The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3) (11 page)

Ambler broke the ice. “Bad timing?”

Zugg smiled. “Timing-wise, I’d say this is about as bad as it gets.” He turned to me. “Knowing what they say about first impressions, what must you think of me, Detective Chalice?”

I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.
“I’ve got a bunch of years under my belt with NYPD homicide—nothing rattles me anymore. I’ve seen it all.”

“I doubt you ever met anyone else under similar circumstances. Nonetheless, thank you for being polite.”

“So tell me, Damien, what the hell were you doing out back?”

“Herbert, I’m surprised you have to ask. You saw the censor and the religious robe. I was submersed in water. Surely you—”

“You were baptizing yourself, Damien?” Ambler asked, making no attempt to conceal his surprise.

“Yes, it’s part of my daily routine. My private lifestyle allows me many indulgences.”

“Why?” Ambler asked.

“
Happy is he whose fault is taken away
,” Zugg said.

It was a passage I was familiar with. “Psalm 32,” I said. “You’re afraid of dying with sins?”

“I’m not so much afraid, Detective. I’m just playing by the Almighty’s rules. Medicine only offers a brief postponement. I’m hoping to buy myself more time by casting away my transgressions. And yes, you’re right, if it’s to the Pearly Gates I go, I’d like to go with a clean slate.”

“It’s not our business to pry into your personal affairs, Dr. Zugg, but I will say a prayer for you.”

“Wonderful,” Zugg said. “Shall we discuss forensics?”

By all means.

“So tell us what you found, Damien,” Ambler said.

Zugg rested his chin on thatched fingers. He seemed weary now, his eyelids heavy, as he labored to contribute to the case. “All I found was dye; gentian violet to be specific.”

“What’s it used for?” I asked. “You don’t seem excited about your findings, but surely it was on Kevin Lee’s skull for a reason. God knows, all the FBI geniuses with bug boxes and gizmos didn’t find it.”

“Yes, Detective, it was put there for a reason; but for what reason? Gentian violet is one of the most common and frequently used substances in medicine and forensics. It’s used in everything from fingerprinting to the treatment of fungal infections. It’s the primary agent used in the Gram stain test, perhaps the single most important bacterial identification test in use today. They even use it in head shops to mark the tongue prior to piercing. So you see, my friends, finding gentian violet on a laboratory specimen may mean everything or it may mean nothing. Someone may have been careless in the forensics lab.”

“Or it may be the key to solving this case and rescuing the Chinese ambassador’s son.”

“Yes,” Zugg said, “but which is it?”

“Do you have a theory?” Ambler asked.

“I have several, Herbert, but nothing better than idle speculation. At first I—” Zugg’s right eye squeezed abruptly shut. His other eye glossed over and began to tear. He was having an intense migraine or a seizure. I wasn’t sure of which, but from the expression on his face, I saw that the pain was severe.”

“Are you alright, Damien?” Ambler stood and hovered over him. “Is there something you can take?”

Zugg’s eye was twitching. He pointed toward the kitchen. “In the refrigerator…preloaded syringes. Bring me one.”

I raced into the kitchen. The syringes Zugg had prepared were in the butter drawer in a sealed plastic bag along with alcohol swabs. I knew my way around a hypodermic. My father had been a severe diabetic and there were times when I helped him with his injections. I had the syringe in my hand, with my thumb on the plunger when I realized that whatever it was in this syringe might not be injected intramuscular like insulin. I tore open the small packet and handed Zugg the alcohol swab. Zugg’s hand was shaking as he swabbed the crease of his arm. I handed him the syringe. He purged it frantically, wasting medication, and then, as if on autopilot, pierced his skin with the needle and guided it into a vein. Zugg went limp in his chair and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“D
o you like clams?”

“How in God’s name can you even think of food at a time like this? Did you see the man? He’s a friend of yours, for Christ’s sake.”

Ambler pulled into a head-in parking spot and shut the engine. “I’m sorry, I stress, I eat—you’ve probably noticed, I’m a pretty big fellow.”

“Herbert, come on.”

“Look, he threw us out of his house. He obviously wanted to be alone and felt well enough not to need us in attendance.”

