“Well. Thanks for all your help.”
“Did you get what you needed?”
Burden pursed his lips and nodded. “I sure hope so.”
OUT IN THE CAR, BURDEN SET aside materials he had taken, and bagged, from Scheer’s room: items that were likely to carry his DNA and fingerprints, should they be needed. He handed the phone over to Dixon, who said she was familiar with the operating system.
“What’d you see?” Vail asked, settling herself in the front passenger seat. “Anything obviously incriminating?”
“Things were pretty neat. It’s a small room, so I’m guessing most of his stuff is still in the boxes. No bloody clothing in the closet, no trophies, nothing that appeared to have any connection to Alcatraz or any of the vics.”
“If he is the UNSUB,” Vail said, “I’d expect him to have some kind of secret location where he keeps his stuff. Not in an open apartment he’s sharing with someone. He’s a smart SOB. Maybe a storage locker. And I wouldn’t expect it to be registered under his name.”
Dixon held up the phone. “Got his text messages. And whoa-okay, here we go. Several exchanges with Mike Hartman.”
Burden turned around to face the backseat. “Read ’em out loud.”
“Scheer was looking for info on Karen. Hartman responded, ‘Why me?’ and Scheer wrote back, ‘You used to be her partner.’ To Hartman’s credit, he said, ‘nothing to say to you.’ And then it went back and forth: ‘I think you do,’ ‘fuck off’…” Dixon scrolled and flicked her finger, then said, “Oh, here’s a good one. Scheer: ‘I’m a reporter, asshole. You’re gonna tell me what I want to know or certain facts will come out about Candace.’”
“Who the hell is Candace?” Burden asked.
Vail said, “Mistress? Who knows-someone who knows things Hartman wouldn’t want to be made public.” She gestured to the phone. “Go on.”
“Right. Next one is ‘Meet me at the Starbucks at Market and Fell, 1:00.’”
“Any reply?”
“No. But I think we should assume he went.”
“Why?” Burden asked. “Why not arrest the guy for extortion?”
“He’s not asking for money,” Vail said. “And there’s no way for Hartman to know if Scheer’s set the info to be released automatically, or by some accomplice, unless he cancels it. Best move is to meet with the guy and see what he’s about. It’s a public place, so it’s relatively safe. I’d go, find out what his angle is. You can always try to bust the asshole later.”
“There’s a phone call,” Dixon said, “which I think is-yeah, that’s the one he made while we were on Alcatraz.”
“How long did it last?” Vail asked.
“Three minutes.”
“Long enough for him to lure him outside and blindside him,” Burden said.
Dixon slipped the phone in her pocket. “Could be.”
“Any record of those texts the UNSUB was sending us before? The clues?”
“No,” Dixon said. “But those came from different numbers- untraceable disposables.”
Vail’s BlackBerry vibrated. “What do you think-good news or bad?” She looked at the display. “Yeung says Hartman’s car was clean. No phone. But Carondolet got hold of MacNally’s inmate file. Or, at least, part of it.”
“Impressive for this time of night,” Burden said.
Vail yawned. “Sorry. Speaking of this time of night.” She shook off the fatigue and said, “Let’s meet them. They’re back at Pier 33.”
Burden turned over the engine. “On our way.”
WHILE EN ROUTE, VAIL DIALED Clay Allman. He answered with a groggy grunt.
“Clay, Karen Vail.” Another grunt. “Sorry to wake you-”
“Wake me, yeah. What the hell time is-are you out of your mind? It’s…3am?”
“Sounds about right. Listen, we’ve got a question for you. You happen to know where Scheer is?”
“Let me get this straight,” Allman said. “You call me up at three in the morning, looking for the last guy in the world I’d want to talk to. And you’re wondering if I know where he is?”
“Again, that sounds about right.”
“Can I go back to sleep?”
“I take it you haven’t seen or spoken to him.”
Allman groaned. “Not since you dropped him off after our…hang on a minute. If you’re asking about Scheer at this time of night, something’s gotta be up. Where are you?”
“Thanks, Clay. You’ve answered my question.” Vail pressed END.
“You really thought he might know where Scheer was?” Dixon asked.
“No freaking idea, Roxx. I took a shot they were throwing back beers in a bar somewhere in the city. You know, friends become enemies, then enemies become friends again after we bring them together like brothers who’ve had an argument.”
Burden chuckled. “What drug have you been smoking?”
“Like I said, I took a shot.” Vail’s phone began ringing-Allman calling her right back, the diligent reporter taking a shot to pry info from her. She ignored it. Instead, Vail dialed the task force, which, she was told, had thinned since Friedberg’s rescue. But many were still in the office despite the hour, toiling away with several interns who were likely aiming to score points with the inspectors while devouring the thrill of the investigation.
Vail asked them to delve into Stephen Scheer’s background. No detail was too insignificant: she wanted an unfiltered dossier of who this man was, where he came from, what college he attended, and what he did in the years after graduating.
While the volume of information would be less robust than usual because numerous agencies had closed several hours ago, there was still a fair number of online databases and external resources they could access.
Fifteen minutes later, as Burden was pulling up to the parking lot for Pier 33-with signs advertising Alcatraz Cruises-Vail received a return call.
“Karen, it’s Robert.”
“Robert,” she said, sharing a look with Burden. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the station, working with the task force. It wasn’t as bad as they thought-once they pumped in fluids and stitched me up, I was able to get back on my feet. Sort of. I had one of
