Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (29 page)

Kevin nodded. "Sure." He pulled his wallet out and flipped it open. Instead of seeing his driver's license in the small window, she spotted business cards. He pulled one out and handed it to her. "Give me a call, and I'll put you in touch with someone."

Casey looked at the card. Kevin Wrigley, Estate Tax Planning, CPA, Armstrong & Associates. It was a number in San Francisco—all just like he said. "Thanks." She pocketed the card and turned back to Billy, wishing she could apologize to him for thinking his friend was a killer. She rubbed her face. She was so tired. She really needed to sleep.

"The doctor told me it was an opportunistic infection. Do you know how they're treating it?" Kevin asked.

She shook her head, unable to find a suitable response.

"I've had some experience with this type of disease. It's pretty common with AIDS."

She glanced at Billy and then back to Kevin. "He told you?"

Kevin shook his head. "I sort of guessed. He wouldn't let us get physical. He held me at bay. I should've known."

"Did you see him getting sick?" she asked.

Kevin shook his head. "Nothing more than I've seen with other friends. A little tired, pale, short of breath, that sort of thing." Kevin went back to the window and fiddled with the flowers before turning toward her again. "He called and said he wasn't going to go to the vigil—that he was too tired. He suggested coffee instead. So I met up with him after the show I went to. He seemed tired, but no more than the usual. It didn't seem like anything, and then suddenly he collapsed.

"It happens that way with some people. He's just lucky he wasn't alone. If they don't make it to the hospital fast enough, that's when they're at risk."

Casey took his remark like a shot to the gut. Before Kevin's comment, she hadn't even realized that Billy had never shown up at the vigil. She hadn't thought to ask about him, either. Her mind had been on Leonardo.

"Has the doctor told you what's wrong?" Kevin asked.

"He's got pneumocys—something pneumonia."

"Pneumocystic carinii pneumonia, yeah. How are they treating it?"

Casey tried to remember the name of the drug. "I'm not sure."

"Trimethoprim-sulfa?"

"No. It was something else—something with a p."

"Pentamidine?"

"That's it."

Kevin frowned. "That's not a great sign," he said quietly.

"The doctor said they're using it because the fungus is more advanced. He'll be fine," she said, needing to hear it.

"I hope so."

Casey nodded. She looked back at Billy and shook her head. "I should've seen it coming."

Kevin leaned forward and crossed his hands in front of him as though reaching out to her. "You can't blame yourself. It happens really fast sometimes. I had a friend die last year—he got sick and just died in a matter of forty-eight hours. Even his partner didn't know he was sick."

Casey took Billy's hand in hers. "Come on."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Kevin slump back in the chair. His face was distant and pale.

He seemed to be suffering. "Billy talked about you all the time," Kevin said. "He said he'd never met anyone so accepting."

Casey frowned. "Really? Accepting isn't exactly how I would describe myself."

Kevin laughed a tired laugh. "Said you were a pain in the ass, too. But he told me you were his family." Kevin seemed to force himself out of the chair. He stood and picked up the flowers, balancing them upright against the window. "I think he'd be glad to know you were here with him."

Kevin approached the bed and gave Billy a kiss on the cheek and then turned to leave. "I'm going to take a walk. I'll come back later."

Casey nodded. "We'd like that. Both of us."

Kevin smiled and let himself out, and Casey turned her attention back to Billy.

* * *

Casey felt her stomach growl again, but she ignored it. She'd seen Billy stir twice in the two hours since Kevin left. She wasn't going to leave and risk missing him when he was awake.

There was a knock, and the door opened. Jordan stepped into the room. "How's he doing?"

She shrugged. "He hasn't woken up yet." She stood and stretched.

"Have you taken a break, Casey?"

She shook her head.

"You look tired. You want me to see if there's an empty room around somewhere so you can rest?"

"No."

"I can watch Billy. If anything happens, I'll come get you."

She shook her head again.

Jordan exhaled, frustrated, but she didn't even glance at him. "I've got some leads on the case I thought you might want to see," he continued.

She shook her head. Although she wanted desperately to know what he'd learned, she found herself remembering his words from after the vigil. "You said it yourself—it's not my case."

He approached the bed. "I'm sorry about the other night. I was a jerk." He paused and shook his head. "I thought we had him and then that kid... I got a little heated."

She nodded. "It was frustrating for me, too. I'm as vested in catching him as you are."

"I know you are. And this is your case." He shook his head. "Shit, it's probably more your case than it is mine."

She cracked a smile. "That's more like it. What have you got?"

"I think it's you he's after."

Casey shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"You saw them on Sunday."

"Saw what?"

"The pictures."

She nodded. "I saw them."

"All of the mothers of these children look just like you. He's fixated on you, Casey. You're what he wants."

She suppressed a shiver and waved him away. She'd already thought about that exact thing. "I know that. He can have me."

"But it doesn't seem like that's his game."

Halting, she focused on Jordan. "What are you saying?"

"I'm trying to predict his next move," Jordan said. "I'm trying to think like you. But I'm no good at it, damn it." He sank into the chair. "I need your help, Casey. I think you're at the center of it. I think you're the game, but I need you to help me figure it out."

Casey rubbed her knuckles against her temples. At that moment everything hurt. She hadn't been able to figure out Leonardo's game, either. Was he really after her? Then, why hadn't he just taken her while she was in the shower?

