Delusion in Death

11

When the room cleared she went to the board, removed the photos of Snyder and Curve, repositioned them together.

“These two,” she murmured.

“You’re convinced neither was part of it?” Roarke handed her a fresh cup of coffee.

“CiCi Way, Snyder’s friend, coworker, described how it played out. Having drinks with the boyfriend and his coworker, talk about stretching it out to dinner. Women head down to the bathroom. On the way, passing the bar, Snyder bumps into someone. Gets bitchy to her good pal when they’re done in the john. Says she’s got a headache. Head back, and Snyder shoves some guy out of her way …

“At the bar,” Eve remembered. “In her way. Could it be the same guy she bumped into? Could he have waited that long, wanted to see if it worked?”

“Risky,” Roarke commented.

“Calculated. He’d know he had about four minutes. If she isn’t back, he leaves. But it would be so chill to see her, see the change in her face. Happy going down, pissed coming back. Maybe.”

She set it into a file in her mind. “Snyder’s just the tool, doesn’t know a thing except she’s got a headache and she’s pissed off. About the time Way feels a headache coming on, Snyder picks up her fork and stabs her boyfriend in the eye. Hell ensues.

“Plus nothing rings on Snyder. Just like Curve. We’ll look deeper, but it fits they were dupes. He didn’t even know Snyder, the way this plays. Maybe he’d seen her before; she’d seen him before. The way you do when you frequent the same bar, when you work in the same area. She may have worked in his offices, or the same building.”

“Trueheart’s famous chart indicates,” Roarke said.

“Yeah. That was good, creative work. So with Curve, I’m going with a customer. She’s delivery. I’m betting she delivered to his residence. He lives close enough.”

She glanced back at the clutter of empty pizza boxes. “To his offices, maybe. Can’t get out for lunch, call in a delivery. Working through dinner, call delivery. He knew the routine. He hung around close enough to the café to watch. If not her, one of the waitresses, or a coworker going in. Luck of the draw, both times. It’s a good plan because it’s no one specific, no one in particular. No real link back to him.”

“And he may not have factored in you’d identify the sources. All those bodies, all those injuries, the chaos of it. It’s a detail easily missed.”

“I want to take this home. Can you do the board thing with the Trueheart graph?”

“I can do that.”

“Dallas.” Peabody poked in the door. “Sorry. Christopher Lester’s here, wants to see you.”

“Does he?” She looked back at the board, considered. “Put him in Interview, same box as before if it’s free.”

“Okay. I thought you’d all but eliminated him and Devon.”

“All but. If Strong’s right, this guy’s cooking up his own drugs, not just the mix. If Teasdale’s right, he’d need experience and equipment. Lester’s got both. And he’s here. I’ll see what he has to say.”

“Why don’t I gather up your files while you do?”

“Appreciate it.” She started out, pulling her ’link when it signaled. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant, Nancy Weaver.”

“Ms. Weaver.”

“We heard about what happened at Café West.”

“You know the place?”

“Yes. A lot of us eat there, or get food from there. Lieutenant, we’ve lost more people. Three of my people who went out for lunch never came back. I can’t reach them. I’ve checked with other departments, and there are more people who never came back from lunch.”

“I can’t give you details.”

“Please. Lew and Steve are here with me. We’ve been helping plan a memorial for Joe. When we heard—”

Her voice wavered, went thick. “We’re at the offices. Is there any way you can come here or we’ll come to you. If you could just tell us what happened. We knew people who worked there, at Café West. We might be able to help.”

“I’ll be there within the hour.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll tell night security to expect you.”

Interesting, she thought as she walked toward the interview room. Wasn’t it interesting?

“Do you want me in there?” Peabody asked her.

“Yeah. When we’re done, find out whatever you can about the Lester brothers’ family. That includes their parents, and this one’s wife. Take a good look at Devon’s spouse’s family background. You can do it from home, but on the way, go by their residence, talk to neighbors until you get a picture of their relationships, their movements.”

“Got it.”

“Nancy Weaver just contacted me, wants to chat. She’s with Callaway and Vann.”

“Interesting.”

“That’s what I thought.” Eve entered Interview, started the record.

And she thought Christopher Lester looked a great deal wearier and less spiffy than he had the day before.

