CHAPTER SIX - The Connection
October 19, 2005. CSI headquarters. NYC. 08:54 am.
23 hours 54 minutes missing.
"Hey, Burn, look what I've got here!" Danny burst into the lab, waving a stack of computer printouts. Judging from his triumphant smile, he must have discovered something really groundbreaking.
Aiden finished the entry she was writing, pushed the microscope aside and looked at her excited partner.
"Fingerprints?" she asked.
Danny shook his head. He gestured at her to join him at the table and spread out the printouts he'd carried.
"I had a look at the area where Red Roy's Corvette was stolen," he explained. "I thought maybe I'd find the resident street gang or something like that."
"Aye," said Aiden with a wide grin.
Danny ignored the tease with as much dignity as he could muster. "Then," he continued, "I checked how many cars disappeared in that area between January and June of '99." He pointed at the corresponding printout - a street map of the neighborhood marked with little dots in different colors. "Blue dot means the car turned up again as a whole, red dot means the car's gone for good, yellow means parts of the car turned up later in various places," he explained.
Aiden scrutinized the map, frowning. At first glance, there was just a huge chaos of dots, but when she looked closer she noticed something.
"The blue dots are all centered around a relatively small area," she remarked.
Danny beamed at her. "Exactly," he said. "And now look what's in that center." He poked his pen at a building that was completely surrounded by blue dots. "John Steinbeck High School."
Aiden looked up, and their eyes met. Danny nodded.
"Yes," he confirmed her unspoken assumption. "I'm thinking the same. High school kids who borrow cars for joyrides. Maybe they wanna impress their girlfriends, or it's a test of some sort, or simply their idea of sport. That sort of thing is not uncommon among the youth of America."
"Not bad, Danny Messer," Aiden remarked.
Danny's grin widened even more. "I've got more," he announced. "I broadened the time frame, and what do you think did I find out?"
"Tell me."
"After June '99, the thefts suddenly stopped. Or rather, this particular wave of thefts. Of course, cars kept being stolen, but not to that extent. And most of the cars stolen after June did not turn up again. And what do we learn from that, Burn?"
"That the car thieves probably graduated in '99 or left the school for some other reason!" Aiden slammed her palm on the table. "Danny, sometimes you're a genius!"
Danny seemed a few inches taller.
"So you think there was a certain gang at Steinbeck High who stole cars, cruised around for a bit and then left them standing somewhere," Aiden summed up. "Why not sell them?"
"I guess they were lacking the contacts," Danny assumed. "Steinbeck High is quite a good school, no breeding ground for criminals. I suppose those kids just wanted to have a little fun but shied away from a, let's say, complete crime."
"In other words, they were lacking the galls," Aiden said. "So what do you think happened? One of those kids had an accident but was too afraid of the consequences?"
"That's what I thought," Danny confirmed.
"Have you already told Mac?"
"Not yet. I wanted to tell you first..."
"I'm flattered!"
"... so we could get the names of all the graduates and present Mac with a wonderful list of suspects."
Aiden pouted. "I take it back, I'm not flattered. You just want to impress Mac..."
Danny laughed. "It's so rare that I make an important discovery, I wanna savor my triumph!" He suddenly swept Aiden up in his arms and waltzed with her through the lab. Aiden laughed so hard that she all but collapsed against him. Danny laughed with her, and it seemed only natural to remain the way they were while they were fighting for breath. No one could say when their mock dance became an embrace, but when their laughter had subsided, they found themselves standing right there in the lab with their arms firmly around each other. An awkward silence spread between them, something neither Aiden nor Danny was familiar with.
A beep from one of the instruments broke the spell. Aiden lifted her head from Danny's shoulder, surprised at her own reluctance to do so, and looked for the source of the noise.
"I, uhm, have to..." She made a vague gesture, and Danny let go of her.
"Yeah. Sure." Their eyes met and the awkwardness returned, but only for a moment. Then Aiden swallowed and resolutely turned back to her instruments.
"So what are you gonna do next?" she asked, her back to him.
"Call the school, I suppose." She could almost hear him shrug. "Get a list of graduates."
"Come back here when you have it, will you?" Aiden smiled at him over her shoulder. "Four eyes see more than two, right?"
"You mean six," Danny joked. Aiden was confused for a moment until she remembered that "four-eyes" was a very common nickname among kids for someone who was wearing glasses.
"I'll get my sunglasses, then it's eight, and we're bound to find our guy," she said.
Danny laughed and left the lab. Aiden returned to her work and cursed herself for feeling so excited. She tried to convince herself that it was only because of the progress they'd just made in their case, but her shaking fingers, quickened pulse and slightly elated mood told her otherwise. She had always joked and flirted around with Danny, but never before had she sensed such a strong sexual tension between them. She'd had to force back the urge to touch his face, and she had seen the same in his eyes.
