Insidious

by Catherine Coulter

  They climbed stained creaking stairs, grateful there was enough light to see where to put their feet. On the third floor, they turned down a dark corridor, past an old man smoking marijuana in an open doorway, staring at them, uncaring and silent. Sherlock hoped that in his mind, he was someplace else, someplace nicer. Willig’s door was locked, but Sherlock had her pick set with her. They were inside Willig’s nest in under a minute.

  It was one room with a single filthy window covered with thumbtacked newspaper, an ancient bathroom at its far end. There was a small fridge and a hot plate on the floor with empty pizza boxes piled up next to it, a single mattress and nothing else. They found two thousand dollars stuffed into the mattress, about the only place to look. When they left, the old man was still sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, humming and pulling bits of paper from his lip.

  Sherlock knelt next to him, gave him her sunny smile. “Have you seen the man who lives in that apartment, sir? Or has anyone come by looking for him?”

  The man stared right through her, his eyes vacant. He continued humming under his breath until Sherlock stood up and followed Savich out of the building.

  They were glad to see the Porsche hadn’t been touched. The teenagers were gone, and everyone else sat exactly where they’d been. It was eerily quiet.

  “Two thousand dollars—that isn’t very much for murdering someone, even as a down payment,” Sherlock said as Savich drove back to the Hoover Building. “He either stashed the rest of it, maybe buried it, or Willig really is an idiot.”

  Savich flipped from station to station on the radio, listening to what the news had to say about the attempted murder of Venus Rasmussen, the CEO and chairman of the board of Rasmussen Industries. Her age—eighty-six—seemed to be the biggest news, as if it was astonishing someone would try to murder an old lady who could die at any time. He was glad to hear there was no comment from any of the family, and no formal statement yet from Metro. Savich knew the FBI’s role would leak out soon enough and the tabloids would flock to the story with screaming headlines, FAMILY MEMBER OR BUSINESS RIVAL?

  Yet again, he wondered how was it done? Evil always finds a way, he remembered his father saying.

  10

  * * *

  RASMUSSEN MANSION

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  MONDAY EVENING

  At eight thirty that evening, Savich and Sherlock showed their creds to the single Metro police officer still on duty in front of the Rasmussen mansion. They saw the bright yellow crime scene tape still blocked the driveway. Behind it stood the stately black Bentley, its shattered glass scattered over the driveway, gleaming like diamond shards under the moonlight. The last of the news crews had left, thankfully, at least for the night.

  When Isabel showed them into the living room, they saw a tableau of the entire Rasmussen family huddled around Venus, except for Glynis, who sat quietly opposite the sofa in a delicate Louis XVI chair, seemingly fascinated by her designer shoes. Only Hildi was in motion, hugging her mother tightly, nearly burying her in her substantial bosom, murmuring her outrage and relief.

  Veronica sat a bit apart from the family, and Guthrie sat on Venus’s other side, his hands dangling between his knees, looking like he wanted a drink. Alexander stood behind the sofa, at Venus’s back, resting his hand lightly on her shoulder. Savich looked back and forth between father and son. Were one or both of you feeding Venus arsenic? But if so, why would you be so stupid as to be the only ones present?

  Alexander looked up and stiffened. His handsome face hardened, he straightened to his full height and sneered. “So you’re finally here. Are you going to tell us what you’re going to do about this?”

  Savich smiled. “Good evening, everyone. Venus, how are you feeling tonight?”

  She looked relieved when she saw them and pulled away from Hildi. “I’ll survive, Dillon, but the Bentley’s going to be in the shop awhile.” She looked a bit pale but solid, like she’d weighed what had happened, tucked it away, and faced forward. She was wearing a lovely black silk blouse that flowed loose over black slacks, her French pedicure on display in her open-toe gold sandals. Amazing. Try to kill her and you get a fashion plate. She was a formidable woman.

