“I’m deadly serious,” MacCandliss said.

“Oh, so are we.”

CHAPTER 23

When his phone rang-the Bach Organ Fugue in G Minor Koller had programmed for that number-he knew Jillian Coates was calling Paul Regis. He answered on the fifth ring, already in character.

“Yes,” he said, as his mind traveled back to that day in her condominium, seizing upon the details that made her put so much trust and faith in the insurance investigator.

“Hello, is this Paul?”

“Yes it is,” Koller said. “Can I help you?”

“Paul, it’s Jillian Coates. You were at my condo last week.”

“Jillian, of course.” Koller made certain his voice revealed both surprise and delight at her call. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I was speaking with a friend of mine. Well, not really a friend. We just met actually.”

Naturally, she was talking about Dr. Nick Garrity. Koller had followed her to the Helping Hands Mobile Medical Unit, but had tired of waiting for her when an hour passed after she disappeared inside the RV. He had returned to his hotel and done some research on Garrity’s operation, and knew enough about the onetime army doctor and his shoestring-budget medical RV to feel certain that the man was hardly a threat.

“So,” he said, drumming his fingers on the desk, “does this new friend have anything to do with me?”

“No,” Jillian said, her laugh sounding somewhat forced. “I went to see him because… because we have some friends in common. In passing, I happened to mention the fire and my persistent suspicion that having my sister being murdered one day and my apartment burning down just a couple of weeks later seems like more than a coincidence. He agreed with me, and promised to speak with a friend of his who is a detective on the Washington police force.”

“Do you know this detective’s name?”

Koller was bouncing the eraser more rapidly and forcefully.

Stupid Jericho!

“I don’t know his name,” Jillian said, “but I was wondering if you might send me a copy of your report so my friend Nick can take it to him?”

“Of course. Where are you staying?”

Jillian gave him the address of the nursing school dorm, which he had already written down.

“I’m so grateful to you, Paul. Do you expect to be in D.C. any time soon?”

“Not that I know of, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m still busy trying to find a lead on Belle’s murderer, and I’ve used up most of my vacation time at work, but as soon as things slow down for me, I’ll call, okay?”

“That would be terrific,” Koller said, wondering why she almost certainly was lying about how she knew Garrity. “Listen, I’ll get a copy of the report and get it right off to you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Paul. You’re the best.”

“No, Jillian Coates, you are.”

CHAPTER 24

“This is easy. How about giving me something really hard to do.”

Reggie shifted his gaze between the two computer monitors crammed side-by-side on his makeshift board-and-cinderblock desk, as his fingers deftly worked two keyboards simultaneously. It was hard for Nick to believe that he had known the kid for more than two years, during which Reggie Smith’s remarkable intellect and abilities had never been disclosed.

With Jillian’s guidance, Manny Ferris had managed to break through whatever had damaged his brain enough to single out a view of the rear of the Lincoln Memorial as being particularly disturbing to him. Now, it was crucial to determine precisely where he had been and, at least as important, why he had been there.

Nick, Jillian, and Junie stood clustered behind the gangly teen, who was nothing short of a digital maestro, conducting his symphony from the comfort of his well-worn swivel chair with no small flair for showmanship. Nick was aware of Jillian’s closeness-the pressure of her shoulder against his, the fresh scent of her hair. He knew what was happening, but after so many years, he had trouble believing it.

The photograph that Ferris had selected provided more than enough information for Reggie. He began with Google Maps and brought in some software of his own. There was an air of tense anticipation as he worked. In all, after re-creating the trees lining the Potomac, it took him no more than three minutes to locate what he said was the only building from which Manny Ferris could have a view across the river to the rear of the Lincoln Memorial.

“Voilà!” the teen announced triumphantly. “This is it.”

With a flourish, he struck one more key and the monitors simultaneously changed their displays to show the same image. Nick and Jillian leaned close to get a better look as Reggie used his mouse to zoom in on the building.

“So explain to me how you figured this out?” Nick asked.

“Basically, I used Google’s massive database of images, which can be overlaid with different views like street detail, terrain, trees, even satellite imagery. When I typed the landmark, Lincoln Memorial, into the search field, I was able to use the hybrid map and satellite view to pinpoint buildings on the same latitude. Based on distance, I wrote a custom software program to calculate the number of stories high a building would have to be in order to get that view. That narrowed it down to this building here in Arlington, Virginia. That’s all there was to it. Did you follow me?”

“Of course I did,” Nick said, his tongue firmly in his cheek. “I am, after all, an M.D.”

“I live only a few miles away from there,” Jillian said. “I think I know that building.”

With another touch of his computer mouse, Reggie changed views so that instead of looking down on the building from the satellite perspective they could see it from the street level, as if they were looking at it head on.

“Oh, the Web is a beautiful thing,” Reggie sang softly, “a beautiful thing, a beautiful thing.”

“Amazing,” Nick said now. “I used to think I was traveling on the cutting edge of information technology. Now this stuff is like elfin magic to me.”

“Nah, you just didn’t grow up with it, is all,” Jillian said.

“Right. For me Pong was revolutionary.”

“Pong?” Reggie asked.

“Never mind,” Nick and Jillian answered in unison, exchanging amused glances. Nick could not help but continue to look at her. She was vibrant and at ease, and carried herself with a natural energy and grace. As quick as the urge to take her into his arms came, images of Sarah invaded his thoughts.

I’m just not ready, he told himself. Somehow, though, the words seemed more hollow than usual.

“Reggie, can you zoom in any closer?” Jillian asked. “I think I know what that building is for.”

“Right on,” Reggie said, again changing the view.

“I do know it. I’ve ridden my bike past there a bunch of times. It’s a medical spa. I think they also do plastic surgery there.”

“Plastic surgery,” Nick said. “I’ll bet Manny was a patient there.”

“Hang on. Let me get the address. Then I should be able to look up the business name.”

In seconds Reggie had found not only the business name and address, but also the company’s Web page.

“Singh Medical Spa and Cosmetic Surgery Center, 167 Andover Avenue, Arlington, Virginia,” Nick read. “It says on the Web site the business is owned by the world-famous-that’s what it says, world-famous-plastic surgeon Paresh M. Singh.”

“Look at his picture,” Jillian said. “He’s sort of cute. I like the granny glasses.”

“So what’s next?” Junie asked.

“I could get that nose job you’ve been telling me I need,” Nick suggested, “and then scope the place out.”

Junie and Reggie laughed.

“Wait, that might not be such a bad idea,” Jillian said. “We do need to get into that building and have a look around. Scheduling some sort of a tour of the place seems like the right thing to do.”