Serial Date: A Leine Basso Thriller (11 page)

She didn't have to make the choice.

“Get Gwen up here, now. There's a way for you both to make amends.”

***

Leine stepped through the doors of the Serial Date offices, intent on finding Peter. The tracking device hadn't worked. Either Azazel figured out that the blender was wired and removed it, or the tracker was a defective piece of shit. If he knew about it, he hadn't let on.

Frustrated, she'd tried to figure out another way to track Azazel and her daughter while working but didn't see how she could. Gaining access to April's phone would be the best, but she needed to find someone with that kind of knowledge. She knew a thousand ways to kill someone and nothing about how to hack someone's phone or email. The agency used a whole contingent of hackers and communications experts. She'd never needed to learn.

She had to have time to plan. Azazel's next victim would not be her daughter, not if she could help it. She hoped her story of needing to take care of a sick relative would work and Peter would give her a couple of days off. Not that she had any illusions they'd be paid for.

Paula, the receptionist, stopped her in the hall on her way to Peter's office.

“A package came for you this morning. I left it on the desk where you usually put your purse.”

“Thanks, Paula. Is Peter in his office?”

“I'm not sure. He's around, though.”

Leine walked down the hall to the door with the brass name plate and knocked.

“Come in.”

The door clicked and swung open, revealing Peter sitting at his desk, the lone Baccarat lamp the only source of light in an otherwise dark room. Leine walked over to one of the drape-covered windows and pulled it open, allowing bright morning sun to stream into the office.

“What the hell'd you do that for?” Peter shielded his eyes with his hand.

“How can you stand working in such a dark place? It'd drive me crazy.”

“I like it dark. No distractions.” He squinted at her. “To what do I owe this visit? Anything wrong?”

“No, everything's fine on set. I wanted to ask you for a couple of days leave to care for my sick aunt in San Diego. She recently had hip surgery and needs my help.”

“Isn't there someone else? I can't really spare you right now.”

“Why not? It's not like a murderer's hanging around, right?” Leine watched Peter closely. No reaction. “Besides, the cons and contestants appear to be settled and working well together.”

“Still, I hate to not have you on set. Gene doesn't have your experience. Everyone feels better when you're around. The cons are on their best behavior when they know you're here.”

“Gee, thanks for that. But wasn't Gene good enough until Mandy was murdered? He knows his way around a Taser and pepper spray. I'm only talking about a couple of days here, max. It's important, Peter.”

She could tell he was trying to think of a way to refuse. In the end he must have weighed the option of losing her entirely.

“All right. But only for a couple of days. I need you back by the time we tape. As it is, you're going to miss rehearsals.”

Yeah, and that would break my heart, Leine thought.

“Thanks, Peter. Will do.”

She remembered the package as she was walking out the front door. Backtracking to the administration offices she spotted the small cardboard box sitting on the desk where Paula said she'd left it.

It was addressed to Madeleine Basso, Serial Date Security but there was no return address, no postage. Must have been hand delivered, Leine thought. Wariness from the old days kicked in, but she shook it off. No one from her past knew where she was, or even that she was still alive, except for Gene. Curious, she held up the box and shook it. Too light to be anything serious except maybe ricin or anthrax, and that was a stretch. She hunted through Paula's desk drawer for something sharp and grabbed a pair of green handled scissors. She sliced

through the packing tape on the top of the box and pulled the flaps open.

Inside the box, nestled between several cotton balls, was a slender finger, severed at the joint, wearing a delicate silver and lapis ring.

Chapter 17

Leine folded the
cardboard flaps back into place with care, surprised her hands didn't shake. She closed her eyes as rage overwhelmed her. Every nerve screamed, adding to the cacophony that coursed through her mind, rising to demand action, then collapsing in impotence and frustration.

Think, Leine. This is not April's finger. He's toying with you. Testing you. Get it to a lab. Have the box tested for fingerprints. You can think about this later, if it's a match.

But whose finger was it, if not her daughter's? Leine had to believe it wasn't April's. It was her ring, yes, but that would be easy to swap with another woman's hand.

Leine carefully slid the box into her purse and walked through the office to the hallway. She turned left and willed her legs to take her out to the parking lot and her car, glad for the psychological manifestations of shock. The numbness was the only thing that enabled her to keep moving.

As she neared the entrance, Frank exploded through the front doors, his face a dark mixture of anger and worry.

“Why the hell don't you answer your goddamned phone?”