“You don’t have to read my rights again,” he said, “as you already have, and yes, I understand them.”

“Good. Saves time. What can I do for you?”

“We heard about Café West. My brother … it’s another very hard blow. We sometimes met there for lunch.”

“You two didn’t like the food at the bar?”

“He liked to get out. He knows the day manager, and hasn’t been able to reach her. Her name’s Kimberly Fruicki. I knew her, too. She came to parties at Devon’s. He and Quirk went to her wedding last year. Lieutenant, he’s frantic. He’s tried the hospital. They won’t tell him anything, even if she’s there, as he’s not family. If I could tell him she’s all right …”

“I can’t release the names of the victims until the next of kin’s been notified.”

“She’s …” He looked away, rubbed his hands over his face. “God.”

Eve gave Peabody a signal. “Detective Peabody exiting Interview. How often did you eat at the Café?”

“I’d say once or twice a month—with Devon, or Devon and Quirk. Lieutenant.” He leaned forward, eyes direct, earnest. “You brought me in before because I’m a scientist, a chemist. I realize you have resources, but I doubt they reach the level of my experience, my skill, or my facilities. I know the police department sometimes enlists civilian consultants. I want to help.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“Yesterday I thought it was a terrible accident. Someone experimenting, and having it go horribly wrong. I was upset, disturbed, even angry. But today I know it wasn’t an accident, an experiment. And today I’m afraid. I’ve sent my family away to our home in Oyster Bay. I don’t want them in the city. I want to help find this maniac, or maniacs. I want my family to be safe.”

“I appreciate the offer, Doctor Lester. However, we have a very qualified chemist consulting, and at this time I wouldn’t feel comfortable involving a civilian.”

“You have a police chemist. I can’t believe he’d have the qualifications or facilities I can offer. Perhaps I can work with him.”

“I’ll consider that. But at this time, we’re on it. Your wife was able to leave her work?”

“What? Oh, my wife is very involved in charity work. She can do whatever she needs to do from Long Island. It upsets her to leave, to take the children out of school, but of course she wants them to be safe. And knows I won’t worry with them out of the city.”

“I bet you’ve got a home lab, too.”

“Yes.”

“You’d keep it well secured with kids in the house.”

“Of course, but my children know not to go into my work space.”

“Good for them. I need to get back to work. Interview end.”

“Please, if there’s anything I can do, any question I might answer, contact me.”

“Count on it.”

Peabody came back in, whispered in Eve’s ear.

“You can tell your brother his friend is in Tribeca Health Center in serious but stable condition.”

“She’s alive.”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. This is going to mean so much to Devon and Quirk. Thank you. I’m going to let them know right away.” Even as he walked off, he pulled out his ’link.

“Let’s take a look at this Kimberly Fruicki. Maybe she’s doing the nasty with Chris.”

“Threatens to tell the wife.”

“Isn’t it always the way. Those sidepieces never keep their mouths shut. Today’s target didn’t go as well as yesterday, what with the cops on scene and stunning people before they could kill each other. Maybe he wants to know if he managed to kill his focus point.”

“He looked shaken up to me.”

“Not so smooth as the first time.” Eve lifted her shoulders. “We check it out. He’s the only one, so far, who’s pushing to horn in on the investigation. I’ll go see what Weaver, Callaway, and Vann have to say.”

She saw Roarke striding down the hall with a pair of file bags. “Roarke. With me.”

“Man,” Peabody breathed. “I wish I could say that. Just once.”

“Once would be all before I stabbed out your eyes with an ice pick.”

“Ouch. Might be worth it.”

“A dull ice pick,” Eve added just as Roarke joined them. “Scram.”

“Good night, Peabody.” He sent her a smile that made her think, Still worth it.

“Dull ice pick?” he said as they continued toward the glides.

“Girl talk.” She took one of the file bags, slung it over her shoulder. “Taking you in’s going to throw this trio off some. That’s good. I want impressions. I haven’t met the one, Stevenson Vann, but I’ll fill you in on all three of them. You drive; I’ll talk.”

“I have a few words of my own.”

“Teasdale?”

“We’ll talk in the car.”

