Insidious

by Catherine Coulter

  Corinne said, “Maybe our best shot at getting him right now is to find that eyewitness in Las Vegas. You know, people, Serials aren’t Einsteins. So far I’d say our guy has just lucked out.”

  Cam nodded to Corinne. “Agent Poker and the Las Vegas police are using all their resources, scouring the area for him, but so far no luck.

  “I know that all of you hate it that five young lives have wantonly been snuffed out, that all of you want to catch this monster as much as I do. I know each of you is involved up to your eyeballs in your own cases, but now you’re going to be part of all of them, because there’s only one case now—our case.

  “The FBI has set up a private, encrypted server for our use. On the back of these cards I’m going to give you, you’ll see how to access it and the log-in procedures. We’ve already uploaded your murder books. This site is for all of us to use as our shared worksite. After today, I’d like you to use it for all your records in this case. Tell us what you’re doing, all your ongoing efforts, what you’ve managed to eliminate, whatever you’re thinking that the rest of us might use.

  “I know you feel like you’re swimming in mud right now, since the possibilities seem endless. That’s why we need each other. Call me day or night, folks. And talk to each other. I’ll be working directly with Detective Montoya out of Calabasas. Even though I only met him this morning, he’s told me he’s got my back.” And she sent Daniel a big grin.

  There were some smiles.

  “Okay, let’s get this bastard.”

  She pulled out a handful of business cards, walked over to each of the detectives at the table, addressed each by name, and gave them a card. She knew every single name, a show of respect, except for Chief Crowder’s people, and she introduced herself to them, gave them each a card as well. It was obvious she’d surprised them.

  She returned to the front of the conference table, looked out at the detectives one final time. Some stares of approval, some lingering wariness. Some open and willing, some not as much. At least she had no doubt Allard Hayes from San Dimas would now have no problem interacting with the LAPD detectives, and Daniel had already made an impact. She gave a curt nod and turned on her heel to exit the room, Daniel following behind her.

  Elman escorted them back downstairs. “I thought that went very well, Agent Wittier. You handled some of those crocodiles better than I expected.” Cam wished he’d sounded more hopeful.

  He gave her a smart salute in the lobby, and disappeared back into the elevator.

  When they stepped out into the bright L.A. sun, Daniel shot her a look while he slipped on his aviator sunglasses. “That group didn’t sound like a bunch of pea-brained local yahoos to me.”

  She tapped his arm. “Your words, not mine. Tell me, Detective, how many federal agents have you worked with?”

  “Three.”

  “Okay, I guess it happens. I kind of like Agent Dillon Savich’s working philosophy—‘Always play nice with locals, you never know when you might need a volunteer for a firing squad.’ ”

  Daniel spurted out a laugh. “He really said that?”

  “Nah, he said something nice, like one of the locals might throw a touchdown pass.”

  “Sounds like a guy I’d like to get to know.” Daniel clicked open the doors of the Crown Vic, already looking forward to the blast of the AC in the dry heat. “Next stop, Paco’s.”

  19

  * * *

  SAVICH HOUSE

  GEORGETOWN

  TUESDAY MORNING

  Savich took a bite of his Cheerios as he listened to Sean describe every detail of the muscle shirt he’d seen online on his iPad. This was a new one. What, Savich wondered, was a five-year-old doing shopping on the Internet? He shook his head at himself. He shouldn’t have expected Sean to stick to the zillion games and puzzles and books they’d put on his iPad. Sean had cottoned to what Wi-Fi was and what it meant. But a muscle shirt? What was that all about?

  “A muscle shirt, Sean?” Sherlock asked as she sliced a bit of banana onto his cereal. “To impress Marty?”

  Sean looked up at his mom. “It would make my muscles look bigger, that’s what Marty says. She told me if we put our allowances together, we could buy one on eBay, but the only one we found is nineteen dollars. So far we’ve got eleven dollars and thirty-five cents.” Sean took a bite of Cheerios, spooned up a banana, shoved it in, and frowned. “I think the one we found is too big for me.”

