Shoofly Pie & Chop Shop (77 page)

He began to stroke Leo’s hair now. Teardrops gathered at the tips of his eyes and fell away into his glasses, pooling in the great lenses and washing all the terrible details from the image before him.

Nick sat back on the floor. It would have been quick and painless—he was sure of that, because pain produces noise, and noise is something no assassin can afford—especially from a victim who lives with open windows.

Open windows.

Nick looked up at the cream-colored walls. Above the sink he saw a tiny black speck, and two more above the counter. He struggled to his feet and hurried out into the living room; there were
dozens more, dotting the walls above the computer workbench, surrounding the paintings like tiny visitors to an art gallery.

Mosquitoes.

He rushed to the door and down the hall, down the three flights of stairs to his waiting car. He leaned through the back window and pulled out his aerial sweep net. They would not stay long; they were female
Anopheles
or
Culex
mosquitoes, both late-night biters, who had engorged themselves on a meal of human blood. All night long they had rested, using the blood proteins to allow them to produce their eggs—but when the daytime temperatures rose again they would depart, searching for a source of standing water and a place to deposit their clutch.

Back in the apartment, Nick swung the net back and forth across the walls, allowing none of the tiny specks to escape. He was grateful that mosquitoes are slow fliers, reaching speeds of no more than a mile and a half per hour; Nick was used to netting far faster and more elusive carrion flies, and this was comparative child’s play. The important thing was that he let none escape. He searched the walls carefully, waving his hand through the air to stir up any late risers, continuing until the walls were spotless and the tip of his net was flecked with gray-black specks.

He hurried back to the kitchen and began to open drawers, searching for a rubber band or clothes pin, something he could use to close off the tip of the net and trap its occupants until he could process them.

Suddenly he heard a quick knock on the doorframe and the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Nick spun around.

“Hey, neighbor, I was wondering if you had any—”

The young man stood in the kitchen doorway. He looked at Nick, then down at the body lying in the crimson pool, then back at Nick again. There was a moment of horrified silence—then the man began to back away, his eyes still glued to Nick’s.

“Wait,” Nick said. “It’s not how it looks.”

The man held up one hand and continued to back across the living room; at the doorway, he turned and bolted down the hallway.

Nick took a last look at Leo, grabbed the aerial net, and ran for his car.

Nick rapped twice on the door, then stepped back from the peephole so he could be clearly seen. In his left hand he carried the aerial sweep net; his right arm encircled two plastic containers and two metal tins.

A moment later the door swung open. Riley smiled up at him, but Nick refused to meet her eyes. He brushed past her and charged into the motel room, heading directly for the small kitchenette.

“What happened?” Riley said.

Nick said nothing. He stepped to the counter and with a sweep of his arm sent a collection of small objects clattering onto the floor. He set down the net and peeled the tops off the two plastic containers.

“Nick—what’s wrong?”

Sarah stepped out of the bathroom in a knee-length robe and a terry towel wrapped around her blond hair. “What’s going on?”

Nick unscrewed the lid from the metal tin and poured the acrid liquid into one of the containers. In the bottom, an inch-thick layer of gypsum absorbed the fluid and kept it from spilling.

“This is ethyl acetate,” he said without looking up. “Don’t breathe it.”

Riley stepped closer. “Nick, look at me.”

“Somebody hasn’t had his coffee yet,” Sarah said, dabbing her ears with a towel.

Nick took the sacklike end of the sweep net and shook its occupants down into the extreme tip; then he draped it into the plastic container and pressed the lid on tight. Now he opened the other metal canister and poured the transparent fluid into the second container.

“I have to get them into ethanol as fast as possible,” he said. “I’ve got to dry them out—moisture degrades the DNA.”

Riley stepped up close to him now. She put her hand on Nick’s arm and stared at him intently until he could no longer continue. He dropped his head and closed his eyes.

“Whatever it is, you have to tell me,” she said gently.

Nick slowly turned his head and looked at her—and when his eyes met hers, she instantly knew.

Her knees buckled. Nick turned and caught her before she could fall. He pulled her in tight against him, and her body began to shake. She buried her face against Nick’s chest and sobbed.

Sarah’s eyes widened. “You guys are freaking me out. Will somebody tell me what’s going on?”

But it was several minutes before anyone could speak.

“Leo’s dead,” Nick said to Sarah.

“Leo? The computer guy?”

“He was killed sometime last night.”

Riley looked up at him. “How did it happen?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I want to know.”

“The pathologist in you wants to know—but
you
don’t. Just let it go, Riley. He’s gone.”

Sarah sunk down on one of the beds. “Last night? But you two were just there last night.”

“If we had stayed any longer, they would have caught all three of us together.”

Riley took a towel and wiped her eyes. “We thought they didn’t know about Leo. How did they find out? How did they know where he lived?”

“I’ve underestimated them every step of he way,” Nick said. “Not anymore.” He turned back to the specimens again. He removed the net from the killing jar and shook its lifeless contents into a tiny black pile in the very tip of the bag. Then he placed the container of ethanol into the net and gently tipped the contents into the clear liquid. They floated to the bottom like tiny pieces of ash.

“What are you doing?” Riley asked.

“I’m going after Santangelo.”

“What?”