She worried—marriage so often had some little pocket of worry—he’d found enough to push on ditching the fed. Shaking off Teasdale wouldn’t be a snap, but …

As the elevator opened, a human tank wearing restraints and sporting a massive erection under his flopping trench coat charged out. He upended cops like bowling pins as two uniforms scrambled out in pursuit.

“Never a dull moment,” Roarke commented just before Eve danced to the side, stuck out her foot. The tank, his long blond wig askew, went airborne.

He shouted, “Woo-hoo!”

He hit the floor with a bone-rattling thud, skidded—taking out another line of bystanders, then smacked the wall with an audible crack.

He lay, eyes glassy, erection spearing up like a monument.

“For Christ’s sake, cover that thing up,” Eve ordered. “He could put somebody’s eye out.”

In the ensuing rush, she nipped onto the elevator, ordered the garage as Roarke stepped in beside her.

“Nice,” she decided. “You hardly ever get an empty car to the garage.”

“We owe it all to a three-hundred-pound flasher.”

“More like two-eighty, but yeah.” She rolled her shoulders. “Anyway, it gave me a little boost.”

“It would as kicking ass is your drug of choice.”

“Maybe, but I only tripped him. No time to kick a naked flasher’s ass right now.”

“There’ll be others, darling.”

“Something to look forward to.”

She got off the elevator, headed straight to her vehicle slot. “You talk first.”

“All right then.” He slid behind the wheel, spared her a quick look before he wound his way out of the garage, punched out into traffic. “Teasdale has an impressive background. Her father was U.S. Air Force, retired as a major general. Her mother served as an assistant Secretary of State. She traveled considerably as a child, speaks several languages, excelled in her schooling. She was recruited by HSO while at university, but didn’t officially join until she’d completed her advanced degrees.”

“Officially?”

“Officially,” he confirmed. “She was an operative at the tender age of twenty-three—unofficially. And she’s quietly, steadily risen up the ranks. She worked with Hurtz on the investigation of Bissel, and in fact, gathered the lion’s share of intel and evidence against him and others involved—though her part in that business was, again, what we’ll call unofficial.”

“Okay. Just give me your take on her.”

“She’s brilliant, dedicated, ambitious, and though your styles appear to be polar opposites, she’s quite like you. In that she doesn’t give up, can’t be bought, and appears to believe in both the rule and the spirit of law.”

“You’re okay with her.”

“I don’t know that I’ll ever be okay with anyone associated with HSO, but I can deal with her. You believe she had no prior knowledge of the formula.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“She’s a trained liar.”

“So am I. It rang true, Roarke. And it feels true that when and if HSO got anything on this back during the Urbans, they covered and/ or destroyed. Made it disappear.”

She sat in silence a moment. “But we don’t have to be okay with HSO. Why should we? Maybe they’ve cleaned house, maybe they have. Good, fine. But we don’t have to be okay with what they did, not back in Dallas years ago, not here in New York last year. They can bite me.”

She took a long breath. “But I can work with Teasdale, at least for now, at least until I get a better sense of her. If you’re good with that, I’m good with it.”

Roarke took his hand off the wheel, covered hers. “Then we’re good.”

“Okay. Moving on. I’ve got to consider the Lesters. Too many connections, too many elements not to.” She ran through the high points of the interview quickly.

“Mass murderers want attention. They need to be important. Shock and awe, that’s the deal. Christopher Lester’s used to certain levels of attention, but he’s still a relatively small fish, right? No big, shiny international prizes. He makes piles of money, gets kudos from his peers, but he’s still, basically, a lab rat. Taking out over a hundred people in two days, with this method? That’s big and shiny. It’s the sort of thing that lives in, you know, infamy.”

“Wouldn’t he reach for the big and shiny with an antidote to the infection? Discovery, in his area.”

“Depends on how pissed off he is. Besides, nobody’s going to care much about the cure if they haven’t experienced or heard about the infection. If that’s not news, the cure isn’t news.”

“That’s a point.”

“The missing link is Red Horse, or a military source. I’m not going to buy he just stumbled on the same exact substance while dicking around in his lab.”

“Odds are a bit long on that.”

“And now we have the S&R trio. Weaver, Callaway, and Vann. Whistler looks clear—so far?”

“Whistler. Refresh me.”

