Page 54 of The Drowned Woman
“Sir, I might be of assistance—” he started, desperate to be allowed to be involved in the case in some way.
“Background only,” the commander growled. “And everything goes through McKinley.”
Good enough. Luka could interpret “background” to mean almost anything—exactly why Ahearn had phrased it that way. Luka didn’t wait for the elevator but dashed down the steps toward the cyber squad’s basement offices. He wondered why Ahearn didn’t want to see for himself, and realized if things went south the commander would have plausible deniability by distancing himself. For a moment he almost pitied McKinley, who would bear the brunt of any backlash, but then he focused fully on the task at hand.
“Fill me in,” Luka said once he’d caught up with Krichek. Last they spoke, Krichek had still been waiting for vital information on Vogel’s background last night. Especially his military service record: Vogel hadn’t been in the army as Chaos had claimed to have been, but had served in the navy. Despite automation, databases under the control of government entities still required humans to query them and release the results, which meant waiting.
Krichek was talking on his phone as they continued their jog down the stairs but quickly hung up. “No reported sightings of Vogel. Talked to people at his old address, nothing there. Best we can tell he’s been living in his office at the Falconer last few months. No wants, no warrants, never been in any trouble. Tenants at the Falconer say he’s a bit slow but friendly; they talk like he’s as much a part of the building as the light fixtures—essential but invisible.”
“Did we get his service record yet?”
“No. I put a rush on the request.” Not that that meant much to the military.
“Has Vogel ever lived or worked near Lewisburg?”
“No. He’s been here in Cambria City for the past eleven years, working at the Falconer. We haven’t been able to trace anything before that. I’m hoping his military records will fill in the gaps.”
They arrived at the basement level that housed the cyber squad, the PD’s gym and indoor firing range, along with the records department. Sanchez was anxiously awaiting their arrival. “I don’t know what to do,” he greeted them in a breathless tone as they dashed through the maze of empty workstations to a large video screen. “I can’t find—”
Luka pulled up short at the image filling the screen. A man, naked, hog-tied in a narrow, enclosed and darkened space with water rushing in from below. His face was in shadows but his scalp appeared to be shaved. His shoulders contorted in pain as he fought against his restraints. A countdown below him read: twenty-seven minutes, three seconds.
“Any way you can trace the camera feed?” Luka asked.
“No. I’ve been trying everything.” Sanchez sank into the chair behind a computer monitor, his gaze fixated on his keyboard. “Damn it!”
“Take a breath,” Luka instructed as his phone rang. He handed it to Krichek to deal with. “Tell me what you do know.”
“It’s been re-routed and bounced around the globe and back. There’s no GIS info either so we can’t use that to pinpoint the location.”
Krichek held out Luka’s phone. “I’ve got Dr. Wright. She’s with Risa Saliba and Jack O’Brien, watching on Saliba’s phone.”
Luka took his phone back as McKinley burst into the room. He quickly assessed the situation and nodded to Luka. The ERT commander was smart enough to let Luka do his job—McKinley had never worked investigations.
“Leah, do either of them recognize the man?” Luka was pretty sure he did, but the night vision camera in the dark trunk revealed too little detail for him to be certain.
“Risa is certain it’s Dominic Massimo. We just tried to call him and he’s not answering.”
“Okay. Hang on in case I need you.” He turned to Sanchez. “See if you can track Dominic Massimo’s cell. Krichek, get Harper and some uniforms over to his hotel room.”
“McKinley, that look like a car trunk to you?” Damn image was so dark, it was difficult to make out background details. “Look at how the metal curves.”
“Yeah, I’d say American, large sedan. Hard to tell more from this angle.”
“What’s Vogel drive?” Luka asked Krichek.
“2004 Honda Civic.”
McKinley squinted at the image. “Too big for a Honda. What’s Massimo drive?”
“Hang on a moment.” Krichek pulled up the information from the NCIC database. “Black Town Car.”
“Bingo,” McKinley breathed, bouncing on his toes, ready for action. He was texting on his phone, no doubt calling his team in.
Luka had a sinking feeling they wouldn’t be needed. The countdown kept ticking, relentless. Twenty-two forty-one. A shudder raced down his spine.
“Pull up the VIN info on Massimo’s car,” he instructed Sanchez. “Contact whatever navigation service he uses and see if we can ping the car for a GPS location.”
“On it.” Krichek dialed his phone.