No way, Burn, she told herself. Never date a guy you're working with.
The guy she was working with returned about ten minutes later, carrying a wireless telephone.
"I figured you might wanna eavesdrop," he announced. "I borrowed Flack's phone."
"Lemme guess, he knows nothing of it?"
"He won't mind." Danny hit a button to activate the loudspeaker, so Aiden could follow the conversation. He dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up.
Finally there was a click in the line and a woman answered. "Steinbeck High, Darlene Phillips speaking."
"Good morning, Darlene Phillips," Danny said charmingly. "This is Danny Messer, NYPD Crime Lab. I was wondering if you could help us with an investigation?"
"NYPD? What happened?"
"Nothing that directly concerns your school," Danny assured her quickly. "But it's possible that one or more of your former students are involved in something we're currently working on."
"So...?"
"I see, you're not the kind of person to waste much time," Danny said, casting a look of mock desperation at Aiden, who gave him the thumbs-up. "I won't bother you any longer with my useless attempts at being charming."
Finally, he earned the laugh he'd been aiming at all the time. "Young man, you are charming," Darlene Phillips assured him, her voice suffused with amusement. "But since I'm a sixty-year-old married African-American woman who's had five children, your charms don't work with me. Why don't you just tell me what you need and I'll see if I can help you?"
"Oh." Danny blushed a little. "No offense meant, ma'am. Uhm, would you be so kind as to send us a list of all students who graduated in 1999 from Steinbeck High? And would you please add all those over 16 who attended the school in '99, no matter in what year they were, and those who left the school after that school year, maybe due to a change of residence or something like that."
"No problem, young man," Darlene assured him. "Hang on." She went silent for a moment, and Aiden and Danny heard her clatter on a computer keyboard. "Done," she announced two minutes later. "Where shall I send it?"
"Wow, that was really fast." Danny told her the e-mail address, thanked her again and hung up. Aiden had already booted the computer and opened the e-mail program. They waited for the You've got mail announcement, downloaded the attached list and printed it out. Then they bowed over the list and scanned the names.
"Seventy-two," Danny sighed. "Why does Steinbeck High have to be so popular?"
"Come on, it could be worse." Aiden took a pen. "Look, we can concentrate on the boys. Boys are more likely to steal a car for such a stupid reason... ouch!" Danny had pinched her. She glowered at him and then returned to the list. "And I'd suggest we have a look at those who turned eighteen in June or July."
"Why?"
"Because they seemed to know at least something about how to differentiate between crimes," Aiden explained. "They always returned the cars. Maybe they also figured that they'd be treated differently as minors if they got caught. After all, the thefts stopped one month before graduation. What if our thief turned eighteen in June?"
"Now you're the genius."
"Common sense, Danny. You should look it up."
"Let's report to Mac," Danny suggested abruptly. "Let's talk it over with him."
Mac was in his office when Aiden and Danny knocked on his door. He calmly listened to what Danny had discovered and smiled in appreciation when they had ended.
"Good work, you two," he said. "Can I see that list?"
Danny handed it to him, and Mac scanned the names. Danny saw him frown momentarily and asked, "Recognized something?"
Mac looked up. "Patricia Quinlan... I know the name. I heard it recently."
"Patricia Quinlan?" Aiden and Danny exchanged a glance. They had concentrated on the boys when they'd gone through the list, so they had probably overlooked that.
"Isn't that the woman who went missing yesterday?" Aiden asked. "The interpreter?"
Mac startled them both by slamming his palm down on the table. "That's it," he said. "I knew I heard the name before." He frowned at the list. "I wonder..." he murmured thoughtfully.
Danny and Aiden exchanged another glance, then they left Mac with the list alone and retreated from his office.
xxx
09:24 am. 24 hours 24 minutes missing.
Mac debated for a while, racking his brains whether this was a simple coincidence. But his experience and his intuition as a criminalist told him otherwise, and so he eventually picked up the phone and dialed the number of the FBI.
"Jack Malone, please."
"Jack Malone is not here at the moment," the operator informed him.
"Oh. Okay, then... Agent Taylor, please."
Soft music was played while the operator tried to reach Danny Taylor. Then another click, and the young agent's voice resounded from the receiver.
"Detective Namesake. Nice to hear from you again."
"Good morning, Agent Taylor."
"What's up?"
"Are you working on the Patricia Quinlan case?" Mac asked.
"Yes." Danny Taylor's voice lost the joking tone and became professional. "Do you have something for us?"
"Maybe." Mac briefly explained about the car thefts. "And then we found out that Patricia Quinlan was in the same year as the potential thieves," he finished. "It might not be important at all, but it might as well be relevant. Isn't it interesting that both our cases are somehow connected to Steinbeck High? That a woman disappears who probably knows our killer?"
"You think there might be a connection?" Agent Taylor asked.
"I wouldn't rule it out," Mac answered.