“The suit who left the bar at the same time as Callaway—same company, different department. He’s Sales. I’ve read his statement. Left with an oncoming headache, went home, and that’s verified, to his wife and six-month-old baby. He’s three weeks into a big, fat raise and promotion. He doesn’t fit for me.”

“Lucky for Whistler, and likely his mother?”

“What? Why?”

“Weak joke. So back to your corporate trio.”

“Right. S&R lost people in both incidents, a chunk of them in Weaver’s department. And, so far, they’re the only ones from those offices who’ve contacted me directly—twice now for two of them—and asked for a meeting.”

“A way to get information and attention.”

“Four suits walk into a bar.”

“And what’s your punch line?”

She angled toward Roarke. “Only three walk out. The thing is, if I’m one of the four, the target’s more likely to be Vann. He’s rich and connected. He breezes in while the others put in years. But he’s the one who walks out. If the statements were accurate, they all knew he’d only be there for a short time. So, if Cattery—the dead suit—was the, or even a, target—why? What do the other three—or one of them, possibly two of them—have to gain by offing Cattery? None of them could be sure any of their other coworkers would be there at the right time.”

“It may very well have been random. You know that.”

“I don’t like random.” She scowled out the window. “Random pisses me off.” She continued to frown as he turned into a lot. “You could’ve grabbed some curb. I can put the On Duty light on.”

“A short walk won’t hurt either of us.”

More time to think, she decided when she got out of the car. “I’m going to spend some time with Joseph Cattery tonight. See what I see.”

“Spend a moment with me now.” He pulled her in for a kiss, laughing when she nudged him back. “Your On Duty light isn’t on, Lieutenant.”

“It just doesn’t show.”

She studied the towering steel and glass building as they walked, and the way it caught the red gleam of the lowering sun.

“A long way to the top,” she considered. “Lots of rungs to climb, hours to put in, hands to shake and palms to grease.”

“So it is in the world of business.”

“That’s why you’re handy to have along. You know the ins and outs, the slippery corners. They’re marketing people, right? So they’re always selling something.”

“Including themselves,” he agreed. “It’s not only selling the product, showing it in the best and most creative light, but hyping themselves as the ones with the best ideas, the freshest angles, the most muscular follow-through.”

“I get it, as a theory anyway. They’re coworkers, and there’s a pecking order. But they’re competitors, too. It’s not just other firms they compete against.”

“Exactly. There’d be accounts, prestige, and bonuses at stake. A daily race.”

“Could be one of them decided to narrow the field. But it’s not that simple.” She argued with herself, struggling to focus the picture. “There are easier ways to do that. This is ego, anger, cruelty, and a complete disregard for humanity—more for people he sees every day.”

They went inside, crossed the wide lobby to the security desk.

“Lieutenant Dallas,” Eve said, holding up her badge, “and consultant, for Weaver, Callaway, and Vann—Stevenson and Reede.”

“You’ve been cleared, Lieutenant. Ms. Weaver’s expecting you. Elevators to the right. Forty-three West. I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”

With Roarke, Eve stepped into the elevator. “Forty-three West,” she ordered. “He didn’t ask for your ID. Weaver told him to expect me and a partner. She’s assuming Peabody.”

“I’ll try to be half as charming.”

“No charm, pal. You’re aloof. You’re not just a boss, you’re a megaboss. People like this aren’t worth your notice. I’m doing my duty. Follow-ups are routine. I intro you as consultant, but it’s clear you’re just here because we’re on our way home. You’re bored.”

Enjoying her, he smiled. “Am I?”

“You have planets to buy, minions to intimidate.”

“Well, now I am bored. I’ve already done all that today.”

“Then it won’t be hard to pretend to do it all again. Be scary Roarke-lite.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean. I don’t want them to piss themselves. I just want them off balance. Here we go.”

Nancy Weaver stepped forward as the elevator doors opened, then stopped short, eyes widening on Roarke.

Eve thought: Perfect. “Ms. Weaver, my expert consultant, civilian, in this matter, Roarke.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for coming, and so quickly.” She offered her hand to Roarke. “I was expecting the other detective.”

“Detective Peabody is handling another area of the investigation at this time,” Eve said as Roarke offered Weaver a cool nod and hand-shake. “You said Mr. Vann is also present for this follow-up.”

