Chapter 9: New Leads
Schuldig barely looked up when he answered the door to let Crawford in. "The university is a dead end," they said simultaneously. Schuldig lifted his head from the newspaper he had been reading and raised a brow. Crawford shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair, then went to Schuldig's in-room coffee-maker.
"I questioned Jordan," he told Schuldig as he poured himself a cup of coffee. It looked black as tar and about as viscous. "When they made the decision to refuse Esset, they cut all ties with the university."
"And the university didn't even know about its psi dorm residents or about the experiments they were conducting. It all must have been underground," Schuldig supplied the fruits of his day's labor, skimming the students and faculty.
"No official tie with the university at all." Crawford grimaced at the first sip of coffee, then stoically continued drinking.
"Back to square one." Schuldig tossed his newspaper on the table in disgust. "So now what? Do we go back to Tokyo until Vela Berdan resurfaces?"
"No. Berdan is in Boston, do not mistake it. She's friendly with one of the locals, and it's a pretty good bet that's where she is." Crawford put the cup down. Half a cup of that sludge was all he could take.
Schuldig picked up Crawford's abandoned cup. "There's around six million people in this metro area, Crawford. How do you propose we find just one?"
"I don't know, Schuldig," Crawford said. His eyes narrowed as he watched Schuldig drink. The sight never failed to arouse him. Not to mention the way Schuldig unconsciously licked his lips after— he forced himself to ignore it and get back to the business at hand. "But we do have another avenue to pursue: the researchers who worked with these talents. They might have more of a clue as to who their backer was, who wanted to know more about psis than Esset would like."
"Maybe they were working independently," Schuldig said thoughtfully, as he finished the last of the coffee.
Crawford wrinkled his nose slightly. How could the German drink that stuff and not even blink an eye? "No," he answered. "Jordan mentioned that she had overheard them talking about 'their investor' on more than one occasion. Someone bankrolled this, hired those scientists to find out more about ESP." He wished that they had met in his room. He could have had a decent cup of coffee there. "Reasons why would be interesting but in the end irrelevant. We can't let this 'investor' gather any more information than he already has. As a matter of fact, Esset has a higher priority on the investor than the talents."
"So he's top of the hit list," Schuldig said cheerfully. "Once we find him, that is. Well, from the images I lifted from Rochelle and LeJeune, I know that it was a team of three scientists, two men and a woman. None of the three work at the university." He raised a brow in question. "Are we to kill them too?"
Crawford shook his head. "Maybe. However, Esset doesn't require their deaths." Even though one was dead already. That was how they found out about this research project. Too bad the man had killed himself before a telepath could interrogate him. "You'll have to mind wipe them if we can't find a way to silence them unobtrusively."
"Oh, lovely. My favorite thing to do," Schuldig said sarcastically. Getting people to 'forget' one or two recent incidents wasn't that hard. Mind wipes were a different matter. Mind wipes were never easy. He had to immerse himself into his subject to do a thorough job. Sometimes that led to Schuldig getting 'lost,' a telepath's worst fear. In the worst cases, Schuldig had taken days before he could 'find' himself and regroup.
"Go through me first, and keep up your link to me," Crawford commanded. "I can help pull you back that way."
Schuldig blinked in surprise. Crawford had never offered that before. He had in essence invited Schuldig in. "Crawford—" he began, then decided not to press his luck. "Okay."
"That still brings us to the problem of finding these people," Crawford mused. He rubbed his chin as he thought. Then he turned to pin Schuldig with a questioning stare. "Do you think that you could recognize these scientists if you saw pictures of them?"
"I suppose so," Schuldig agreed.
"Well then, let's hit a few of these scientific associations. Some of them keep pictures of their members. If any of the people we're looking for are associated with any of them, we can find them that way."
"And I can skim through some of the minds of the members. Maybe they'll remember something." Schuldig rubbed his temple. "Ever since I played host to Farfarello, I seem more prone to headaches."
"Don't push yourself," Crawford said. "You've been working your talent hard lately."
Schuldig looked up, astonished.
Crawford frowned at the look of shock. "What? I've worked with you for years. I notice these things."
"Yeah, I guess you do," Schuldig said. But in the past, Crawford wouldn't have cared as long as we attained our goal, much less said anything about it, Schuldig thought. He picked up the paper and opened it back up again to hide his satisfied smile.
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"Jesus, Crawford, my eyes are going to cross if I have to look at another row of –"
"This is the last book, Schuldig. Just close your eyes for a moment, then take another look." Crawford put the thick book in front of Schuldig and flipped it open.
