The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3) (13 page)

“At the risk of being politically incorrect, she’s a ball buster, Stephanie. She’s aligned herself with the force’s powerbrokers and associates herself with the right people, but she’s never made her bones.”

I’d never known Ambler to buy into the majority consensus without a good reason. Never made her bones: that was cop talk for saying she had no street credit, no practical experience. It had taken all of my street smarts to sidestep the landmines that had been placed before me in order to derail my promotion to detective. There are a lot of guys on the job that don’t like to see a woman getting ahead too fast, especially guys that are being passed over. In the end, despite all my merits, it was the Frank Chalice pedigree that saw me through—promotion probably would have taken years longer had it not been for dear old dad. So, to set things straight, I just wanted to make sure Shearson wasn’t getting a bum rap. The old timers seem to take a dim view of women that are too strong. “Got it, I’ll tread lightly. All the same, I’ll ask her for more support.”

“Atta girl.”

“That’s the second atta girl you’ve given me today.”

“So?”

“Don’t give me a third.”

“Why are you so touchy today?”

I didn’t have to utter a word. All I had to do was glance over my shoulder toward the back seat where Damien Zugg lay sprawled out, snoring at roughly a hundred decibels—in layman’s terms, that’s just a whisper below the noise a Boeing 747 generates at takeoff, or the sound level in the good seats at a heavy metal concert.

Ambler got quiet and glued his eyes to the road.

“So, I’m thinking a door-to-door search within a ten-block radius of the subway station should be our next move…you?”

Ambler nodded as we disappeared into the Queens-Midtown Tunnel on the Queens side. Zugg snored all the way through.

W
e were meeting Lido at FBI headquarters because of its proximity to our hot zone.
Lido was already there when we arrived and ready to head up the NYPD portion of the effort. I was just hanging up with Pam Shearson as we walked through the door. Our officer in charge had been most cooperative, and though it served my purpose, I detected in her line of questioning that her interests went far beyond the apprehension of a psychopath and the possible rescue of Paul Liu, the Chinese ambassador’s son. It was the bigger picture that she was interested in, the resolution of a high profile case the FBI had stumbled over for months. Media attention would be international in scope, just the kind of attention a mover and shaker sought—subsequent promotion for Ms. Shearson was inevitable, and all she had to do was say yes to my request for reinforcements. She had not been involved in the case at the street level as Sonellio would have been. She was not interested in details. Shearson would simply show up at the arrest, mug for the press, and take the credit. It was a simple formula, one she had obviously mastered.

Shearson had demanded that we use NYPD turf as the site for the command center. Here too the reason was clear. She wanted to downplay the FBI’s role in the case. In her eyes, this was now clearly a police matter. The FBI could consult as long as they remained unobtrusive. In the end, if we failed, she’d hang the blame around the Bureau’s neck like a neon albatross. The woman was clad in Teflon. There was just one problem, me. Who knows if we would have been able to put two and two together had Ambler not stepped up to request FBI permission to examine the skull found in John Doe’s possession? Maybe yes, maybe no—in any case, I was not the kind of cop to crap on my colleague in arms. I had to pull Ambler aside and lay the lowdown on him.

Zugg was another matter all together. His involvement had to be kept on the QT. He was an FBI paid consultant, and though he caused me worry, I felt he had a sizable contribution to make. The question was how to keep him off everyone’s radar. Certainly, that was going to be a lot of work.

I felt more like a mediator than a cop as we all filtered into the Bureau’s ready room. I had to fill Lido in on Zugg, Ambler in on Shearson, and Zugg in on life as it had to be. Tell me again, why do I like this job?

The nap on the ride in did Zugg a world of good. He was looking…okay. He was wearing his Yankees cap and looking sort of normal. Lido wasn’t meeting him under the circumstances that I had, naked and erupting past the surface of a scummy pond like some type of swamp creature. This was going to be easy. Okay, maybe not easy, but easier.

Lido and Zugg shook hands. He picked up on the Yankees cap and immediately began talking about A-Rod, Jeter, Steinbrenner, Godzilla, and— I hadn’t a clue if Zugg actually gave a hoot about the Bronx Bombers or if the cap was strictly cosmetic. In any case, he seemed to be engaged by Lido’s home team bravado. Thank God Zugg didn’t remove his cap and treat Lido to the sight of his post surgical cranium. No one was looking, so I crossed myself for good luck. Of course I’d have to tell Lido about Zugg’s state of physical well being, but I’d do so later, perhaps after several bottles of wine and a proper boinking. As they say, timing is everything.

