Chapter 21
“I think we just saw a side of old Cut And Dryden that very few people get to see,” Kylie said as soon as we were back in the car. “That boy knows more about medieval torture devices than Kellogg knows about cornflakes.”
“I always figured Dr. Straight Arrow had a kinky side,” I said.
“He probably has a rack in his bedroom and a guillotine in his basement,” she said, laughing out loud.
And just like that, the glow was back. Whatever shroud of gloom had been hanging over Kylie’s head was gone, and she was bubbling with energy.
“I don’t care who wins the election,” she said. “We are going to nail this Hazmat bastard before next Tuesday and level the playing field.”
She stopped at a red light and turned to me, a bloodhound straining at the leash. “First thing we’re going to do,” she said, “is pull Matt Smith in on this.”
It was like a punch to the gut. Before I could spit out What the hell do we need Matt Smith for? Kylie explained.
“You heard Dryden,” she said. “Most of these contraptions are in museums. If you want to get your hands on one, you can’t exactly waltz over to the Torture Department at your local Wal-Mart. It’s a very esoteric marketplace, and I thought if Matt could track down whoever sells them, that might lead us to the person who bought it. You agree?”
I couldn’t disagree. “It’s worth a shot,” I said.
“I have to tell you,” Kylie went on, “I’ve worked with a lot of computer guys, but Matt Smith is the world’s smartest geek. And not only does he get the tech side, he knows how to work well with people. We’re lucky to have him right there in the building.”
Yeah. Right there next door to Cheryl.
It was late afternoon when we got back to the precinct, but Matt, as affable and good-looking as ever, was there, and he was thrilled that we could use his help.
“A choke pear?” he said when we told him what Dryden came up with. “I never heard of it.”
“That makes three of us,” Kylie said. “And Dryden won’t go on record saying that’s what he suspects. He says it’s just an educated guess.”
“Where was he educated—Hogwarts?” Smith said. “I don’t know much about the torture business, but give me a few hours, and I’ll see if I can figure out where the killer did his shopping. Now, what about Parker-Steele’s computer?”
“Missing,” I said. “Gone like a freight train in the night.”
“Oh, bollocks,” he muttered. It’s a word he trots out all the time that is apparently so flexible, he can use it whether he’s pissed or happy.
“Did you find anything on her credit card charges or cell phone records that would connect her to any of the other three victims?” I asked.
“Nothing. She didn’t text them, call them, or check out one of their video confessions on her iPhone. And there’s nothing in her voice or data charges that gives me a clue to the killer. It’s possible she never even knew her kidnapper.”
“Then how was he able to grab her without her putting up a fight or raising some kind of ruckus?” I said.
“How do you know she didn’t put up a fight?” he asked.
“I don’t, and that’s been bothering me,” I said. “Kang, Tinsdale, Catt, Parker-Steele—none of them are the easiest people in the world to kidnap. If they don’t have a common thread, then let’s assume that a total stranger grabbed them. If that was the case, surely they would have put up some kind of a struggle.”
“Especially Kang and Tinsdale,” Kylie said, jumping in.
“And if they did, there might be witnesses who saw them fighting off an attacker,” I said. “Let’s focus on Evelyn. We know from her credit card charges that she was at Hackie’s Pub on Second Avenue Friday night. She never made it back to her apartment, which is only nine blocks away. Matt, maybe if you pinged her phone, you could locate the general area she was abducted from. Then we could—”
“I’m an idiot,” said the man who Kylie had just informed me was the world’s smartest geek. “I’ve been so busy looking for something that would connect all four victims that I completely glossed over the obvious. Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll have something for you.”
He sat down at his computer. “You’re bloody brilliant, Zach,” he said. “I don’t know why I bloody didn’t think of it myself.”
Bollocks, mate. Maybe you were too busy romancing my girlfriend with your soccer star looks, your annoying Britspeak, and your spontaneous bloody soy lattes.