  “A muscle shirt needs to fit nice and tight, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Marty said when we get enough money, we should buy it for you instead, Papa. I told her we could save the money by Christmas. I think she’s trying to kiss up to you because she wants to marry me.”

  Savich, who’d been thinking about Venus and the family meeting the previous night, tried to look solemn, since it wouldn’t do to laugh. He studied Sean’s serious little face, his intense dark eyes, and he marveled at how his boy could bring him back instantly to the real world.

  But Sherlock didn’t hold back—she spurted out a laugh, grinning like a bandit at Savich. “Hey, big boy, how would you feel about that?”

  “Which?” Savich asked. “The muscle shirt or Marty being our daughter-in-law?”

  “Marty’s already a given, so the muscle shirt. I suggest black, Sean, that’d be good. I could show your papa off at the gym.”

  Sean looked confused, then his face scrunched up. “I just don’t know, Papa, maybe I should tell Emma about the muscle shirt, too.” He fell silent, stirring his soggy Cheerios around, then grinned, his eyes shining. “Emma gets a really big allowance, so she could put in more money, so maybe we could get it before Christmas.” Then he sighed. “But Marty might get mad, and then I couldn’t play Flying Monks with her.” Again, that intense look. “What would you do, Papa?”

  Savich looked thoughtfully into his cereal bowl, then at his son. “You want me to be honest, Sean?”

  Sean nodded, all his attention on his father, as was Sherlock’s.

  “I’d wait for a girl just like your mama. Then I’d beg her to marry me and stay with me forever. And the best thing? I’d only have to worry about one wife. We’d have plenty of time for Flying Monks.”

  Sean turned his father’s dark eyes to his mother’s face, and slowly nodded. “Maybe that’d be okay. You’re pretty nice, Mama.”

  “Thank you, Sean,” Sherlock said. She felt such a burst of love she thought she’d float to the kitchen ceiling.

  Savich’s cell rang out It’s Time by Imagine Dragons. “Savich.” For Sean’s benefit, he walked into the hall to take it, and when he returned, he drew a deep breath, and said in as emotionless a voice as he could manage, “That was Venus. Reporters are camped out in front of the mansion again and the neighbors are screaming at the police for not doing anything. Venus’s number is ringing off the hook.

  “She also said the shooting yesterday is front and center in the National Enquirer, not a big deal in itself, since everyone else is already covering it, but the Enquirer got every single juicy detail, the arsenic poisoning, our names, our meeting with the family last night. Everything.”

  “But how?”

  “Venus’s driver, MacPherson, left her a letter, apologizing but saying they paid him a great deal of money for his story and he has a sick kid to take care of. He resigned. They put his picture on the front page, along with Venus’s.”

  Sherlock paused a moment. “Venus must be disappointed, but it doesn’t change the fact that MacPherson saved her life yesterday. I suppose a father afraid for his child will do what he thinks he has to. What’s wrong with MacPherson’s child?”

  “She didn’t know. She said MacPherson had never brought it up and his letter didn’t say.”

  “But does it really matter? I mean bits and pieces of what happened are all over the news. You don’t suppose she might offer him his job back, do you?”

  He shrugged. “She might consider it too big a betrayal. If she asks m
y opinion, I’ll tell her what MacPherson did might keep the story in the news longer, but not much more than that.

  “It’s up to her. We’ll see.”

  Sherlock saw Sean was all ears, and said quickly, “Sean, it’s chilly this morning, so go get your jacket. Gabriella will be here soon and you want to be ready for school.”

  When she heard his footsteps on the stairs, she said, “You were working on MAX late last night. What were you doing?”

  “Researching arsenic, and how someone might get access to it. There’s a great deal of information, but it wasn’t much help. You order arsenic online or by mail order from dozens of chemical-supply companies that in turn have hundreds of customers in more industries than you can name, from gold mining to semiconductors to insecticide manufacturers. Access is restricted, but any intelligent person could get hold of enough to poison someone.