  Venus waved them forward. “I’m so glad you’re both here. If you want to speak to MacPherson, he’s in the kitchen having his dinner. Mr. Paul grilled him a porterhouse steak, MacPherson’s favorite, as a thank-you for his saving my old hide. Poor MacPherson—I’ll bet he’s having to listen to Mr. Paul complain about a team of federal techs coming into his kitchen to look for poison. Poison! He was quite incensed, but I don’t doubt he was relieved when they left. He assured me they wouldn’t have found anything.

  “As you see, everyone is here, waiting for you. Everyone is eager to hear your ideas on who’s behind this. Now, please sit down. I expect everyone will gird their loins and cooperate.” Her words were bright and strong, but Savich saw the tension lurking in her eyes. He knew her well enough to see she was drawn tight as a bowstring after the wild shootout, and without knowing if anyone here was responsible. But she was playing the matriarch and, even more than that, the corporate executive, always in charge, always in control, even with her life on the line. Did the family resent her for being able to do that, or admire her strength? Or a bit of both?

  Savich and Sherlock greeted every Rasmussen present, turning last to Alexander, who met them with his habitual sneer, and finally, Veronica, who gave them a wobbly smile. After they’d sat down on a love seat facing Venus and accepted coffee from Isabel, Venus cleared her throat to draw everyone’s attention and said in a firm, matter-of-fact voice, “I’ve explained to the family that your FBI lab has confirmed what I thought. Someone has been slowly poisoning me with arsenic over the past month. Apparently the poison wasn’t working fast enough, and so they launched the direct attack this afternoon. I survived only because MacPherson was a hero, nearly ran the attacker down with the Bentley.” Venus’s eyes glittered as she looked at each of them in turn. “I’m very thankful Dillon and Sherlock were still outside and actually caught the man.”

  Alexander said, “Grandmother told us his name is Vincent Willig and he will survive.”

  “Yes, he will,” Savich said.

  “So, has he agreed to tell you who paid him to kill Grandmother?”

  Venus said, “Not as yet, Alexander, but I have some ideas about that,” and she gave Savich a smile, her chin up.

  Veronica leaned forward. “Yes, thank you both very much for catching that horrible man. Maybe now this nightmare will stop.”

  Hildi said, “How can it stop, Veronica? This Willig criminal isn’t the one who was trying to poison Mother.”

  Glynis looked up. “Mother and I could move in.”

  “Yes, we could,” Hildi said, and once again hugged Venus. Venus managed to pull back enough to pat Hildi’s face. “You’re very kind, my dear, and you, too, Glynis, but no, that won’t be necessary. Veronica will protect me. She has for fifteen years.”

  Veronica said to Savich, “I failed her this time, I know, but you can take this to the bank, Dillon. I will not let Venus out of my sight.”

  Alexander flicked a piece of lint off his gray Italian cashmere blazer. “But we’re still left with a killer who won’t talk.”

  Venus, well used to Alexander, said, “Not yet, true. Now, Dillon, we know his name is Vincent Willig. Tell me more about him.”

  Savich set down his china cup. “He’s thirty-four years old, a lifelong criminal, until recently an inmate at Attica for attempted murder. We spoke to him, offered him a deal if he would tell us who hired him. I’d wager he’ll open up soon enough.” He watched their faces as he spoke, hoping for an unguarded expression. He saw nothing except a look of relief from Hildi, a look of disbelief from Alexander. As for Guthrie, he looked miserable. Worry for his mother? Or did he still want a drink? Both Glynis and Veronica looked frankly worried. All of which told him exactly nothing. He didn’t expect this to be
easy. It could be none of them was involved. Maybe it was a business associate, someone covering up a crime, or who stood to profit. Venus had sent him a preliminary list that afternoon and he’d asked Dane to help Ruth start the process of checking everyone on the list, looking for financial motives.

  Sherlock added, “We doubt Mr. Willig will want to be shipped back to prison for life. He knows that’s what will happen if he doesn’t tell us who hired him.”

  Alexander said, “It’s possible this Willig has no idea who hired him. Or he could toss out any name he wanted to. Trust me, testimony from a convicted felon isn’t worth much in court.”

  Thank you, lawyer Rasmussen. Savich gave Alexander a cool look. “Is that what you think happened? He took two thousand dollars as a down payment from someone who emailed him instructions, or wrote him a note? That he has no clue who his employer is?”