“Yes, Steve and Lew are waiting in the small conference room. Just this way.”

Weaver wore black, Eve noted—except for the flashy red soles on her towering heels. She’d drawn her hair back. The severe style accented the shadowed eyes and strain lines around them. Her voice carried the rough edge of someone who’d slept too little and talked too much.

“I sent all my people home,” she began as she led the way through a reception area as flashy and red as her soles. Sparkling white lights studded spirals of silver whirling from the ceiling. Weaver’s heels clicked over the dizzying pattern of floor tiles.

Glass doors whisked open at their approach.

“A number of people—companywide—have put in for leave,” she continued. “The CEO will issue a statement in the morning. Right now, everyone’s in shock. Everyone’s scared. So am I.”

“It’s understandable,” Eve said, and kept it at that as they moved down a wide, silent corridor.

“Steve and Lew and I thought, since we were at the bar before … before it happened, and as we had people at the café when … I got word an hour ago that Carly Fisher didn’t make it. She went to the café on her lunch break. She was one of mine. I trained her. She was my intern when she was in college, and I hired her as an assistant. I just promoted her.”

Weaver paused, voice shaking, eyes swimming. “I saw her on her way out to lunch, and I asked her to bring me a salad and a skinny latte. She never came back.”

Her voice broke as she pressed a hand to her mouth. “I got busy, and didn’t notice. She never came back. Then we heard about the café.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I keep thinking, if I hadn’t held her up, hadn’t asked her to take the time to get my lunch, maybe she’d have been out before it started. Maybe she wouldn’t have been there when it happened.”

“There’s no way of knowing.”

“That’s the worst part.”

Weaver opened double pocket doors. Inside Lewis Callaway stood beside the tall, slick-looking man Eve recognized as Vann from his ID shot.

Vann wore a power suit, a black armband, and a rich man’s golden tan.

The “small” conference room spread wider than the one she habitually used at Central. She wondered fleetingly how much acreage their large conference room took up. Windows ribboned two walls so New York shimmered outside the glass.

The long, glossy table dominated, surrounded by cushy, highbacked chairs. The wall of screens was currently blank, but the black counter held two AutoChefs, silver water pitchers, glasses, and a bowl of fresh fruit.

She took in the space and its fancy touches while she watched the men react to Roarke.

Shoulders went back, chins lifted—and while both men started forward, Vann moved just a hair faster, and reached Roarke first.

“An unexpected pleasure, even under the circumstances.” He offered his hand for a brisk, businesslike shake. “Stevenson Vann,” he added. “And this must be your lovely wife.”

“This is Lieutenant Dallas,” Roarke responded, with just a hint of cool, before Eve could answer herself. “She’s in charge here.”

“Of course. Lieutenant, thank you for meeting with us. It’s been a horrible two days.”

“You spent part of them out of town.”

“Yes. I shuttled back right after my presentation. Lew contacted me to tell me about Joe. I was at dinner with the client. We were both so shocked. It still doesn’t seem quite real. And now this new nightmare. Please, won’t you both sit. We’re so anxious to hear anything you can tell us, anything at all.”

“Actually, I’d like to speak with you alone first.”

He looked blank. “I’m sorry?”

“I haven’t interviewed you as yet, Mr. Vann. We’ll take care of that now. Here, if we can have the room. Or your office might be easier.”

“Oh, but couldn’t you just—” Weaver broke off, then simply sat down. “I’m sorry. I wish I could handle this better. I’m good in a crisis. I keep my head. But this … Can’t you tell us something?”

“I’ll tell you what I can once I’ve gotten Mr. Vann’s statement. Let’s take it to your office,” she decided. “Roarke? With me.”

She walked to the door, paused while the three exchanged looks.

“No problem.” Salesman smile back in place, Vann crossed to the door. “It’s just down the hall.”

As they walked, Roarke pulled out his PPC, gave it his attention. Rude, Eve thought. Just what she’d wanted.

Eve noted nameplates: Callaway’s office, Cattery’s, a large area of cubes and assistants’ desks, then Vann’s—a corner deal easily three times the size of hers at Central.