Schuldig rubbed his eyes. "You said that about three books ago."
"They found these just a minute ago. You're almost done." Crawford took off his glasses and rubbed his own eyes. He understood where Schuldig was coming from. He hadn't had to study the rows of black and white pictures, and his eyes were tired. Schuldig, who never really liked to sit still in the first place, must be feeling tortured.
"That's one of them! The girl on the far left."
Crawford followed Schuldig's finger. "Francesca Lovani. Degrees in sociology and behavioral science."
"Does it have her current address?"
Crawford read the rest of the small caption under her picture. "No. This picture isn't even recent. It was taken five years ago."
"That's no good." Schuldig motioned to the archivist who had been hovering protectively in the background. "Hey, what do you know about her?"
The archivist took a look at the picture and sniffed. "Lovani always was into strange things. She doesn't come around anymore because of the criticism she received on her most recent paper. She can't get a job because everyone's convinced she's a crackpot." The archivist put a finger near his temple and twirled it in a circle. "I hope you weren't thinking of hiring her. She gives our profession a bad name."
"What was her last paper on?" Crawford asked.
"Pure fantasy and hogwash, that's what it was. Some lame-brained study on ESP. Can you believe such a thing?"
The pre-cog and the telepath traded an amused and triumphant glance. They had found their target. "You wouldn't happen to have a way I can contact her, would you?" Crawford asked.
The archivist gave him a sour look. "She lives with her husband, a true doctor." He took the book from Schuldig and flipped to the page he was looking for. "There. Michael Sutter. Doctor of psychology. He has a private office in the city." Schuldig glanced at the picture and gave Crawford a tiny nod. It was one of the other scientists.
Crawford and Schuldig descended the stone steps from the archive. "Time to visit the good doctor, hmm?" Schuldig asked.
Crawford frowned. Sutter. The named sounded familiar. He was active in the same functions that his mother attended. "Sutter is a pillar of the community. Now that I recall, his wife was considered 'mildly eccentric.'"
"In other words, 'I'm nuts, but I have money,'" Schuldig snorted.
"Yes. Sutter is the son of Vanessa Waring-Rhinehart, from her first marriage. He moves in the same circles my mother does and is wealthy in his own right. It's no surprise he went into medicine. He always was of a scholarly bent."
"This is where your family contacts will come in handy," Schuldig said.
"Unfortunately so. It looks like I'm going to have to make an appearance. And you're coming with me."
"Me? Why?"
"According to your cover, you're Aric Rudiger, second son of a respectable German family of no small wealth. I'm sponsoring you, and as your host so it would be considered odd if you didn't attend with me."
"Damn! I suppose that means I have to be on my best behavior," Schuldig said gloomily.
"Not really," Crawford said. "As a matter of fact, I hope you won't be." He adjusted his glasses, making it hard for Schuldig to read his expression.
"What does that mean?"
"With me hosting you, the assumption many will make is that you're my. . ."
"Lover? Boy toy?" Schuldig grinned.
"Something like that. If you're too formal, they will think that you're sucking up to them and give you the cut direct. However, if you're your usual self—"
"Stylish, witty and charming—"
"More like flashy, outrageous and brash. They will respect and even like you for it. A bit of rebellion, as long as it isn't from their own ranks, will amuse them. It will also distract them." Crawford continued down the stairs.
"I can do that," Schuldig said. He looked down at the nape of Crawford's neck, the clean cut of his hair line. He lightly ran a finger over that, tracing the V where hair stopped and skin began. "That means I get to touch you, doesn't it?"
Schuldig felt the skin under his fingertips quiver, then Crawford stepped forward, out of his reach. "Yes. But discreetly. They are willing to overlook such things as long as they aren't obvious."
"Like this?" Schuldig lightly brushed his fingertips against Crawford's as he passed him on the stairs. To his surprise, Crawford's fingers intertwined with his.
"Something like that." That light joining of fingers was gone like smoke, and Crawford was passing him again. Schuldig looked after Crawford, rubbing his tingling fingers lightly together.
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A/N:
Here you are, StaceS. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Lily – Poor Schu, Big Brother Crawford is always watching him. He's always a step ahead. Of luckless TKs and German telepaths in particular.
Lestat197 – Thanks for the encouragement, I always love you guys for that.
TrenchcoatMan – Droopy: "Oh my." -Eyeglass shine- Shiing. OMG, that had me cackling like a witch over here. On a more serious note, Crawford makes such a good cat on the stalk. Mrowr.