  Sherlock saw the pulse pounding in Alexander’s throat at Dillon’s questioning his opinion. Are you the one trying to murder your grandmother? She said, “He’s a career criminal, Alex, so there’s no way he wouldn’t do his due diligence—my bet is he knows exactly who hired him. And tomorrow morning, we may very well find out.” She cracked her knuckles and smiled.

  Did Alexander look alarmed? Or angry because she’d had the nerve to call him Alex and not Alexander?

  Venus dropped her bombshell. “You know, Dillon, I would very much like to meet the man who tried to shoot me. It may help if he knows who he’s dealing with. And there’s a great deal I could offer him that the FBI can’t. I’d like to be there with you tomorrow.”

  “Mother, no! You with this horrible criminal? No, you can’t possibly want to do that.”

  Veronica said, “I agree. Venus, this isn’t a good idea.”

  Venus patted Hildi’s hand, smiled at Veronica. “You know, there’s a lot that’s happened today that I’ve never done before. I never considered that I’d actually fit in that small space between the front and backseat of the Bentley, for instance, but when MacPherson yelled for me to get down, I did. Meeting Willig should be a walk in the park compared to all that.” Her tone brooked no room for argument. Savich imagined she used the same tone to shut up opposition. The Rasmussen had spoken, and that was that.

  “Good.” Savich looked at each Rasmussen in turn. “Guthrie, Hildi, Glynis, Veronica, Agent Lucy Carlyle and Agent Davis Sullivan will be speaking to you individually tomorrow morning. Please make yourselves available.”

  “What about me?” Alexander moved from behind the sofa to stand in front of the fireplace, his arms crossed, stiff as a soldier.

  “I’ll call you when you need to come to the Hoover Building,” Savich said. “Keep your schedule open tomorrow morning.”

  “As if I have nothing better to do than wait for a cop to call.”

  Sherlock gave him her patented sunny smile. “I sure hope it’s important enough for you, Alex, since someone is trying to kill your grandmother. Trust me, you’ll find the interview room quite comfortable.”

  “What I want to know,” Glynis said as she walked to the sideboard to pour herself a glass of water, “is who in this family could possibly want to kill Grandmother?”

  11

  * * *

  Guthrie poured himself a glass of gin, drank it down without pause, felt it steady him. “Savich suspects either my son Alexander or me, Glynis. And for good reason. Alexander and I were with Mother all three times before she became ill, no one else.” He turned to Savich. “You’re not really going to look anywhere else, are you? The obvious road for you is to try to nail one of us. Or both.”

  Alexander’s voice snapped out sharp and impatient. “And that would be ridiculous, Father. Neither of us have any reason to harm Grandmother. There are, naturally, other answers, including the truth. There are hundreds of people, major companies, that might think they could benefit from attacking Grandmother, our family, like this. Multimillion-dollar contracts, mergers, share prices might be at stake.” He shot a look at Savich. “But looking at all of them would be difficult. And these two would need to have the intelligence and resources to look in the right place, and of course that is a big problem with law enforcement today.”

  Hildi was wringing her hands. “It’s got to be an outsider, someone who hates Mother because she took over their company, fired them, or something. I know this family, and none of us would ever do anything like this, never. Dillon, both Guthrie and I have always loved our mother, and of course Alexander and Glynis love their grandmother. This—evil plot isn’t us; it can’t be us.”

  A moment of hot silence, then Glynis laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something? One of us sneaking around, putting a pinch of arsenic in Grandmother’s coffee without anyone seeing us? Without anyone even knowing we were hiding behind the curtains?”

  “The first two times, the arsenic was probably in my champagne,” Venus said coolly, eyeing her granddaughter. “At a restaurant.”

  “Better yet,” Glynis said. “The murderer disguised as a waiter.”

  The phone rang.

  Veronica, sitting nearest to the phone, rose, lifted the receiver, listened, snapped out, “No comment,” and hung up. “Another reporter. At least there are no more of their vans camped outside the house. The neighbors wouldn’t allow that. They called the police and three squad cars came and shooed them away.”