“Who’s up for some Bureau swill?” I knew Ambler would want in. “Herbert, I know you want a cup.” Lido already had a
vente
-sized cup of Starbucks on the table next to his gear. “Dr, Zugg, how about you?”

“Just water please.”

He could have asked for a bottle of Crystal and I would have nodded and said okay. All I really had in mind was getting Ambler alone for a minute. I had him by the sleeve and was already yanking him out the door when Zugg answered. Our eyes connected—Ambler played along.

I still had him in tow when he could no longer control his curiosity. “I love it when you play rough.”

I stopped myself from acting on the impulse to flip him off in the middle of the FBI operations center. “We need to talk.” I already knew where the kitchen was, having been a frequent guest of Ambler’s and the FBI. We walked slowly in the kitchen’s direction.

“So what’s up? Is it Zugg again? I don’t want you to worry because I’ll deal with him. I know he creeps you out a little, but he’s very good at what he does. Tell me you weren’t impressed with him.”

“Actually I’m very impressed with Zugg, and he doesn’t so much creep me out as worry me. You saw him this morning. I thought we were going to have to call the funeral parlor. I worry that this will kill him.”

“That’s just something we’re going to have to get our arms around. He asked to be here. He feels he can help and we both agree. He’s got cancer, Stephanie. He’s not going to have a good day everyday. Can you deal with that?”

“Time will tell.” That was as far as I wanted to take it. I didn’t want to say how tough I found it dealing with my father’s physical and mental decline. Ambler was close enough to the Chalice family to know the intimate details. We were now alone in the kitchen. Ambler was searching for Styrofoam cups. I opened the fridge where they stored the bottled water and those portion-sized half & half thingies.

“So what then is on your alleged mind?”

“I love it when you talk cop. It’s Shearson. She wants operations housed on NYPD property. She made it perfectly clear that this is a police matter. John Doe is ours and the skull is ours. You catch my drift.”

“Jesus, that woman is such a fucking credit whore. I had a bad feeling the moment you told me that she was involved.” Ambler handed me a cup of coffee. “That’ll be two bucks.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well as long as we’re not sharing any more. I suppose she wants the Bureau waiting on the sidelines in case she needs her shoes shined.”

“You know I would never play it like that.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Stephanie, because I’m not going to roll over and let Ms. High and Mighty ride roughshod over the FBI. It’s true that Doe is an NYPD investigation and technically the skull is your evidence, but this is also a Bureau investigation. Kevin Lee and Paul Liu are linked, and the disappearance of a foreign ambassador’s son on US soil is definitely an FBI matter. So, I’ll play ball as long as Shearson doesn’t get heavy handed, but the moment she does—”

“I know. You’ll call the Director.”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Lighten up, will you. You know how I am. I play fair.”

“You’d better,” Ambler said with a broad smile on his face.

“Or what? The way I see it, I’m the one with all the power.”

“How’s that?”

“How’d you like me to tell everyone about your Anne Hathaway fantasy? The two of you would look adorable together on a bearskin rug.”

“I wasn’t so much thinking adorable as I was incendiary. Anyway, that was told to you in confidence.”

“I look like legal or psychiatric counsel to you? You have no protection under the law.”

“That would be especially bitchy of you.”

We were still alone in the kitchen. I gave Ambler a peck on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “You’re so easy.”

“And you’re such a ball buster.”

“Such flattery.” I took him by the arm again. “Come on, G-Man, let’s go solve us a crime.”

“O
pen up, it’s us.”

I needed no explanation. I had come home for a few minutes and was fresh from the shower when I heard the doorbell. “Just a minute.” I threw on a robe and went to the door. Ma and Ricky had stopped by for a visit.

Ricky held forth two enormous bags, which I knew at first whiff was Chinese food. “Hungry, Sis?”

“This is a nice surprise. Come in.”

“Is Gus home?” Ma asked.

“No. I ran home for a shower and a change of clothes. We’re setting up an operation downtown. We’ll probably be out all night. Gus and Ambler are holding down the fort until I get back.” I gave my brother a kiss on the cheek. He was smiling ear to ear. “How’d you know I’d be home?”

