.

“In a capital case, there can be extradition problems. The Europeans don’t like giving us one of their citizens when there’s a chance he’s going to fry. They could keep him there indefinitely while the wheels of justice spin in the mud.”

All of this was true, and discouraging. But Tess couldn’t see the point of bringing it up. “Well, what choice do we have?” she asked.

“That’s the question, Tess.” Abby’s gaze, hot and steady, drilled into her. “What choice
do
we have?”