“Still.” It had been less than an hour since Zugg had passed out, only to come around seconds later. He explained to us that it was his body’s response to the medication, to the abrupt cessation of pain and that passing out was the psychodynamic equivalent to the rush a junky received from a spike of heroin. The explanation didn’t ease my mind one bit. Despite everything Ambler had told me about the man’s sterling credentials, I couldn’t help wondering about how much of the man was truly left. He’d found forensic evidence the all-knowing FBI lab had somehow missed. I had known him for the sum total of an hour, during which time he had emerged naked from baptizing himself in a scummy pond, donned a monastic robe, and passed out from his body’s response to pain medication—not exactly what I’d call a solid citizen—how about you? What I really wanted to do now, more than anything, was hug a puppy. The only warm blooded creature around was Ambler, and he didn’t quite cut it.

“Clams you say?” I couldn’t believe that I was responding to Ambler’s craving for deep fried sludge.

“Yeah, fried clams, fried calamari, popcorn shrimp; maybe wash it down with a cold one and a huge platter of
Cheez Whiz
encrusted nachos.”

I almost hurled. “Okay, I can see you’re in bad shape—order everything. I’ll just pick.” I was praying they had a decent salad on the menu—what were the chances?

“Atta girl, there’s a place right down the street that fries everything in beer batter and bacon grease.”

“You really feel like shit, don’t you?”

Ambler nodded. “I feel lousy—thanks for indulging me.”

“In terms of heartburn, you’ll be going where no man has ever dared to go before.”

Ambler put his arm over my shoulder and we strolled down the block, our noses sniffing the grease-heavy air.

“It was tough having to see him like that,” Ambler said.

“I know. Are you sure it was all right to leave him alone? Maybe we should stop back to check on him before we head back to the city.”

Ambler looked pensive. I know he wanted to say that Zugg was fine, that he’s tough as a mule and would shake it off. Everything about him wanted to go that route, but he didn’t. The expression on his face gave him away. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea. I mean, I’m sure he’s okay, but—you wouldn’t mind?”

“I know that you’re worried about damaging his self respect. Under the circumstances though, I’d risk invading his privacy. I’d want a good friend to do the same for me.”
God forbid
.

“He was a very vital man. You can see how this is killing him… That came out wrong.”

“I understand. We went through the same thing with my dad just a few years ago, you remember.”

We were both sullen for a moment and then Ambler nodded. “Your dad was a dynamo.”

“Right up until the end, but his body wouldn’t follow the game plan.”

“Zugg’s kind of the same. His body wants to keep going, but his mind won’t let him. He can’t sleep and sometimes he gets so strange that I don’t know who I’m talking to, but then, the next time I see him, he’s okay again.”

“Where would you place him today? On a scale of one to ten, was he weird or normal?”

Ambler grinned at me. “I’ll take the fifth—let’s get some chow.”

The place Ambler picked had outdoor seating. It was a sunny afternoon and I was glad to get some fresh air. The least I could do was try to dupe my body into feeling healthy while I doused it with fat, free radicals, and toxins.

The restaurant was doing a brisk lunch hour business, so we opted for seats at the bar.

The barmaid looked about eighteen, too young to drink herself, but obviously not too young to mix up all manner of exotic potion. I watched her preparing Long Island Iced Teas for two guys in business suits. She had the hand-eye coordination of a Ringling Brothers juggler—it looked like she had three bottles in the air simultaneously. Ambler seemed equally enamored as well. “She’s good isn’t she?”

“Good? That’s not quite the adjective I had in mind.”

I took a second look at the barmaid and knew where Ambler was going with his comment. She was young and thin, with a midriff top and an ample bosom. Her hair was long, silky, and flowing in the breeze, like a model’s in a shampoo commercial. “Herbert Ambler, are you lusting after that young girl?”

“I can look, can’t I?”

“You’re more than twice her age.”

“I’m just looking, Chalice. I’m well aware that I’m off her radar, thank you very much.”

I didn’t mean to bum him out. The morning had been pretty dreadful already. “I was just busting chops.” At that moment, the barmaid turned to us and said that she’d be right over. “See that—she’s totally into you.”