Leine seized his arm and spun him around, shoving him through the entry to the sidewalk outside.

“Keep your voice down, Frank.” Her voice held a feral warning even he couldn't ignore.

He turned to face her, arms crossed, his fury surrounding him like a force field.

“Where is she?”

“Calm down. Your anger doesn't help.”

“Don't tell me to calm down, Leine. Where the fuck is April?”

Take it easy, Leine. He's scared. Like you are.
“I haven't located her yet.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Yes. I'm sure they'll contact you shortly to get a statement. I gave them your number. In the meantime, I'm doing whatever I can.”

“Who's the detective in charge? I want to speak to him.”

“And they want to speak with you. Just remember, you're not her father. They won't give you any information. You'll have to get that through me.” Leine only had one chance to get him off her ass. She'd apologize for the lies later. “They've expressed an interest in where you were when she disappeared.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “And you told them what?”

“I told them you would never have anything to do with this, but they need to follow up. A huge percentage of abductions involve people known to the victim. They did the same to me.” Lying left a bitter taste in Leine's mouth, but she couldn't think of a better way to get Frank out of her way. She understood his need to act, to help, but couldn't risk his involvement. He'd be like a raging bull in a china shop. Finesse was not a word anyone would use to describe Frank.

“Fine. My phone's on. What do you need me to do in the meantime?”

“Do you have a recent photograph of her? Something more current than this?” Leine reached in her purse, avoiding the box and slid out her wallet. The picture she produced showed an eleven-year old April grinning with arms outstretched, about to catch a whole salmon being thrown her way at one of the fish stalls at Pike Place Market in Seattle. Carlos stood in the background, laughing. It was their last trip together.

“Yeah, I've got several she emailed while she was in Europe.”

Leine's heart twisted at the thought her daughter hadn't bothered to contact her in three years, but was in direct communication with Frank. Her resolve to find April hardened. She'd set things right. She had to.

“Great. Can you make copies and start circulating them around the city? Start in my neighborhood and spread out. Homes, businesses, restaurants, gyms, whatever. The detectives will want more recent photos, too. You can email them to me.” Hopefully, Frank would stay occupied for a couple of days, give her time to find April and Azazel so she could obliterate his sorry ass from the face of the earth. The sooner, the better. Leine was under no illusions when it came to how much time she had. “Can you get me a list of her friend's names? Anyone she may have mentioned?”

“She's always been pretty tight lipped about her private life. Can't blame her, though. She doesn't want anyone telling her how to live.”

A glimmer of satisfaction raced through her. So she didn't trust him completely.

Frank's gaze met Leine's. “Have you thought about calling Eric?”

“The conversation is over.” Leine slipped the older photograph of April back into her purse, turned and walked away, leaving Frank standing on the sidewalk.

The idea of calling Eric had occurred to her, but she'd be damned if she'd ask for help from that low-life, even though he owed her.

She reached her car and was about to get in when she spotted Paula walking toward her.

“Did you find the box?” Paula asked.

“Yes. Thanks. Who delivered it? There wasn't a return address.”

“A thin woman with strawberry-blonde hair and really white skin. When I asked who she was, she didn't answer. She acted kind of weird.” Paula gave Leine a shy smile. “I hope you don't mind me saying so. I mean, if she's a friend—”

“Not a problem. Doesn't sound like someone I know. I'm going to be gone for a couple of days, taking care of my aunt in San Diego. If you get any more of these kinds of deliveries, could you give me a call?”

“Sure. I hope your aunt's okay.”

“She'll be fine—she needs help planning things, is all. Thanks for asking.”

Leine waited until Paula had walked into the building before she stepped behind an oak tree and vomited into a rosemary bush.

***

Leine showed her ID to the woman sitting at the front counter at DNAsty Lab who directed her to Zephyr Cornell's office. The guitar solo from Santana's
Smooth
filled the hallway and flowed past her as she neared his open door.

He stood at his window with his back to the door, pumping and gyrating through an air guitar rendition of Carlos Santana's hit song. Zephyr had always reminded Leine of an irrepressible mad scientist with his black, curly hair, round John Lennon specs and white lab coat.

She waited quietly in the doorway while he finished.

The song ended and he reached over to turn down the stereo, noticing Leine for the first time.

“Leine. It really is you.” Arms wide open, he bounded over to where she stood and enveloped her in a deep hug. “I had my doubts. They told me you were dead.”

Leine hugged him back. “They told everyone that.”