“I didn’t notice Ms. Weaver’s office,” Eve commented.

“Oh, she’s on the other side of the department. Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“I’m good. Have a seat.” She gestured to one of the two visitor’s chairs facing the desk, gave Roarke a subtle signal.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Roarke asked even as he sat at Vann’s desk.

“No.” Obviously nonplussed, Vann spread his hands. “Help yourself.”

“I’ll be recording this, and I’m going to read you your rights.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s routine, and for your protection.” She rattled off the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations?”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“It’s just standard procedure. Why don’t you tell me about yesterday, before you left for your shuttle?”

“I’m sure Nancy and Lew told you that we—and Joe—had been working on a major campaign for some weeks.”

“Your campaign. You were on point.”

“Yes. I actually pulled in the account, so I headed up the project. I was due to give the presentation first thing this morning, and traveled yesterday evening to have dinner with the client, talk it up. As I said, I was at dinner when Lew called to tell me about Joe.”

“You all went to the bar together.”

“That’s right. We knocked off a little early as we’d finished the project. We all wanted to celebrate, just have a drink—and talk it through again.”

“Whose idea was it to go have a drink, and at that particular bar?”

“I … I’m not sure. It was more or less a group decision. It’s the usual watering hole for the company. It’s so close, and it’s a nice spot. Joe may have suggested the drink, and we’d all just assumed that’s where. We left together, arrived together. Grabbed bar seats. Actually, it was already crowded, and I stood at the bar. I couldn’t stay long. I left a few minutes after five, took the car service to the transpo station.”

“You must have had your presentation, your overnight, briefcase.”

“In the car. I’d given all but my briefcase to the driver.”

“Did anything strike you as odd or unusual at the bar?”

“Nothing. It seemed like the typical happy hour crowd. I saw a few people from the office spread around.”

“You go there a lot?”

“Once or twice a week, yes. With coworkers, or with a client.”

“So you see a lot of the same faces.”

“Yeah. People you don’t know necessarily.”

“And how did Joe get along with the rest of you, the others in the office?”

“Joe? He was a go-to guy. If you needed an answer, an opinion, a little help, you could count on him.”

“No problem with you coming in, snagging a corner office?”

“Joe wasn’t like that.” He spread his hands. His wrist unit—platinum, she’d bet her ass—winked. “Listen, some people might think I got a leg up, but the fact is I’m good at what I do. I’ve proven myself.” He leaned forward now, exuding sincerity. “I don’t flaunt my connection with the top. I don’t have to.”

“This major campaign, no problems with you taking point? Making the presentation solo.”

“Like I said, I brought in the client. I don’t look for special treatment, but I don’t step back when I’ve earned something. I don’t understand what this has to do with what happened to Joe.”

“Just getting a feel for the dynamics around here,” she said easily. “You’d understand that, getting a feel for how people work—alone and together. What they look for, what they want, how they work to get it.”

His smile came back. “I’m in the wrong business if I don’t. It’s competitive, that’s the nature of the beast and what keeps things vital and fresh. But we know how to work together to create the best tools for the client.”

“No friction?”

“There’s always a certain amount of friction. It’s part of being competitive.” He glanced toward Roarke. “We’re one of the top marketing firms in New York for a reason. I’m sure Roarke would agree that a certain amount of friction brings the fire needed to create and satisfy.”

Roarke spared Vann the briefest glance, said, “Hmmm.”

“Were you and Joe friendly outside work?”

“We didn’t really travel in the same circles, but we got along well. Our boys are about the same age, so we had that in common. His kid …” He trailed off a moment, looked away. “He’s got good kids. A nice place in Brooklyn. I took my son, Chase, to a cookout there last summer. The boys hit it off. God.”

“And Carly Fisher?”

“Nancy’s girl.” He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t really know her. To speak to, of course, but she’d just been promoted, and we hadn’t worked together yet. Nancy’s just sick about what happened to her.”

“Anyone else you’re friendly with here—outside the office?”

“If you mean romantically, that’s sticky. I try to avoid tangling work with relationships.”

“Okay.” Eve got to her feet. “We’ll finish up in the conference room.”

“I hope I was helpful. I want to help—anything. All of us want to help.”

Eve kept her eyes level with his. “I’m sure you do.”