“We took a chance,” Ricky said. Ma’s mannerisms were beginning to rub off on him.

I gave Ma her obligatory hug and kiss. She walked in and proceeded to take charge. “Ricky, put those bags on the table. Stephanie, you got paper plates, the coated ones? I don’t want the food soaking through.”

“Chinese food, huh? I don’t know if I should. I had the most fattening lunch imaginable with Ambler. I think Chinese would put me over the—”

“Ba, I told you, you look like a noodle with boobs. You’re too friggin’ skinny.”

Certainly, there was no dissuading Ma from her idea of the perfect female body type. There would be several trips to the gym to atone for this day of sinful eating. Instead of saying a Hail Mary, I’d be doing crunches and a couple of hours on the elliptical machine. “What’d you get?”

“We got tired of Italian food,” Ricky said. He looked so grown up as he unpacked the food. I had always thought of him as a kid in a man’s body, but all the work with Dr. Twain was paying off. Seeing him now, hungry, tired from a day’s work, and thrilled to be breaking bread with his family, he looked like any other guy. It brought a tear to my eye.

“So what’s in the bag?” I gave him a playful elbow on his arm. “Holding out on me?”

“We got egg rolls, wonton soup, walnut shrimp, moo shu pork, fried rice—” It sounded like Ricky was only halfway through the menu.

“Okay, okay, I’m in. I’ll make a pot of tea.” I walked into the kitchen to set up the kettle. “Be right back.” I dashed into the bedroom and picked out some clothes appropriate for an all-nighter, going door to door—slacks, a merino sweater, and a comfy pair of shoes. Buttoning my pants, I noticed that I still had a little room. It made me feel a trifle less guilty about gorging myself on noodles and batter covered fried shrimp, which had been sautéed in sugar and cornstarch. I combed my hair and sat down at the dinner table without putting on makeup.

The plates were still empty. Ricky was rolling moo shu wraps for the three of us, and doing a skillful job of it. Ma was silent. I saw her watching him, her eyes wet, fighting back tears. When I held her hand under the table, she looked at me. She let one tear go and then wiped her eyes dry. “What are we doing here,” she said. “Everyone’s starving. Give out some food already.”

“Here’s the moo shu,” Ricky said, transferring the wraps from his dish to ours. “I put the plum sauce inside already.”

I took a bite. It was really good, sweet, salty, and moist, all at the same time—just the kind of food I normally avoid like the plague. But this was one of those days, when it was easier to go with the flow than fight the world. Did I actually hear Ma say that I looked like a noodle with boobs? And I let it go? I was about to revisit the subject when Ma struck preemptively.

“You look pretty without your makeup on, just simple and clean.” She grabbed my hand under the table and squeezed it. “You work too hard.” She was misting up again. She was looking at me and remembering Dad. “Remember, it’s only a job. Don’t let it take over your life.”

“I’m fine, Ma.” This was the one thing I couldn’t explain to her. It was one thing being a policeman’s wife, and another being on the job yourself. This wasn’t just a job, this was the job of jobs; NYPD homicide, it’s if you’re fighting a war for God himself. She would never be able to understand that, looking from the outside in.

“Isn’t your sister pretty, Ricky?”

Ricky nodded. He had a huge grin on his face and was stuffing an egg roll into his mouth. He looked up and grinned. The boy had an appetite as big as all outdoors. I know that most men prioritize food above almost all else. Ricky apparently was no exception.

I looked back at Ma. She seemed thoughtful as she ate, as if she was truly appreciative of the time she had with her family and was taking stock in the axiom, life is too short. Perhaps that was just me, projecting my feeling onto her. Spending the day with Damien Zugg had given me a fresh perspective on life, and how precious it truly was.

5
:00 AM.
The night’s yield had come to nothing: no clues, no suspects, no runs, no hits, and no errors. Lido and I were sitting in a coffee shop named the Dugout, hence the baseball analogy—I felt like you were due an explanation.

There’s nothing quite as uncomfortable as knocking on someone’s door in the middle of the night, waking them from a sound night’s sleep, holding photographs in front of their red, watery eyes, while they’re yawning, only to leave with a little less hope than you had the moment before you knocked on their door. In law enforcement as in life, anticipation is everything. It’s what keeps driving you forward when all seems lost. Lido and I were exhausted and low on hope and life sustaining nutrients.