  “Still, it’s rarely used as a poison, not in this country. It’s too easy to detect, produces too many symptoms. It wasn’t any smarter a choice than hiring Willig.”

  Sherlock said, “I’m thinking it was used since Venus is so old, and if the arsenic killed her, it wouldn’t necessarily be suspicious.”

  He nodded. She had a point.

  Sherlock sighed. “Poor Venus. It’s got to be hard on her, thinking someone she loves might be willing to trade her life for money.”

  “You know she’s tough enough to get through it, Sherlock. While Sean’s getting his jacket, I’ll call Mr. Maitland, keep him in the loop.” He thought of Callie, Detective Ben Raven’s journalist wife. There wouldn’t be an exclusive news story for her after all, no possibility of one now that MacPherson had spilled it all himself to the Enquirer, and no chance for her to plant information on their behalf, now that the real story was already out in the open. Savich hoped he had a solid down payment on a future favor.

  20

  * * *

  CRIMINAL APPREHENSION UNIT

  HOOVER BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  TUESDAY MORNING

  Savich smiled as he and Sherlock approached the tall good-looking man chatting with Agent Griffin Hammersmith in the interview room, using his hands to make a point. Griffin wanted to laugh, Savich saw it, but he managed to keep his expression flat. It was hard for Savich to look at Rob Rasmussen and think suspect. They’d been friends once, so long ago, a decade. But a suspect he was, and Savich knew he couldn’t forget that. He was a man now, not the boy Savich had known, too wild and ungoverned for his own good, but loyal to his toes, someone you’d want at your back if trouble came knocking. He looked older and more settled, too, more content, as if life was working in his favor now. He had the Rasmussen good look—green eyes, dark hair and naturally lean body. Rob looked over, saw him, and broke into a big matching grin.

  “Savich! Hey, Agent Hammersmith tells me you’re the big honcho here. I told him I wasn’t surprised.” And he was up and around the interview table, pumping Savich’s hand, patting his shoulder, still grinning. “I’m not in prison, isn’t that great? Unexpected, maybe?”

  “Nah, you take after Venus, way too smart to end up in the slammer. It’s good to see you, Rob. Venus tells me you live in Maryland now, own a construction business. She’s bursting with pride. Let me introduce you to my wife, Agent Sherlock.”

  Rob Rasmussen met Sherlock’s eyes, leaned in close. “You’ve got eyes as blue as a June sky. How ever did this mongrel get you to marry him?”

  Sherlock studied the good-looking, smiling face of the Rasmussen black sheep. She imagined Dillon was going to have a hard time keeping their interview cop and suspect, since they were old friends. She said coolly, but with a smile, “He needs me, so I had no choice.” She shook his hand, and if he held her palm a bit longer than he should have, it felt like a friendly gesture. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Rasmussen. Dillon’s told me all about you. Ten years is a long time to stay away. What have you been doing all this time?”

  Rob placed a hand over his heart. “It begins already? The grilling?”

  Sherlock said, “It’s our job, Mr. Rasmussen. Please, sit down. Tell us, do you expect a warm welcome tonight from your father and brother?”

  “Grandmother clued me in they won’t be welcoming me with open arms, but I’ll have Marsia with me for protection. My girlfriend—Marsia Gay—I’ve told her a lot about my family. She’s good with people so I’m thinking there’s a chance she’ll be good with them as well.” He paused, gave them a crooked grin. “My dad should go nuts over her. She might even charm Alexander. Stranger things have happened, though I can’t think of any off the top of my head at the moment.” He sat forward, his face now deadly serious. “Grandmother called me this morning, told me about everything that’s happened. This is bad, Savich, it shouldn’t be happening to her. It’s not like she’s going to be around even another decade. She should have all the years allotted her to enjoy herself, exit the planet on her own terms.