"Thank you, Detective." Agent Taylor wrote something down; Mac could hear the pen scratching over paper. "We'll include your information in our investigation."
"One thing more," Mac said. "If our cases are really connected, it might be a good idea to work closer together. Exchange information, coordinate our work."
"Of course," Agent Taylor agreed. "Listen, how about a meeting? Your team and my colleagues and me?"
"Sounds reasonable." Mac consulted his timetable. "This afternoon... three o'clock in our headquarters, can you make it?"
"Sure we can." More pen-scratching on Agent Taylor's part. "There'll be three of us - Agent Spade, Agent Fitzgerald and myself."
"Detectives Messer and Burn are working on our case. I'll attend, too. So there'll be six of us altogether." Mac made a note. "Then it's settled, Agent Taylor."
"It is, Detective Taylor."
They said goodbye and hung up. Mac felt new confidence rise in him. Finally they seemed to get somewhere in their investigation. It was about time.
xxx
10:00 am. 25 hours missing.
Danny had not protested when Sam had refused to do the second canvassing together with Martin. Martin had not shown any reaction, but Danny was pretty sure that he was secretly hurt. Although Danny did not know the exact reason and circumstances why they'd broken up, it was clear to him that something had to be done about them. The tension between Sam and Martin was still there and impaired their work.
Later, Danny told himself. First things first, let's find Patricia Quinlan. But he decided to talk to Jack about the situation.
Later.
So he had conceded, and therefore it was again him and Sam who knocked on Cordelia Downs's door.
Cordelia did not seem surprised when they entered her office.
"Have you heard from Tricia?" she asked.
"We haven't found her yet," Sam said, "but we're following several leads. I'm confident that it won't be long until we've found her."
"So what can I do for you?"
"We have a question." Danny sat down in one of the comfortable chairs that were scattered over Cordelia's office.
"Miss Downs, you and Patricia went to Steinbeck High," Sam began. "Our investigations have suggested that Patricia's disappearance might be connected to another case that's currently occupying the minds of NYPD officers. That case is also linked to your high school. Perhaps one case is rooted in the other."
Cordelia frowned. "You think the reason for Tricia's disappearance lies in her past at Steinbeck High?" she asked. "That's weird..."
"Why?" Sam looked up, interested.
"I told you that Tricia seemed distracted when we talked on the phone, remember?" Cordelia explained. "But the thing is, we talked about school and the past and all that. I had the impression that something was bothering Tricia, and now when I think about it, it might well be that it had to do with school. She seemed unusually thoughtful when she talked about the past."
"Cordelia, this is important." Sam leaned forward. "Do you know anything about a series of car thefts in the vicinity of your high school? Between '98 and '99? Or do you think Tricia knew anything about it?"
"Car thefts?" Cordelia's confusion seemed genuine. "I don't think so. Why is it important?"
"We suspect that a group of students, probably from your year, committed these thefts," Danny explained.
"So you think that Tricia knew something about it... and now, six years later, someone kidnaps her? That doesn't make any sense, does it?"
Sam had to suppress a smile. Cordelia Downs wasn't stupid.
"That makes perfect sense," she pointed out, "because the situation changed in the meantime. It's no longer a harmless case of car theft. We're talking homicide now."
"What?"
"Look, Miss Downs," Danny chimed in, "we can't tell you all the details of the investigation now. Are you sure that you never heard anything about a stolen car? Did Tricia ever hint at something you could not quite understand? Has she ever mentioned a Corvette, in particular?"
"A Corvette?" Cordelia visibly racked her brains. "I can't..." She grinned suddenly. "I remember she once mentioned a Corvette, but I doubt very much that it's relevant."
"Leave it to us to decide what's relevant and what isn't," Sam stated.
"It's nothing," Cordelia assured her. "You said Corvette, and that made me think of one day when Tricia and I went down the street, and a car sped by, and Tricia said, That was a Corvette, right? I finally learned to tell a Corvette from a Lamborghini. And then we laughed, and I said something along the lines of, Congratulations, what an achievement, and that's all." She shrugged. "I can't see how that should help you find her. I only remember the remark because Tricia's expression was so funny when she said that. As if it was some big secret I wasn't in on."
"Interesting... that might be more relevant than you thought. So Tricia wasn't interested in cars in general?"
"Not at all," Cordelia said. "She didn't exaggerate, she was really unable to tell a Corvette from a Lamborghini. And the same goes for other cars. I suppose that's why she even mentioned the Corvette at all."
Sam made a note.
"We have another question," Danny said. "We talked to Terry Williams, but he says he hasn't seen Tricia for two years or so. So we still don't know who that visitor was. We asked Ms. Sciorra to help us draw up a phantom picture. Would you please have a look at it and tell us if you recognize the man?"
"Of course." Cordelia sat up straight. "After all, it's pretty shameful for me not to know what handsome men are paying visits to my best friend. She never said a word."