“These are mosquitoes. I collected them from the walls in Leo’s apartment—he always left his windows open, remember? These mosquitoes were there last night when the killer arrived—and I’m
betting it was Santangelo. At least one of these mosquitoes drew blood from the killer, and that blood sample is still in its gut. I’m taking these specimens to Sanjay at Pitt; he’ll do a DNA sequence on each of them. Now all I need is a sample of Santangelo’s DNA, and if there’s a match, we can prove that Santangelo was present at the murder scene.”

“Now wait a minute,” Sarah said. “You want to go
after
this guy? Aren’t we supposed to be running away here? He just killed your friend
last night.
”

“We have no choice—the physical evidence is gone. Santangelo took it all with him—the shredding, the computer hard drives, the trash bags—everything. Now what are we supposed to show the newspapers? What are we supposed to show anybody? If this mosquito evidence works out, we can shift to the offensive again.”

“If
it works out? How long will it take to find out?”

“A few days, tops … I think.”

“You
think
?”

“Well, this has never actually been done before—at least, it’s never been used in a court case. But it’s been proven possible in a laboratory.”

“And in the meantime we’re supposed to stay here? Nick, we’re still in Pittsburgh—surely they’ll check the local motels. This guy knows more than you think he does—you said it yourself. He’s just one step behind us. I think we need to put some distance between us.”

“Sarah had an idea,” Riley said. “I think it’s a good one. We can go to our house in Mencken, remember? The place is deserted; no one would ever look for us there. There are no utilities, but there’s a working pump in the backyard—and we can take food and supplies with us.”

“It’s perfect,” Sarah said.

“I’m not going into hiding,” Nick said. “I’m taking the fight to
them.
They started this—I’m going to finish it.”

“I know I’m a newcomer here,” Sarah said, “but it’s my life, too, you know. I think we should get away from here.”

“Then we split up.”

“No!” Riley said. “Whatever we do, we do it
together.
There will be no splitting up!” She glared at both of them until their countenances softened.

Nick slumped down on the edge of the bed and lay backward. He rubbed his temples in long, slow circles, staring at the ceiling above. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe we could—” He sat up suddenly. “We’re going to Tarentum.”

“Tarentum? But you just said—”

“Listen to me—Santangelo knows
everything.
He knew about the shredding, and he knew about Leo—and he knows about my entomological report and the blowfly specimens in my greenhouse in Tarentum. Santangelo has to destroy all the physical evidence; how long will it be before he heads to Tarentum?”

Riley looked at him in horror. “Oh, Nick—your mom.”

Nick jumped up from the bed and began to gather the containers and canisters. Some clear fluid dripped down the edge of the specimen container; Nick wiped his hand on his trousers and turned to Sarah.

“Have you got something I can put this in? Something watertight?”

Sarah searched through her suitcase and found a Ziploc bag. She opened it, dumped out a hairbrush and a comb, and handed it to Nick. He sealed the leaking specimen container inside and set it with the others.

“You two get packed. I’m taking these specimens to Sanjay—I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Then we’re heading to Tarentum.” He took out his cell phone and pushed an autodial number.

“Wait,” Riley said. “Use the motel phone. They could be listening—”

Nick held up one hand. “Mama? Nick. Look, Riley and I are headed up there this afternoon. We need a place to get away for a couple of days. And I need a favor, OK? I need you to pack a bag and stay with a friend; we need the house to ourselves. What? No, it’s not like that. No, really. Look, if it makes you feel any better, we’re bringing a chaperone along with us, OK? What? I don’t know, how about Mrs. Drewencki? Well, then, try Mrs. Teklinski. I don’t know, Mama, you figure it out. You’re the Queen of Poland, just tell them you’re coming and they have to obey. Right. Now don’t forget, I want you out of there by this afternoon. I’ll call you when it’s safe to come back. What? No, I said when it’s
time
to come back—give your hearing aid a thump. I’ve got to go now. Thanks. Me too.” He folded the phone and dropped it back in his pocket.

He turned to Sarah. “You’re right, Sarah, we do need to put some distance between us—and we’re going to need a day or two to hide out while these samples are being processed. We’ll go to Tarentum, and then we’ll head for Mencken—but after that, I go after Santangelo.”

Nick gathered up the containers and turned for the door. Riley stepped in front of him.

“We go after Santangelo,” she said.

It was late afternoon before they arrived in Tarentum. Nick and Riley drove together, and Sarah followed in her own car close behind. They made the long drive up Route 28, with the Allegheny River winding beside them on their right like a long, green snake. At some points it came almost up to the roadway, then suddenly curved away and disappeared behind clusters of houses and trees and factories, only to reappear just as suddenly a few miles ahead. The rivers of Pittsburgh are the city’s vascular system, and life surrounds the waterways like clusters of living cells around blood vessels. Opposite the river, narrow roads cut back through the steep, wooded hillsides, lined with gray-shingled houses that huddled close against the cold Pennsylvania winters.

They led Sarah to a small motel on the outskirts of town, where she checked in alone under an assumed name. Now it was dark, and Nick and Riley stood at a pay phone in the corner of a BP station across from the motel.

“No answer?”

“She must have packed up and left,” Nick said. “Good girl.”

“Now what?”