“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 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.’ ”