  “I know Dad and Alexander were the only ones with her, she told me that, but I can’t buy it being either of them. Why would they want to kill her? Both of them are loaded, so money can’t be the motive. One of her staff? Isabel has been with her forever, and so has Veronica. Maybe a Rasmussen employee who blames her for something?” He shook his head. “But no, not Dad, not Alexander. Grandmother told me Alexander isn’t happy with her for forcing him to lawyer for the Smithsonian, but unhappy enough to feed her arsenic? Trust me on this—that would be too low-class for him. And my dad? Grandmother told me ‘give him a woman and a bottle of gin—even leave out the woman—and he’s happy.’ ”

  Savich said, “I’ve checked through your finances, Rob, also part of my job, and it appears you’ve been near the bitter edge until this past year. Unlike the other family members, you aren’t loaded, but you are finally in the black. Congratulations. But you’re going to be wanting to expand, and to do that, you’ll need a healthy amount of capital. Did you and Venus discuss money at all? A loan, a gift, an investment?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have done that. I’ve stayed away from approaching her for years, exactly because I wanted to make it on my own.”

  “Did she discuss her will or trusts with you? Do you know if you’re named?”

  “I know Grandmother set a trust up for me, but I don’t know how much. The principal comes to me when I turn thirty-five. I’m thirty-one and I’m doing fine, just fine. I don’t need her money, or the trust, not that I won’t enjoy it when it hits my bank account.”

  “This is important, Rob. Did anyone else in the family, or on the staff—Isabel or Veronica—know you and Venus had been communicating, that the two of you had met, were continuing to meet?”

  “She said she wanted to keep it a secret until she felt the time was right. She didn’t even tell Veronica. But the attempts on her life have forced her hand, she told me. Her driver, MacPherson, knew. He drove her to our meets, of course, but I never met him, she just mentioned him a few times.”

  “Okay, we need to go through the three nights Venus got sick, Rob. Three weeks ago, Wednesday night, she was having dinner with Alexander and your father at the Ambassador Club. The 4th of June. Do you remember what you were doing?”

  Rob Rasmussen didn’t change expression. He pulled a small black notebook out of his shirt pocket, thumbed through the pages. “Grandmother told me you’d have to know about my alibis, so I wrote them all down. The first time, June 4th, I was with my girlfriend—Marsia—at a restaurant. I have the receipt, and it’s dated. The second time, I was on a job. I have all the particulars for you. Last night, I was watching the Nationals get trounced, burying my pain with bean dip and beer. Lots of witnesses.” He paused. “I’m not the guy you want here.” He handed Savich his black book.

  Sherlock asked, “What made you first decide to email Venus after all this time, Rob?”

  He grinned big, showing fine white teeth. “Because I finally had something to show her. My business. I’m proud of that. And I missed
my family, well, Grandmother, mainly. I realized she was getting up there in age and I didn’t want her to die without knowing how grateful I am she saved me from going to jail ten years ago. I wanted to see her, tell her how much she means to me. I gotta say, though, I was scared. I mean, she could have told me to stay out of her life. I finally got up the nerve, but only after I’d proved that I’m not a loser, that I could make money myself—not through Rasmussen Industries like the rest of them. My accountant shouted last quarter’s numbers to me on the phone he was so pleased.” Again, that big white smile. “Not bad for a loser.”

  He sat forward. “Look, it’s not as if I turned my back on the lot of them over the years. I’ve kept track of Grandmother especially, running this, sponsoring that, making those deals with the government bigwigs, throwing benefits for some of her charities. She is amazing, always has been. I thought it was finally time. Marsia agreed with me, maybe even pushed me a little to do it. I tried the same email address Grandmother used ten years ago, having no clue if she’d even answer me, but she did.”

  Rob paused. “When I heard back from her, she told me she’d been about to call me. Can you imagine that? We had lunch and talked and caught up. She was really pleased to see me. She hasn’t changed.

  “Do I have expansion plans? Sure, I’d like to push onward, but that will come. I have lots of time to take over the world. And my plans for the business had nothing to do with my contacting Grandmother—she can tell you that herself.”

  Savich pulled out his cell, pressed a couple of buttons, brought up a photo, and handed it to Rob. “Do you know this man?”

  21