“Stop it. I’m a Federal agent, not an adolescent school boy.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him—what could possibly be less attractive to a pretty teenage girl than a middle aged Fed wearing wingtips and a J C Penney suit with an elasticized waistband? He’d be far better off with a face full of zits, a pocketful of weed, and a pair of Green Day tickets.

The barmaid swung by. She handed us menus and told us that her name was Allison.
If you don’t see it on the menu, ask for it
was emblazoned across her perky young breasts.

“I love your blouse.”

“Thanks, you should totally get one. It would look great on you. Ready to order? We’ve got a two-for-one special on Coors.”

“So that’s why you’re so busy.”

“Totally—the suits around here like to soak up the suds on their lunch hour.”

Ambler didn’t need the menu. He ordered all the fried fish he could think of and wrapped it up with sides of onion rings and curly fries. He indulged himself, taking advantage of the Coors special, advising me while ordering that we’d share the two-for-one brews.

“How about you?” Allison asked.

“I’ll have a well done
Zantac
on a Kaiser roll.”

Ambler snickered.

Allison seemed confused. “What’s a
Zantac
?”

“It’s heartburn medication.” I waited a moment to see if she’d get it. She didn’t. “We’re going to share.”

“Whatever.”

She grabbed our menus and ducked under the bar to run our order into the kitchen. Ambler watched her make the trip. “I’m getting old, kiddo.”

“You’re just in a funk. Not that I blame you. The mortality issue, that’s pretty heavy stuff. It’s not easy to see one of your contemporaries at the end of his days.”

“No, I’m serious. I’ve got twenty-four years with the Bureau. How long can I do this for?”

“You’re not ready to retire. What would you do with yourself; fly out to the coast and produce a Mission Impossible sequel?”

He flipped me the most discreet of birds, posting his middle digit just below his eye. “You know, I haven’t got a clue, but I know I won’t be able to chase psychopaths forever.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Honestly, I’d like to curl up on a bearskin rug with Anne Hathaway, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

This was a serious admission for someone as private as Herbert Ambler. I had always known him to be a lifelong bachelor, and though I had long wondered about his dating habits, I had never asked. I saw him more as an uncle than a colleague and wanted to respect his privacy. Clearly he wanted to talk. “Anne Hathaway, the Devil Wears Prada girl?”

“There’s a certain someone for everyone.”

“Well, ya, but—” Ambler clearly didn’t want to face the reality of Zugg. He had never taken me into his confidence on the subject of his romantic interests. I guess I could indulge him in a few minutes of displacement activity.

“Yeah, I know, don’t tell me—I’m setting unrealistic expectations for myself.”

“Have you been dating?”

“Once in a blue moon, between the Bureau and keeping late nights with Jim Phelps and the Mission Impossible team, I keep pretty busy.”

Dear God, what an existence. I felt so guilty. “Why? You’re a good looking, hunk of a man. Just haven’t found anybody.” In truth, Ambler didn’t exactly fit the matinee idol mold, but he was funny, intelligent, and could be damn charming when he wasn’t munching down a handful of beer nuts. 

Ambler shrugged. I need something easy. You know, casual, no strings attached—something I don’t have to work at.”

Uh, that’s why they have hookers.
“That kind of relationship doesn’t exist, not for long anyway. All relationships take a lot of effort. Let me repeat that, I said
all
. You think Lido and I never argue?”

“You two seem to be
pimpin’
it.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t working, but it’s not always a walk in the park—we fight, trust me.”

“Come on, you two have it made.”

“Oh yeah, well last year, just before Christmas, Gus wasn’t speaking to me at all.”

“You’re kidding. What happened?”

“You promise you won’t repeat this?”

“Repeat it to whom? Aside from me, Ma, and Ricky, who else knows you’re dating?”

“No one, I hope.”

“So why weren’t the two of you speaking?”

“Gus thought I was having an affair with Dr. Twain.”

“Really, were you?”

“
No!
Of course not, but I used to call his name out in my sleep,” I said, sounding guilty as hell.

“Yeah, that would piss me off too. So what’s the scoop, do you have the dark, brooding shrink on your mind?”

I didn’t want to get into it. I only put it out there so he’d realize that Lido and I had to work at our relationship too. Thankfully, the kitchen was fast. I saw that Allison was on her way over with a tray full of goodies. “Wow, look at the size of those onion rings.”