by J. D. Robb
“Nadine’s given me no reason to doubt her word or her ethics,” Whitney commented. “If the Red Horse angle leaks …”
“It won’t have come from her, or from my team. If it leaks, it’s a damn sure bet it came from the killer. Sir?”
“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”
“We handle this, media-wise, in a straightforward fashion. Keep the details lean, but don’t cover up the fact something was done to these people. I think that’s exactly the right way to go. Going on the theory we have one guy, or a guy with a partner or partners. He’ll enjoy the attention. The fast spurt of questions, the careful answers. But it won’t be enough. The commander is a calm, and okay, commanding presence. While our guy’d enjoy the fact the NYPSD’s commander is leading the charge, he’s probably going to be irked he didn’t get the mayor to come out and dance. Then he’s going to bask awhile as the reporters get their stories on. But it won’t be enough,” she repeated.
“You’re saying he’ll be compelled to repeat the experience.”
“Kyung, he’s going to hit again unless we catch him first however we play it. Nobody goes to this much trouble, this much planning, achieves a whopping success, then dusts his hands off and moves on.”
“That’s …” Kyung searched for the proper word. “Unsettling.”
“Oh yeah. And if we go by the other theory, whacked religious cult picking up where they left off during the Urbans, same deal. This type needs to feed, and the appetite’s voracious. For the thrill and satisfaction of the kill, from the glow and ego of the aftermath. Everybody’s talking about him. They’ll be talking about all the memorials for all the dead. All that grief’s like chocolate sauce. It just sweetens the meal.”
“You’re telling me to prepare for another statement, more briefings.”
“Don’t plan a vacation. Sir, I’ve got an interview coming in.”
“Go. If you’re in Interview or following up a viable lead, don’t come in for the media conference. The media, and the public,” Whitney continued before Kyung could protest, “will be satisfied the lead investigator is working the case.”
“Thank you, sir.” She beat feet before he could change his mind.
Eve moved through the buzz of Homicide. Cops who weren’t out in the field or in Interview worked their ’links and comps. The smell of bad coffee swirled so thickly she could have bathed in it.
“Dallas.” Peabody intercepted her. “I’ve got Devon Lester in Interview B. He came right in.”
“Cooperative.”
“Baxter and Trueheart have Adam Stewart in A. I don’t know the status. I’m having Christopher Lester brought in, and hooked C for him. The uniforms are going to signal me when he’s tucked in.”
“Okay. Quick overview. The Lester boys are tight. Christopher’s five years older, big IQ, did the fast track through school. Some big, fancy degrees in chemistry, biology, nanotech. He heads his own department at Amalgom, developing and testing new vaccines.”
“Kind of tailor-made for brewing up a psychedelic stew.”
“He’d know how, or could find out. I didn’t come up with a connection to Red Horse. Neither brother has any religious affiliation. Devon, average student, got an undergrad degree in business and management. Christopher’s married, twelve years, two sons. Devon’s divorced once, currently in three-year same-sex marriage.”
“I looked at criminal on Christopher,” Peabody told her. “Traffic violations. He likes to drive fast. But that’s it.”
“Their finances diverge like the education,” Eve continued. “Chris pulls in about four times what his brother makes. But Devon stood as his brother’s best man, is godfather to one son. Interesting bit. Before Roarke bought the property, Devon was looking to secure a loan to buy it himself.”
“I can’t have it, I’ll kill everybody in it, in a really spectacular way. Then maybe I can get it cheap?” Peabody pursed her lips. “It could play.”
“Let’s go try it out. Look busy,” Eve added, “a little harried.”
“I already do.”
“Play it soft, sympathetic.”
Peabody sighed. “What else is new?”
Eve breezed into Interview where Devon sat at the table, hands clasped together. A long-sleeved black tee fit snug over his chest.
“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with Lester, Devon, on the matter of Case Number H-3597-D. Mr. Lester, thanks for coming in.”
“I’m glad to do it, to do anything I can.”
“We’re recording this follow-up. As you can imagine, we’re taking statements and follow-ups from a lot of people.” She sat, rubbed the back of her neck as if it troubled her. “When we have people in like this, we routinely read them their rights. It’s for your protection, and it keeps everything clean.”
He paled a little under the explosion of red dreads, but nodded. “Sure. Okay.”
She read off the Revised Miranda. “So, do you understand your rights and obligations?”
“Yeah, sure. I keep thinking about my guys. D.B. and Evie, and all of them. Drew’s still in a coma. Is there any more you can tell me? Anything?”
“We’re shifting through a lot of evidence, Mr. Lester.”
“Devon, okay? I know you’re doing everything you can, but all those people … We went to see the rest of the crew, Quirk and me. He’s been a rock, but it was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I couldn’t tell them why or how. I couldn’t really tell them anything.”
“It’s hard,” Peabody said gently, “to lose someone, then to be the one responsible for telling others they’ve lost someone, too.”
“I didn’t know how hard. Every time we told one of the guys, it was like it happened all over again.”
“Let’s try to sort it out,” Eve began. “You know the setup better than anyone.”