Danny pulled the printout out of his briefcase, unfolded it and handed it to Cordelia. She took only one look at it and gasped in astonishment.
"Unbelievable!"
Sam and Danny exchanged a glance. Quelling her excitement, Sam looked at Cordelia.
"Do you know who this is?"
Cordelia was still staring at the picture. "I don't understand this," she murmured. Then she looked up to meet Sam's eyes.
"I could be wrong," she said, "but I don't think so. The similarity is striking. I haven't seen him since our last day in high school, and neither has Tricia, as far as I know, but I'm pretty sure that it's him. Agent Spade, do you remember the story I told you yesterday? About that crush of Tricia's? She helped him out of something and he thanked her by talking to her?" She stabbed a finger at the black and white drawing of a young, good-looking man with chiseled features, dark blond curly hair, a straight nose and a confident smile. "That's him. Morris Greek."
xxx
03:00 pm. 30 hours missing.
Mac looked around in the conference room. What a motley crew they were - three detectives, three agents. Two women, four men.
The FBI agents had arrived on time. Danny Taylor, with whom he had already spoken on the phone, turned out to be a dark-haired Hispanic who seemed ten years younger when he smiled. His companions were Martin Fitzgerald - young, good-looking, with a friendly face and professional manner - and Samantha Spade, a beautiful blonde with large brown eyes. She seemed intelligent and concentrated on the case but did not talk much and hardly ever smiled. She was friendly, though, and Mac supposed that she was perhaps having a bad day. And besides, the first impression was not always correct. What might the agents think of himself and his colleagues? Would they judge them from their looks or wait until after the meeting to form their opinion?
It would be interesting to know, Mac mused. Which impression would they derive from Aiden's attractiveness, Danny's rough-and-readiness, his own melancholy? Would they automatically assume that Aiden was arrogant, Danny insubordinate and he, Mac, oblivious?
Mac forced the thoughts back. They were here to coordinate their respective investigations, not to judge books by their covers.
"Shall we start?" he asked the others, and everyone nodded.
Mac cleared his throat. "Welcome to the CSI headquarters," he said. "I'm Mac Taylor. These are my colleagues Aiden Burn and Danny Messer. They're investigating Garrett Chase's death. It was Danny Messer who found the connection to Steinbeck High."
The FBI agents exchanged a glance, then Agent Taylor spoke. "Another namesake," he said with a grin at Danny. "I hope we don't get all muddled up when both Danny and Taylor refer to you guys as well as to me. But all kidding aside," he added, becoming serious. "We're here to help each other. So let's recapitulate everything from the beginning, shall we? The NYPD found a connection between our cases. The common denominator is called John Steinbeck High School. The prime suspects in Detective Taylor's case probably went to school there, and so did our victim, Patricia Quinlan."
"In order to understand the connection, we have to go back six years," Mac took over the narration. "We have a series of car thefts in the vicinity of Steinbeck High between January 1998 and June 1999. We have a dead man who was run over by a Corvette that was stolen in that very area and time frame. Is it safe to assume that the car thief killed Mr. Chase and that the thief probably went to Steinbeck High?"
Everyone nodded.
"We have a list of all boys between sixteen and eighteen who attended Steinbeck High in the given time frame. We assume that the thief - or the thiefs, if it's a gang - turned eighteen in '99, probably in June, and then stopped stealing cars. We suppose that Mr. Chase's death was an accident and the driver was afraid of the consequences, so he buried the man and got away with it. Until now." Mac's expression hardened, and he stopped talking.
The FBI Agents exchanged another glance, but Mac noticed that Fitzgerald and Spade avoided each other's eyes whenever possible. All communication worked via Agent Taylor. Nevertheless, it was Agent Spade who started talking now.
"We have a 23-year-old interpreter who disappeared yesterday morning," she reported, deliberately echoing Mac's syntax. "She was last seen the evening before, but evidence suggests she must have been in her apartment until at least seven thirty in the morning. Her best friend and her neighbor both confirm that something seemed to have troubled her for several days. She did not tell anyone what was on her mind, but the friend supposes it could have something to do with the past. We know that her troubles seem to have started three days ago - which is when CNN first reported about the hit-and-run - and that she re-read an article in the NY Times of October 16. Danny checked and found out that on that day there was a long report about the case in the paper. We assume that it was the case of Garrett Chase and its circumstances that troubled her so much and that her kidnapping has to do with it. Her disappearance so shortly after the fatal consequences of one of the car thefts have been uncovered plus the high school connection would be too much of a coincidence."
Again, everyone nodded.