The door opened, and the same young doctor they'd spoken with the other day entered the room. She was followed by two nurses—one male and one female. Casey and Jordan stopped and looked at her.

"Hello," Dr. Larson said, though her face lacked any sign of congeniality.

The two nurses paused at the foot of the bed, but the doctor moved up next to the beeping machine by Billy's head. Casey followed her like a puppy.

The doctor ignored her for nearly a minute before turning back and looking at Jordan. "Why don't you take a break? I'm going to check his vitals and run a few tests. The nurses need to bathe him. He won't be alone for a second, I promise."

Casey wanted to argue, but she was hungry and tired and desperately needed a break.

Jordan took her by the shoulder. "Let's go get something to eat."

Her stomach responded to the suggestion by echoing its emptiness. Nodding, she took a last look at Billy and headed into the hallway.

* * *

In the cafeteria, Casey looked over the menu, realizing how long it had been since she'd eaten out. Billy had often tried to convince her to go to lunch in Montclair. He'd wanted to try a restaurant called Crogan's that they passed sometimes on the way to the grocery store. He'd heard they had wonderful seafood, and there was also a gourmet burger place he said looked good. She hadn't had a burger in a year.

Each time he'd suggested eating out, she'd refused.

Dealing with her hands in a public restaurant seemed like too much. "No one will even notice," he'd always said. But people would notice. And she couldn't stand even the thought of the pitiful looks she would get.

Ordering Cybelle's pizza for delivery was as close as she'd come to experiencing California dining. And now her first meal out in a year was in a hospital cafeteria. She glanced up and saw cheeseburger on the menu, wishing she'd taken Billy out just once. Suddenly, she would have given anything for just one dinner with him.

"I'm getting a burger. You want one?"

She shook her head. Gripping anything was still extremely difficult and maneuvering finger food seemed impossible. Pizza, at least, she could eat with a fork and knife. The utensils could be tucked nicely between otherwise immobile fingers and then used, albeit awkwardly, to navigate food. But no one cut up a burger. "I'll have the turkey meal."

Jordan made a disgusted face, but ordered what she'd asked for. He carried both trays and arranged them on an empty table in the corner.

"We have a witness who saw our man in the Nordstrom Mall with the Kreiger girl," he said when they were seated.

Casey looked up from her food. "And?"

"At first I thought Leonardo might have sent her, but she was helpful. She was able to ID his uniform, and we traced it back to Sterling Security."

Dropping her fork, Casey sat forward. "You found him?"

"He quit last week."

She exhaled and turned her attention to the strange yellowish mashed potatoes. "What about his employee file?"

"They had him under the name Joe Tharpe there. Tharpe was a police officer out by Sacramento. Somehow he had Tharpe's driver's license."

"Where's Tharpe?"

"Dead. Killed in the line of duty eight months ago. Shot after pulling over a car. Killer was never caught," Jordan said.

"What about home address, rental history, bank account, anything?"

"Everything's closed and emptied out," Jordan said.

Casey exhaled. "He just quit his job and got away clean?"

"But not before stabbing his boss to death and then sticking the corpse in the cafeteria freezer."

Casey looked at the reddish-brown gravy and pushed the plate away. "Thanks." She swallowed a sip of water and thought about it. "You have any witnesses to the murder?"

Jordan shook his head after another big bite of burger.

"Just a guess?"

He nodded.

"What else did the woman say?"

"She said he had a Midwestern accent."

Casey shook her head. "Midwesterners don't have accents—that's why they make good anchorpeople."

Jordan laughed. "Where'd you hear that?"

She shrugged and tried to pick at her food again. She was still starving.

"She did a police composite." He drew a thin stack of papers from his pocket and spread them across the table. Each was a sketch of a man, but other than that, they looked almost nothing alike.

Pushing her meal to the side, Casey studied each one.

"This is Billy's." Jordan pointed to the one on her left. "Then, Officer Jones's from the park. And finally, Ms. Weisman." He showed her the other two, one at a time.

"Same artist?" she asked.

"It's all done on computers, but it's the same guy."

She nodded. "Does your artist go in blind?"

Jordan frowned.

"Does he know what case the witnesses are related to?"

"Never."

She nodded again, ruling out that the artist might have subconsciously related one drawing to the next. "Give me your napkin."

"You've got one in your hand," Jordan said.

"Give it to me."

Watching her, Jordan handed over the napkin. Folding her napkin and then his into long pieces, Casey covered the bottom half of each picture, leaving only the eyes exposed. Something about the man looked familiar, and it gave her the chills to think she might have been face-to-face with him without knowing it. Still, even the eyes were disguised. Bushy brows in one, glasses in one, fuller eyes in yet another. The sketches weren't good enough to tell what his eyes really looked like.

Covering the eyes, she did the same, leaving only the chins showing.

Jordan moved to her side of the table and looked over the drawings. "Same chin."

She nodded, looking over the drawings. Something about them, though, felt wrong. It was a fat man's chin—fuller jowl. Frowning, she took her knife and fork and pushed them over the edges of the chin, effectively thinning out the face.

"What are you doing?"

She stared at the picture. The new face fit Leonardo's trim physique.

"Casey?"

She looked up. "The chin's a fake."

He stared down at the picture and started to push the silverware aside. "How do you—"

Stopping him, she nudged the silverware back in place, covering the rounded sides of the jaw. "Describe this man in terms of size and stature."

Jordan shook his head. "I'm not in the mood for guessing—"