“Yeah, well, D.B. had it down. Really the whole crew.”
“Still, you’re the manager.”
“I don’t know how I can go back there. I don’t know how anyone can. I don’t know what Roarke’s going to do with the place now.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t know what anybody’s going to do.”
“Why don’t you take me through the routine? Who opens, who closes, who has access to what.”
“Okay.” He took a long breath. “Either D.B. or me are there. Either of us could open or close, or both depending.”
“No one else?”
“We were the only ones with the codes. Well, I mean Roarke would have them, and Bidot. But on the day-to-day, just me and D.B. One of us would be the first one in, last one out. You check the drawer. We don’t do much cash business, but you gotta keep some. You check the night’s receipts. The office isn’t locked, but nobody goes in but me or D.B. And the comp and drawer are locked, and passcoded. That’s SOP. You gotta check supplies,” he continued, moving through the opening procedure, then through the closing.
“Could D.B. have lent his codes to anyone?”
“No way. No way he’d do that.”
“And you?”
“Lieutenant. Ma’am. A manager’s got to be responsible. Trustworthy. You can’t play fast and loose and keep your job. I trust my crew, but nobody but me and D.B. could open or close, or access the receipts.”
“You didn’t share that information, not with your partner, your brother?”
“No. What would they want it for?” He leaned forward. “You think somebody got in, planted whatever it was? I don’t know how. It would’ve showed on security. It would’ve triggered the alarm.”
“Not if they had the codes. Easy to get by the alarm, then change the security disc out. You’re sure, Devon. No doubt?”
“No doubt.” He sat back again, chopping a hand through the air. “But hey, they could’ve jammed it, or cloned the codes, something. You see that stuff on screen. It could be that way. They could’ve put it on a timer or something, like a boomer. I think they did it to take a hit at Roarke.”
“
Do you?”
“I’ve been thinking. Can’t think about anything else. It doesn’t make sense to kill all those people, people you couldn’t even know. Everybody knows Roarke, right? It’s his place. This happened in his place, and maybe he’s not going to open it up again. He takes the loss. And he feels it, too, because it was his place. Some people are just sick. Some people are just sick enough to kill all those people just to take a hit at Roarke.”
“Something to think about. Still, he hasn’t owned it long, and it’s one of his smaller businesses. You were thinking about buying it, weren’t you, Devon?”
He flushed a little, shifted a little. “I took a look. Out of my reach, what with the capital, and the taxes and all that. I thought how it would be something to have my own place. Now, I guess I’m glad I didn’t try it. Something like this? I don’t know how you come back from it.”
“It’s rough. Thinking about that, maybe somebody who wanted their own place, found it out of reach, might find a way to bring the price down to a bargain. It wouldn’t be hard for somebody who knew the place, how it works, how it’s set up. Somebody with access to everything, anytime. And somebody, say, whose brother’s a chemist. Like yours, Devon.”
8
He stared at her with his shadowed, bloodshot eyes. Said nothing at all.
“Your brother’s a big-shot chemist, right, Devon? Dr. Christopher Lester, with a bunch of letters after his name. A really smart guy,” she added, opening a file, nodding as she scanned it. “A scientist.”
“What?”
“Is your brother a chemist who specializes in the development and testing of medicines and drugs?”
“He—yeah. What’s that got to do with any of this?”
“Put it together. You couldn’t afford the place, so you have to work for somebody else. Somebody with more money, more connections. Somebody, like you said yourself, everybody knows. That’s a pisser, I bet.”
“No—it’s—”
“Your brother’s got access to all kinds of drugs, chemicals, and the knowledge to put them together.” Eyes on Devon, she slapped the file closed. “A substance is released in the bar you run, Devon, and when it’s your day off. Boy, that’s handy. People die, it’s a massacre. And a scandal. Property value plummets. Like you said, maybe Roarke’s not going to open again. Maybe he’ll sell it. Maybe, again like you said yourself, somebody did this to take a hit at Roarke, and to bring the cost of the property down.”
“You—you think I did this? To my own people? My own place?”
“Roarke’s place.”
Fury rose up until his face matched his dreads. “He owns it; I run it.” Devon slammed a fist on his chest. “I run it! I know every single one of the people who work there, and all the regulars, too. I know a lot of the people who died yesterday. They mattered to me. I come in here to try to help, because I want to find out what happened, who did this. And you accuse me?”
“No one’s accusing you, Devon. It’s a scenario.”
“It’s bullshit. You’re saying I could’ve made this happen. And worse, God, you’re trying to pull my brother into it? Chris is a hero. You get that? A hero. He works to save lives, to make lives better, to help people. You’ve got no right to say anything bad about my brother.”
“We have to ask questions.” Peabody put on the calm as Devon’s outrage spun through the room, sharp as whirling blades. “We have to consider different possibilities before we can eliminate them and move on in the investigation.”
“You want to look at me, you look. Inside, outside, back and forward. Give me a truth test, stick a fucking probe up my ass. I’ve got nothing to hide. But you lay off my brother, right? You lay off Chris.”