"And now listen, please," Agent Taylor continued, looking around at everyone. "It's possible that we have a suspect. Three days before her disappearance, someone visited Patricia Quinlan, and this visit seemed to upset her pretty much. This morning, the phantom picture was identified. The visitor was a man called Morris Greek." He passed a picture of the real Morris around and smiled knowingly when Aiden whistled admiringly through her teeth at the sight of his handsome face. "A journalist, twenty-three, not married. He was in the class of '99 at Steinbeck High, just like Patricia. And here's the interesting thing: Miss Downs, Patricia's friend, told us that Patricia was in love with him six years ago, and that something about them changed in the past few months of school. Suddenly Morris talked to Patricia and treated her better. Miss Downs doesn't know what exactly happened; Patricia only told her she'd helped him out of a tricky situation. Miss Downs assumed that she helped him pass the Spanish exams, but what if it was something else entirely?"
Aiden drummed her fingertips on her knee. "Such as covering up for him?" she said. "You think that this Morris guy stole the cars, Patricia saw him, and he promised her that for her silence he'd boost her popularity?"
Agent Taylor nodded. "Miss Downs also suggested that this kind of comraderie that developed between Patricia and Morris was a kind of reward for Patricia's help. Actually, she used almost the same words as you just did, Detective Burn."
"I went to high school, too," Aiden retorted and caught a knowing wink from Agent Spade. "So we have Morris Greek, the car thief, and Patricia Quinlan, the witness," Danny summed up. "What happened next?"
Agent Fitzgerald now spoke. "Patricia Quinlan sees the report about Garrett Chase, hears about the Corvette and puts two and two together. She understands that she covered up for a killer, not just an unimportant thief. And he probably thinks the same, that's why he turns up at her door. From then on, we can only take guesses what happened. She tries to convince him to go to the police, or she tries to blackmail him."
"We tend to believe assumption number one," Agent Taylor chimed in. "Patricia Quinlan does not seem the kind of person who'd blackmail someone."
"And then?" Danny asked. "She refuses to keep silent any longer and he kidnaps her?"
"Something like that," the other Danny - Agent Taylor - agreed. "And that's why I suggest we talk to Morris Greek as soon as possible."
"Good idea," said Mac, his voice holding a faint trace of irony. "Who?"
Agent Taylor smirked. "This Morris Greek seems to be a very handsome man," he said. "I daresay he'll be more likely to talk to a woman. He's probably the kind of man who's apt to underestimate a woman. So I suggest that we send the ladies." He looked from Agent Spade to Aiden. "Two beautiful women knocking at his door? He's bound to talk to them! And if we're lucky, he'll be so distracted by their ravishing looks that he'll forget to think about their intelligence."
Aiden smirked and ironically bowed to Agent Taylor. "Thank you very much for the compliment, Agent," she said and caught another smile from Agent Spade. She also noticed that Agent Fitzgerald did not seem pleased at all with Taylor's suggestion but refrained from uttering his protest aloud. "And if I may make a suggestion," Aiden continued, "I'd say you should have another look at that list and check on everyone who turned eighteen in June '99. After all, Morris Greek did not come of age until November. Perhaps there was someone else involved in the car thefts - if our theory is correct that the thefts stopped because the thief turned eighteen."
"That's reasonable," Danny pointed out. "It would also explain why there were days when three cars were stolen at once."
"I'll take care of that," Agent Fitzgerald offered. "Would you like to help me, Detective Messer?"
Danny nodded. Agent Taylor said he'd join them as well. "No matter where I go here, there's always some namesake," he commented, and Danny grinned. Despite the fact that he normally refused to consult the FBI, and only very reluctantly cooperated if they were consulted after all, he liked the lively, uncomplicated agent. And Fitzgerald seemed to be alright, too.
Aiden and Spade had already gathered together, ready to go and interrogate Morris Greek, the alleged car thief and possible kidnapper, if not murderer, of Tricia Quinlan. Danny did not like the idea of Aiden going there, but he tried to quell the feeling. Aiden was a big girl; she could look after herself. And she was certainly able to deal with a twenty-three-year-old suspect, no matter how charming and handsome he was. Beside, she was not alone. And Samantha Spade seemed no less able to deal with Greek than Aiden.
He really should not worry about his colleague. Why now, anyway? They had worked together for years; this was not the first time that Aiden went to question a suspect. He just did not like the idea that he was not with her.
When Danny looked up, he saw his own concern reflected in Martin Fitzgerald's eyes, and suddenly he understood.
xxx
04:30 pm. 31 hours 30 minutes missing.
"May I ask you something, Samantha?"
"Sure." Sam did not avert her eyes from the street but nodded. She and Aiden Burn had agreed to continue on first-name terms, as it made conversation easier for both of them. Besides, she liked Aiden Burn. She seemed a competent and straightforward detective and a confident, outspoken woman who did not shy away from confrontation. Probably a little bit stubborn, too, but always striving for justice.
Not too different from herself.
Sam quickly wondered what Aiden might want to ask her. Something about the case, probably. Or about Danny and Martin. Therefore she was startled when Aiden blurted her question:
"Are you a natural blonde?"
