later, they were heading into an office with a scripted “SDL” in gold leaf, above the phrase, Empowering your health through sensory vacuum therapy.
“No one’s vacuuming my senses, thank you very much,” Vail said. “I mean, really? Who thinks that shit up?”
Although the building’s shell and lobby showed its age poorly, the clinic sported high-end granite counters, sleek stainless steel wall accents, and halogen downlighting. “Apparently,” Vail said, “sensory deprivation therapy not only vacuums your senses, but your bank account, too.”
“Can I help you?” Walking up to the front counter was a woman in her thirties, with radiant skin and a natural beauty that Vail instantly found unfair.
“Yes,” Burden said. He stopped and looked at Vail and Dixon, apparently unaware of where to begin.
“We were told to come here,” Dixon said, “by a friend.”
“We certainly appreciate referrals. And who might we thank?”
Vail held up her creds. “Special Agent Karen Vail. Look, Miss-”
“Veronica.”
“Veronica. We’re working a case. And honestly, we can’t tell you why we’re here. But we need to ask some questions and they may seem a bit odd. Go with it, okay?”
“Are these questions about patients? Because Dr. Tumaco set some very progressive rules many, many years ago about the sensitive nature of doctor-patient confidentiality. He was ahead of his time in many ways. I’m afraid we can’t disclose that type of information.”
That name’s familiar. Tumaco. Where’ve I heard it?
“We don’t need patient information,” Dixon said. “We just need you to answer some questions.” She hesitated, then said, “Did someone tell you to expect us? Or-did anyone leave a message for us?”
Veronica shook her head. “I’m sorry-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Unfortunately, neither do we. “Tell us about your facility,” Vail said. “Actually-tell us about Dr. Tumaco.”
“Oh,” Veronica said, her face brightening. “One of the pioneers in the field of flotation sensory deprivation therapy. He first realized the benefit of meditation and sensory attenuation about thirty years ago. The pioneer, John Lilly, started the movement in the mid-1950s and did much of the groundbreaking research on the origin of consciousness.”
This isn’t helping. “Okay, yeah,” Vail said. “That’s great. But I think I may’ve heard Dr. Tumaco’s name before. Any idea why?”
Veronica nodded silently, then took a seat behind the granite desk. She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, prompting Vail, Burden, and Dixon to move closer to hear.
“Dr. Tumaco was found in one of his flotation tanks. The police believed he’d been murdered.”
Vail slammed a hand down on the granite counter. “That’s it!” She turned to Dixon and Burden. “One of the old cases Clay gave us. Martin Tumaco. Killed in ’95. Strangled with a life preserver.” She swung her head back to Veronica. “Right?”
Veronica, her head bowed, nodded without comment.
“But wasn’t he found at some other place? Something with ‘dream’ in the name?”
“The clinic’s name was changed when Dr. Tumaco was killed,” Veronica said. “People were freaked out about getting back in a flotation tank after someone had been found dead in one. It hurt the business. So Dr. Tumaco’s wife changed the name, and she changed the focus of the facility from dream and sleep research to a therapeutic-based referral business.”
Dixon gestured with her head for Vail and Burden to join her a few paces out of Veronica’s earshot. They huddled in the far end of the waiting room.
“I think we’re on the right track,” Dixon said. “But-now what? How would the UNSUB know?”
Burden jutted his jaw forward. “That’s a great goddamn question. How did he know when we ended up at the bank? Was he watching?”
“Obvious explanation is he was waiting where he wanted us to go, in a high rise, on an apartment roof, in a car-whatever-and when we didn’t show in ten, fifteen minutes, he knew we went to the wrong place.”
“So what’s with the riddle?” Vail asked. “Those intended to heal- Tumaco-may give life-he’s a doctor-but drown the truth.” She thought a moment. “Was Tumaco involved in a cover-up?”
“Of what?” Burden asked as his phone vibrated. He grabbed it, answered, and listened. “Got it- Yeah, no, that’s fine. About what I expected.” He shoved it in his pocket. “They can only tell us that those texts that came from Robert’s phone are in a two- to three-mile radius. They’re putting a trap on the phone, but it’s off.”
“I doubt the offender’ll use that phone again,” Dixon said.
“Violence and sleep come under watchful eyes,” Vail said. “Now I get it. He meant here, where a man was killed in a flotation tank under watchful eyes.”
Burden huffed. “Apparently, no one was watching.”
“Wrong,” Vail said. “The killer was watching.” She turned and walked back to Veronica. “Can you give me one of your cards-and jot down your direct line on the back in case we need to reach you?”
Veronica did as requested-and handed it to Burden as Vail’s phone vibrated.
A text.
this one comes from on high
the other mission
where darkness reigns
seek not the son but the father
make haste
Vail looked at her partners. “Let’s take this outside.”
They ran down the stairs to the street. Allman was on the phone, leaning against a tree. Scheer, also on a call, saw them first and trotted over.
“Different cell,” Vail said as she thumbed her BlackBerry. “Sending it on to your office for a trace. Probably a throwaway.”
Burden nodded at her phone. “The text. Break it down like we did before.”
“Another message?” Scheer asked as he approached.
Vail read it to them.
