Insidious (13 page)

He shrugged. “She might consider it too big a betrayal. If she asks my 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

Rob studied the photo of Vincent Willig, his eyes drugged and vague, fresh out of surgery. He frowned, cocked his head to the side, a mannerism Savich had seen Venus do when she was curious or worrying a problem. “Is this the guy who tried to kill Grandmother yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“I think he looks familiar.” Rob tapped his forefinger on the phone. “But I can’t remember from where.”

Savich said, “His name is Vincent Carl Willig and he has an impressive rap sheet—spent ten years in Attica. He got out six months ago. Think about where you could have seen him, Rob. It’s important.”

Rob nodded. “I’m not sure I have, but I’ll think about it. What about employees? Would Veronica have any reason to want to poison Grandmother?”

Sherlock said, “Veronica has been with Venus fifteen years. Her finances are sound, since Venus invests most of her pretty substantial income for her. And she has free room and board in a mansion. She’s dependent on Venus for her livelihood. I can’t see a reason for her to want to do away with her meal ticket.”

“She must be nearly forty now, isn’t she?”

“She’s thirty-six,” Savich said. “Only five years older than you.”

“Grandmother speaks highly of her, says Veronica makes her laugh. And she’s always been completely loyal to her.”

“Were you in love with her when you were a teenager?” Sherlock asked.

“Sure, she was a young guy’s wet dream, blond, beautiful, a superb body. Is Alexander sleeping with her?”

Savich said, “Evidently not.”

Rob laughed, shook his head. “I doubt it, too—Alexander wouldn’t ever dip his quill in company ink. He always used to preach to me to keep away from the Help, always said it with a capital letter. He actually used those words—the Help. Veronica never liked him anyway.”

Savich said as he rose, “That would sure make things neat, now wouldn’t it? Not a Rasmussen behind this. Only the Help.” He added more formally, “Sherlock and I will see you this evening, Rob. Thank you for coming in. I’ll call if we have more questions.”

Rob splayed his palms on the table, leaned toward them. “I’m not only angry, Savich, I’m scared. I just found Grandmother again and I don’t want to lose her. That shooting yesterday, if you guys hadn’t been there, if MacPherson hadn’t been there—she’d be dead. Please find out who’s doing this.”

“We will.” Savich turned to Griffin. “Let’s show Mr. Rasmussen to the elevator.”

“You know, Savich, both my dad and Alexander wrote me off years ago—Alexander ever since I stole his new Mustang and took it for a spin. A pity I wrecked it.”

“You were thirteen, Rob,” Savich said, as the group of four walked together down the wild hallway.

“And a spoiled little idiot. I remember Alexander had just turned eighteen, the Mustang was his graduation present from Father. A fine car,
that Mustang. Then after I nearly killed that guy in the bar fight, Alexander wanted me sent away forever.”

Sherlock knew all about the bar fight, but she wanted to hear what he would say about it. “What happened?”

“I hate to own up to it, even now, but I was treating my girlfriend like dirt because I was drunk and I’d heard she cheated on me, and this older guy—around twenty-five—took exception. We got into it and I hurt him, ended up in jail. Then my girlfriend hauled off and whacked me in the jaw. I was lucky, she didn’t break it, even though I deserved it.

“Venus arranged the army option, she has friends everywhere who’ve helped me out more than once.”

“There were other times?” Sherlock asked.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I did a bit of shoplifting when I was a kid, a bit of pot when I was in high school, some speeding, well, okay, a couple of DUIs when I was old enough to know better. But beating up that guy, that was the biggie. His name is Billy Cronin, he’s married and has three kids, lives up in Philly. I, ah, check on him every couple of years.”

When they reached the elevator, Savich pushed the button. The doors opened almost immediately and out stepped Agent Hammersmith’s sister, Delsey Freestone, singing a twangy western song Savich didn’t recognize, thought she’d probably written it herself. Two agents on the elevator stood behind her, obviously enjoying themselves.

She broke off, mid-verse, turning to the agents behind her. “I’ll catch you guys later, thanks. Dillon! How nice to see you. I’m here to take Griffin to lunch. Hi, Sherlock.” She stopped cold, blinked at Rob. “Who are you?”