Now Sam did look away from the street and cast Aiden a short, amused glance.
"Why do you want to know?"
"I was just wondering," Aiden replied. "No offense meant," she added. "I just noticed that your eyes are brown. That's rather unusual for blondes, is it?"
"It is," Sam confirmed with a smirk.
Oh yes, Aiden Burn was indeed an outspoken person.
"So?" Aiden insisted.
"Is it important whether my hair is dyed or not?" Sam answered. "The main thing is that it looks OK, isn't it?"
Aiden smiled. "You've got a point there. And it looks more than OK on you."
Sam acknowledged the compliment with a smile.
"What do you think, does Morris Greek prefer blondes or brunettes?" Aiden mused. "I'm just asking so we can decide who's the good cop and who's the bad one."
"What, you wanna play good cop bad cop on Greek? I thought we were supposed to enchant him with our feminine wiles."
"Ah..." Aiden grinned. "That's not really my thing."
"I don't like it, either," Sam admitted, "but it's probably the best way to handle him - if he really hasn't changed since high school."
"Doubtful."
"Well, he lives with his girlfriend, Giorgia Carentini," Sam informed Aiden, returning to the topic of Greek's visual preferences. "She's a model, a pretty famous one. And if I remember correctly from the last Fashion Week reports in Vogue, she's a dark type but with peroxide hair. Certainly not a natural blonde," she added with a knowing wink. "Her strategy is contradiction. Before she entered into the contract with DKNY, she was modeling for a Contradiction campaign by CK. Seems she liked the image and kept it. You know the principle, dark skin and blonde hair; mini skirt and fur boots... everything that shouldn't match."
"Sounds awful." Aiden grimaced.
"It is," Sam agreed. "Let's hope she isn't home when we arrive."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed," Aiden promised. "I'm not very keen to handle a complacent model, either. Perhaps he'll be more apt to talk if his girlfriend isn't lurking around."
Sam caught a suggestive tone in Aiden's voice and looked at the detective, interested. "You think he did something at Tricia's place he doesn't want his girlfriend to know?"
"Perhaps," Aiden said. "If I were a man - which I'm not, thank God - and the last image of Tricia Quinlan in my head was that of a slightly plump, shy girl of seventeen years, I'd be more than surprised to see what she is like now. I mean, she's a real beauty now, isn't she?"
"She looks great," Sam agreed. Then she bit her lower lip, thinking hard. "Let's keep that in mind, Aiden, shall we?" she suggested. "We can always bring it up if we have the impression that Greek isn't telling the truth."
"Good plan." Aiden leaned back in her seat, and Sam turned around the last corner and pulled over in front of a large house.
"One thing more," Sam said while Aiden unfastened her seat belt. "I think we should play with him a little. Let's just concentrate on Tricia and not mention the car thefts or Mr. Chase. It will probably be the best strategy to let him underestimate us, perhaps imply we're looking for something in her past, not his. I'll eat my hat if he doesn't congratulate himself after we've left and goes straight to Tricia - if it was him who kidnapped her."
"Good plan," Aiden repeated and grinned. "I only see one problem, Sam - you don't wear a hat."
"I wouldn't have to eat it, anyway," Sam replied with a smirk. "It's him, trust me."
"I agree."
They got out of the car and entered the house. Giorgia Carentini owned a large penthouse apartment with its own elevator, and Sam and Aiden had to register downstairs at the concierge's office. Then they received a code for the elevator and went up to the top floor.
The elevator doors opened into another corridor with two doors - one leading into Giorgia Carentini's penthouse, the other into another small apartment that also belonged to Giorgia. She probably used it as a guest apartment, Sam assumed.
Aiden Burn did not hesitate. Nothing in her conduct implied that she was in any way impressed by the luxury of Giorgia's humble abode. She simply clenched her hand into a fist and knocked on the door.
They waited for about fifteen seconds, then Aiden knocked again.
"NYPD," she shouted. "Open the door."
There was a clatter and a muffled curse beyond the door, then a man called, "Hold on a sec!" More clatter, and then finally the door was opened.
Sam's first impression of Morris Greek was that he looked even better in persona than on the picture. It appeared as if he'd just stepped out of the shower, for his hair was damp and smelled of shampoo, and he was wearing a dark blue bathrobe that was not completely tied, revealing part of his muscular upper body.
But she also understood what Cordelia Downs had meant when she spoke of that arrogance. Morris Greek was a man who knew very well what impression he made on women. And when a charming smile appeared on his face, Sam knew that he would try everything to make a good impression on herself and Aiden Burn, too.
She had to suppress a smirk.
"Police?" he asked, his perfect teeth glistening when he smiled again. "What would the police possibly want to ask Giorgia Carentini? She's not here, anyway."