“Let me ask you this, Devon.” Eve leaned back a little. “If Roarke sells, and the price is in your reach, would you buy the place?”
“In a heartbeat.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Make something of it.”
“If you wanted the place, still want it, why didn’t you ask your brother for a loan, or to make an investment? He could afford it.”
“If I can’t make it myself, it’s not mine, is it? I don’t tap Chris when I want money. He’s my brother, not a frigging bank. I’ve got nothing more to say about it. Unless you’re charging me with something, I’m leaving.”
“We’re not charging you with anything. You’re certainly free to go.”
He shoved back, scraping the chair on the floor. At the door, he turned. “I’d hate to be somebody who’s always looking for the worst in people.”
When the door shut, Peabody lifted her shoulders in a hunch. “He kinda made me feel guilty.”
“You’re a cop. You’re paid to look for the worst in people.”
“I like to think of it more as hunting down the worst people.”
This time she rubbed the back of her neck because it did trouble her. “Do you want to count the number of times we’ve had somebody in that chair who looked like a nice guy who turned out to be a stone killer?”
“I don’t have enough fingers.”
“Exactly. Let’s talk to the brother.”
Christopher Lester shared his brother’s coloring and build. Rather than dreads, he wore his red hair short, straight, styled like a Roman centurion. He wore a well-tailored suit and perfectly knotted tie, both in deep, bronzy brown.
His wrist unit winked gold in the overhead light.
“Dr. Lester,” Eve began. “Thanks for coming in.”
“I’m happy to cooperate. I assume this has to do with the murders at On the Rocks yesterday. My brother’s devastated.”
“You’ve spoken to him.”
“Of course. I contacted him as soon as I heard there’d been trouble. If he’d been there …”
“I understand. We’d like to record this interview.” Eve ordered record on, read in the data. “I’m going to read you your rights. It’s routine.”
Chris lifted his eyebrows. “Is it?”
“It’s standard, and for your protection.” She recited the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations, Dr. Lester?”
“Yes, I do.” His hands, big like his brother’s and perfectly manicured, folded on the table. “What I don’t understand is what you think I can tell you, or what possible help I can be.”
“You never know. Yesterday, the day of the incident, was your brother’s day off.”
“Thank God. That may be selfish, but he’s my brother.”
“You contacted him, you said.”
“A friend heard the bulletin, told me. She knew Devon managed On the Rocks as I’d taken her there for drinks. I contacted him.”
“Where were you?”
“I was still at the lab. Actually about to leave. I tried his ’link immediately. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when he answered.”
“You weren’t aware of his work schedule?”
“No. It changes often, as does my own. When I reached him, he was at the bar. Not inside as they—the police—wouldn’t let him go in. He said he was coming in here, to try to find out what happened. When we spoke later, he said he and his partner would visit the rest of his staff this morning to tell them.”
He looked away a moment. “My brother is a strong man, a good manager. To be a good manager he has to know how to handle problems—small and large—with equanimity. And he does. I’ve never heard or seen him so broken. I hope to never hear or see him broken like this again.”
He looked back, straight into Eve’s eyes. “So I came in to speak with you, as requested. And I’ll answer these questions fully understanding you suspect him. I’ll answer them, Lieutenant, so you’ll understand Devon is a strong man, with equally strong senses of loyalty and compassion. He not only loves his work, he cared, very much, for every single person who worked under him. He could tell you their names, the names of family members, pets, boyfriends, girlfriends. They are—were—family to him.”
“He wanted to buy the bar.”
�
�I’m aware. His partner, Quirk, told me Devon had looked into buying it some months back, but didn’t have the funds.”
“You have them.”
“Yes. I would’ve lent him the money, and offered knowing full well he’d refuse. We’re stiff-necked, you could say. Pride is a Lester family trait—or flaw, depending. I can also tell you Devon was pleased when Roarke purchased the property as it gave him confidence it would be well-funded, and marketed.”
“Price should be going down after this.”
He shot Eve a look of pained amusement. “Lieutenant, do you seriously think a man like Devon would bring about the horror of what happened at On the Rocks so he’d lower the market value of the property into line with his own finances? He’d never deliberately cause anyone harm, and in addition, simply lacks the means. He wouldn’t know how to … Ah.”
Now Chris sat back, nodding slowly. “I would have the know-how. The reports haven’t been very specific, but it was a biological or chemical agent, something that infected the people inside the bar. So Devon and I plotted this out, and I gave him the agent.”
“He wanted the bar, you have the means. It’s a theory.”
“My brother isn’t a wealthy man, not monetarily. Did you know he’s planning a memorial, for everyone who was killed? Using his own funds. People mean more to Devon than money, and always have. You don’t have to take my word. Talk to anyone who knows him.”
“You work with hallucinogenics, with psychedelic drugs?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Recently? Currently?”
“If you clear it with the board, I’d have no objections to discussing my projects—past, present, and pending. But I can’t give you information on them without that clearance, not even to eliminate myself, even my brother, from a suspect list.”
“All right. Thank you again for coming in. Interview end.”