“So how've you been? You look like shit.”

“Thanks. I've been better. The woman at the front told me you're the majority owner now.”

Zephyr grinned. “Yeah. Those early stock options came in handy.” His expression grew serious as he glanced at the plastic bag in her hands. The box was at a private forensics lab she'd used in the past. “Is that what you called about?”

Leine nodded and handed it to him. He set it on his desk.

“I won't ask you what happened.” The concern in his eyes was obvious. “I'm doing this for you and for Carlos. God, I miss him.”

“Yeah.” Leine cleared her throat and took a small step back.

 Zephyr sighed and pushed a form across the desk.

“Fill this out and take it with you to the back. Have Trudi get a sample. I'll do the test myself and call you as soon as I can.”

“I really appreciate this, Zephyr.”

Zephyr's soft brown eyes met hers. “It's no problem, Leine. Anything I can do to help.”

She gave him her new disposable phone number and then left to find Trudi. Back in her car fifteen minutes later, her other phone rang. Private caller.

“Did you get my little present?” Azazel's breathing echoed through the earpiece.

Leine covered the mouthpiece as she fought through the rage his voice elicited.

When she thought she had her emotions under control, she answered, “You're not playing by the rules.”

“Oh, yes I am, Madeleine. I only said I wouldn't kill her unless you lost all your points. I haven't yet, because you haven't yet.”

He paused, waiting for Leine's reply. When she didn't answer, he continued.

“She had to be punished. That little trick of yours with the blender was a good try, but really, I expected more from you.”

Leine clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. Her vision clouded as she fought the nausea welling up within her.

“Are you still there? Don't worry, Madeleine. I don't need to kill her yet. I have a season's worth of smoothie makings stored in my freezer, and, unless the show's writers step up their game, there are plenty more where that came from. I can wait until this little charade of ours plays out.”

The nausea began to recede. In its place was a sharp clarity she hadn't experienced in years.

“What do you want?” she asked.

He chuckled. “We're not so different, you and I. You've taken life, I've done the same. I've given this a lot of thought, you know. The only thing separating your true nature and mine is you repress your natural tendencies. I merely act how God created me.”

Leine stopped breathing for a moment. How does he know what I've done? The possibility Azazel may be a remnant of her past hadn't occurred to her.

Until now.

“Your information is false. I worked security for diplomatic envoys, and not very important ones at that. I had no cause to 'take life' as you so poetically phrase it.”

“Oh, but you have. I'm aware of several. You were considered one of the best. This is where we both excel. I am undoubtedly one of the premier killers in my field. Read up on the contenders—Gacy, Manson, Bundy, Miyazaki. You'll see I'm far superior to their rudimentary methods. The thinking man's killer, if you will.”

“Again, what do you want?” Leine ground her teeth.
Play along. It's the only way forward
. Certain her brain would explode if she didn't disconnect soon, she worked to slow her breathing to take her mind off the reality.

“I have a special assignment for you—worth ten points if you succeed. I need you to find an object for me. A very important object. It's currently being displayed in the back office at Nadja Imports in West Hollywood.”

Nadja Imports. For some reason the name rang a bell. “What kind of object?”

“A trade gun.”

“Forgive my ignorance, but what kind of gun would that be, exactly?”

“It's long, about four feet. Popular with trappers in the nineteenth century.”

“So it's a flintlock?”

“Yes. Wood stock, blue barrel.”

“And you want me to go to this place called Nadja Imports and purchase the gun for you?”

“Not exactly. It's not for sale.”

“You want me to steal it, then.”

“I don't consider it stealing when it belongs to me.” Azazel's voice had a hard edge.

West Hollywood was known for its large Russian community, along with a fair-sized contingent of Russian mafia. Leine had no illusions about what this request would entail. “Have you checked Ebay? Craig's List?”

“You're questioning me?” Azazel's voice rose several decibels. “Never do so again. I'm in control. Not you. Do you understand?”

Alarmed, Leine answered, “Of course. I was merely curious—thought it might make things easier.” She hoped she sounded placatory. It was hard to mask her growing anger.
Calm down, Leine. Stay in control. Save it. Let it build for when you find him. String him along
.

“The gun has…sentimental value. There are specific markings on the stock. I'll know if you bought it elsewhere.” His words were calm, but his voice held menace.

“How long do I have to find it?”

“Twenty-four hours. If you haven't secured it by then, you'll lose the points you've earned. You know what happens then.”

The line went dead.