"We're not looking for Giorgia Carentini," Aiden answered. "Morris Greek?"
"I'm flattered," he replied. "Two charming ladies asking for me? What can I do for you, officers?"
"I'm Detective Burn, this is Agent Spade, FBI," Aiden cut across him. "May we come in?"
"My home is your home," Morris said with a rather pompous gesture of invitation. Then he grinned. "I mean, Giorgia's home is your home," he corrected, infusing his voice with a slightly sheepish tone, as if he'd just committed a harmless faux pas. This was part of his charms, Sam realized. By admitting mistakes and laughing at himself, he successfully created the impression of an uncomplicated person with a good sense of humor.
Fortunately, she and Aiden knew better.
They followed Morris through a short corridor that opened into a large, pentagonal living room that was lavishly furnished in leather, chrome and glass.
"Very stylish," Sam commented.
"Giorgia sometimes gets furniture for free," Morris said with a conspiratorial tone to his voice. "She did all of this. My sense of aesthetics is a little underdeveloped, I fear."
He pointed at the black leather couch that looked as if it was worth a three-digit sum even with a seventy percent discount. Sam and Aiden sat down and accepted the coffee Morris offered them. It turned out to be flavored with some aroma - almond, Sam guessed - and tasted very expensive. Morris excused himself, went into the room next door and emerged five minutes later, dressed in blue jeans and a Hugo Boss shirt. He slid into an armchair opposite the ladies, took a deep gulp of coffee, and then openly smiled at Sam and Aiden.
"So, what can I do for you?"
"Patricia Quinlan." Aiden's eyes were half shut, but Sam knew she looked at him very closely.
A muscle twitched in Morris's face, but he was very controlled otherwise. "Patricia Quinlan?" he repeated, frowning. "I don't think I... oh!" He looked up. "I went to school with one Patricia Quinlan. You mean her? Why come to me?"
"She disappeared yesterday," Aiden said. "We're asking everyone who knows her whether they can tell us anything that might clear up the matter."
"But I can't tell you anything; I haven't seen her since high school." Morris glanced from Aiden to Sam in what seemed like genuine confusion. His acting was good, Sam had to admit. She would have believed him, had she not known that he'd visited Tricia four days ago.
Aiden looked at Sam in a perfect imitation of Morris's fake confusion. "Oh, really?" she said. "I'm sorry, then we must have gotten the wrong information. Look, we talked to a few people already, and they all said that you and Patricia got along quite well in high school. Someone even suspected you were a couple. So we thought you might have remained in touch after high school was over."
Morris laughed. "A couple? Tricia Quinlan and I? Not at all, Detective. She wouldn't have been my type."
Thought so, Sam thought. Only sandpaper thin models for you, Greek, am I right?
"But how was that impression created, then?" she asked aloud. "We've been told you and Patricia spent a lot of time together. And you danced together at the prom."
Morris reached into his pocket and got a package of cigarettes. He offered it to Sam and Aiden, but they declined. He carefully lit a Marlboro Light and smoked quietly for a few moments.
"I don't know if you know what Patricia Quinlan was like in high school," he said finally. "She wasn't what the popular girls would have accepted in their peer group. I, on the other hand, was popular." He flashed a smile. "I don't want to show off, don't get me wrong," he said. "But I suppose you know the way teenagers' minds work. There's no way to reconcile the popular ones and the unpopular ones.
"Now I knew that Tricia had a crush on me. It would've been hard not to notice; she kept stealing glances at me and chose the same courses as I did, that sort of stuff. And, heck, somehow I felt sorry for her. And she was very good in Spanish, which I wasn't, so I asked her to help me out with the grammar. That's why we spent some time together even out of school. Though I don't understand how anyone could mistake us for a couple," he added with a frown. "As for the prom - it's true, I asked her for a dance. My way of saying thank you. I think I made her very happy."
He leaned back and looked from Aiden to Sam as if he was waiting for applause.
How unselfish and generous of you, Sam thought sarcastically. You really think we're gonna believe that heart-warming tale of the good-hearted popular jock who pities the girl who has a crush on him? Knowing that he'll never love her, he grants her one last dance to make her happy? Oh, come on! You surely could do better than that. She would have loved to say it out loud, but she refrained.
"But you haven't seen her since then?" Aiden asked again.
Morris shook his head, although a glint of uncertainty showed in his eyes. He had noticed the change of tone in Aiden's voice.
"Then please explain to me why Patricia Quinlan's neighbor saw you visit her four days ago." She produced the phantom picture they'd drawn up and put it on the table. "This is you, isn't it?" The false naïveté had vanished from her voice.
Morris looked at the picture and slowly, his face reddened.
"Cordelia Downs identified you, too," Sam added.
Morris Greek's shoulders slumped. He looked like the personification of guilty conscience.
"OK, you got me," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "I was there."