  Veronica said, “I was sorry to see them go. With everyone leaving, I don’t think there’s enough protection for Venus.”

  Alexander said, “I understand from the officer outside that a squad car will remain here overnight, then our own private security will arrive in the morning. Grandmother will be amply protected. The guards will stick with her around the clock.”

  Venus nodded her thanks to Alexander, who stood shoulders squared against the fireplace. She looked at Hildi, her artist-hippie daughter wearing her habitual tie-dyed long skirt and peasant blouse, those ridiculous pearls, so many strands, and Birkenstocks on her long narrow feet, Venus’s own feet, she realized. Hildi’s dark hair hung long and straight down her back, mixed now with strands of white that looked like an amateur attempt at highlights. Hildi had only her art and her daughter to tether her to this earth ever since her worthless husband, Elliott DeFoe, had stepped willingly out of her life years before. An abandonment that Venus, admittedly, had orchestrated, but she’d never expected her daughter to remain unattached for the decades following. It made her sad sometimes to think of Hildi alone. And then there was Glynis, in her designer clothes from head to toe, looking like a beauty queen next to a bag lady. She was divorced now, too, and adrift.

  Venus smiled at each of them and said, her voice thoughtful, “Each of you is so different, but that’s what makes all of you so very interesting. I’ve loved all of you forever, tried to make you happy, tried to stay out of your lives. And I have to ask myself: Does one of you hate me enough to want me dead? Couldn’t that person wait until I drop over myself?” Venus swallowed, then to Savich’s surprise, she lowered her head in her hands and began to cry quietly.

  Everyone but Hildi stayed frozen in place. “Mother!” Hildi pulled Venus to her, patting her back, stroking her hair, cooing like a dove in her ear.

  Sherlock watched every face react to Venus’s breakdown. She saw consternation on Guthrie’s face, a bit of contempt on Alexander’s, and Glynis’s face was a study in embarrassment. Veronica had already jumped to her feet but stopped when she saw Venus pressed against Hildi. She sank back into her chair, her expression angry and worried.

  Savich and Sherlock waited, watching Hildi fuss, watching Isabel silently press a fresh cup of tea into Venus’s hand. Was it all a performance?

  Venus took the cup of tea and slowly raised her head. Sherlock saw her eyes were bright with the sheen of tears. Then the weeping old lady became the boardroom queen again. Venus said, “I apologize for that. Now, listen. We have to face the facts as they are, children. Someone who lives or works in this house is very likely responsible for trying t
o kill me, someone close enough and clever enough to poison me. Whoever that is, whether they are in this room or not, I want them to know I will not let this family be destroyed.

  “I do recognize that I’m old. But you know what? I do not want to depart this earth until I’m good and ready.” She looked at each of them in turn. “Every one of you has enough money for two lifetimes. If one of you is in trouble and you see your inheritance as your only way out, you need to come to me now, and we will work it out. I will forgive you, and I promise I will do my best to fix your problems. Please, come to me before Agent Savich shows up at your door.” Venus turned her laser-beam gaze onto Alexander. “And if any of you think you’re smarter than Dillon and Sherlock, you are dead wrong.”

  Savich turned to Venus. “Have you told the family about finding Rob?”

  Savich heard a quick intake of breath from Guthrie, who stared at his mother, stunned. “What? You tracked down Rob, Mother? Is he all right? Where is he?”

  Venus gave Savich a long look and slowly nodded. “Of course he’s all right, Guthrie, and if you had cared, you could easily have found your son yourself. He’s been living in Peterborough, Maryland, for the past three years. He owns a construction company that, I might add, is running in the black this year. And he has a girlfriend. Her name is Marsia Gay, and believe it or not, she’s an artist, and very successful. Evidently Marsia worships your grandmother’s work, Dillon, which predisposes me to like her.

  “As for finding him, I simply googled his name, but before I could contact him, Rob emailed me, wonderful coincidence. We met for lunch at Primavera in Chevy Chase, neutral ground.”