Oh yes, we got you, Sam commented secretly. But in more ways than you think. You think we only want to know about Tricia. You have no idea that we have more in store than that. But we're gonna play the ace in the next round.
"Tell us," Aiden commanded curtly.
"Well..." Morris squirmed. "Listen, can we keep that between us? At least don't tell Giorgia. I don't want her to know..."
"We'll decide that afterwards." Aiden leaned back and crossed her legs. "So you were at Tricia's place."
"Yes." Morris lit another cigarette. "I'm a journalist, as you may know," he began, "and I had to interview someone who lived in that house. When the interview was done, I noticed the name Patricia Quinlan on one of the doors on the same floor. It was really a spur-of-the-moment decision. I thought it might be her, so I knocked. And it was indeed her." The look in his eyes was something between admiration and surprise. "She looked great. I mean, really ravishing. We talked a little, had a drink, waxed nostalgic. It was really nice to see her again. But I have no idea what she did afterwards. I have nothing to do with the fact that she disappeared."
"You only had a drink with her and waxed nostalgic?" Sam asked with a hint of mockery in her voice. "Come on, you said she looked ravishing. Maybe you remembered that she once had a crush on you and thought that this time her love might not have to go unrequited..."
"And maybe she refused you, and you became angry," Aiden chimed in. "Everyone would understand that. What happened, Morris? Did you hit her over the head and found out that you'd gotten a little carried away?"
Morris looked from one to the other, complete perplexion in his eyes. "No!" he protested. "She didn't refuse me... at least not immediately," he added.
"So?" Aiden raised one eyebrow.
"Alright, alright." Morris raised both hands in resignation. "I'll tell you how it was. We really talked a while and took a few beers, and we really waxed nostalgic. But then, well... something evolved. We kissed, making out a little, but then it was too much for her and she put the brakes on. But I didn't hurt her or anything, I swear! When I left, she was alright! Really!"
Aiden and Sam exchanged a glance. They knew very well that Tricia Quinlan had been alive and well after Morris's visit, but by provoking him like that, they'd finally learned what was likely the truth about that night. Apart from the story about the car and Mr. Chase.
"I haven't seen or talked to her since then," Morris said. "It can't be relevant in your investigation. So do you think you could keep the information to yourselves? I really don't want it to be published. Giorgia doesn't have to know, and it would damage her image if the yellow press caught a whiff of that..."
"We'll see." Aiden looked at Sam, and Sam nodded. They rose from the couch and shook Morris's hand. "Thank you, Mr. Greek, that's all for now."
"Anytime, ladies." Morris Greek's confident smile had returned to him. "Sorry I couldn't be of any more help. Do tell me when you've found Tricia, will you?"
Sam nodded, and she and Aiden left the penthouse. Sam resisted the urge to look back at Morris, but she was convinced that, if she had, she would have seen an arrogant smile of relief spread over his face, happy that he'd fooled the two detectives who'd played their ace - the phantom picture - and still lost the game.
How could he know, after all, that Sam and Aiden had another ace up their sleeve?
They were hardly out of the house when Aiden's cell phone started to ring.
With an apologetic glance at Sam, Aiden answered. "It's Mac," she informed her before she turned away, pacing up and down. Sam only heard Aiden's contributions to the conversation, which consisted mostly of "Uh-huh" and "really?" and "thought so," until Aiden stopped dead. "Interesting," she said. "Who's taking care of that?... Uh-huh." She resumed her former vocabulary until she snapped the phone shut and turned back to Sam.
"Patricia Quinlan called Morris Greek on the morning of the eighteenth at seven a.m.," she informed her. "Two hours later, she was gone. The conversation lasted only a few minutes. So much for Morris's statement that he hasn't talked to her since the fifteenth."
"That phone call must have been the last straw for Morris," Sam said thoughtfully. "She probably told him he'd had enough time to think about things, and that she'd go to the police now if he didn't. And Morris panicked."
"That must have been what happened," Aiden agreed. "Mac also just told me that one of the students who turned eighteen in June '99 was Brad Johnson - according to Cordelia Downs, one of Morris Greek's best friends."
"So you think Morris and Brad both stole cars."
"Oh yes." Aiden grinned. "I'm completely convinced of that. You see, Brad Johnson is currently serving a prison sentence, and now guess what he was convicted of..."
"Not car theft?"
"Exactly. Mac said this was the third time they caught him. The first two times he got away with six and eight months on probation, respectively, but this time they really locked him up."
"So he's got an alibi," Sam commented wryly.
"Yep. But one of your colleagues went to ask him some questions, anyhow. Martin Fitzgerald, I think."
Sam could not help wincing a tiny little bit at Martin's name, but she was pretty sure that Aiden had not noticed.
"So we're gonna stay here until Morris leaves the house," Aiden continued and grinned at Sam. "And if he doesn't, we'll get you a nice cheap hat for your lunch."