Insidious (FBI Thriller 20)

Sherlock knocked, but the welder kept buzzing. He tried the door. Not locked. He and Sherlock walked into a large space filled with light from four enormous windows. At least a dozen metal sculptures of what could possibly be representations of men and women, in various stages of construction, stood like contorted and twisted sentinels along the walls. The sculptures looked oddly graceful, and drew the eye.

They saw Marsia Gay surrounded by machinery and a table of tools in the far corner wearing a welding apron, a welding mask, and thick gloves. She was welding two pieces of metal that looked like copper and aluminum, but Savich couldn’t be sure. It would have been stifling in the room were it not for several large fans that churned the air and dissipated the heat, making a huge noise. Marsia Gay still hadn’t seen or heard them.

Savich saw she was using an arc welder, the metal she was working on held by a clamp handle at the positive lead. Sparks flew around her. She was steady-handed, completely focused on what she was doing. They said nothing, only walked around the studio, studying her work. The smell of burned metal was strong, and bits of metal detritus hung in the sunlit air. The large room was ruthlessly organized. They saw bins filled with various sizes and shapes of scrap metal, each labeled: steel, brass and bronze, carbide, aluminum, and copper. Larger pieces of scrap metal, likewise labeled, stood in large bins against the wall.

Sherlock stopped to stare up at an eight-foot-tall figure with muscles of raw steel and prominent pecs, almost like breasts, long muscled steel legs at twisted angles, and a protruding tangle of bulging thick copper pipes banding the middle. “A pregnant man?”

“Actually, it’s a figure spun in a dream, and the dreamer is visualizing fecundity.” Marsia stepped forward and lightly touched her hand to the sculpture’s steel arm. “Her name is Helen—A Dream Vision. She was quite a challenge. For example, those copper ribs? I had to weld them to steel, but because the two metals aren’t mutually soluble, I used nickel as an intermediary metal. That way I could weld them and end up with a strong joint.”

Marsia pulled off her welding mask and set it carefully onto a countertop covered with tools and more even smaller containers of scrap metal. She ran her hands through her hair, smiled at them, took off her welding apron to show a long white artist shirt over black leggings. She wore Doc Martens on her long narrow feet. “Helen is going to be the focal point in the lobby of a fertility clinic in Baltimore.” She stripped off her welding gloves as she spoke, laid them beside the mask. They shook hands. Hers were strong, her fingers and palms callused.

She said, “Agent Savich, I have to admit, I visited the Raleigh Gallery in Georgetown this morning to see your pieces. I guess I wanted to see if you had really inherited some of your grandmother’s talent. It’s obvious you did. I particularly like the dolphin you whittled in rosewood. It’s marvelous really, so fluid you can almost see the dolphin moving.

“Mr. Raleigh also told me about your sister, Lily Russo. I realized soon enough that I read her in the Washington Post every Sunday. Her political cartoon featuring No Wrinkles Remus—he’s quite a personage, always has me laughing and shaking my head. Both of you are quite accomplished. Ah, I see that makes you uncomfortable. And you, Agent Sherlock, Mr. Raleigh told me you’re an accomplished pianist.”

Sherlock shook her head. “Not so much anymore, since I don’t practice enough. Now I tend to cruise the keys for pleasure.”

“I would enjoy hearing you play. Come have a cold drink and you can tell me what I can do for you. Sorry it’s so hot in here, but it’ll cool down quickly with the welder shut off. I’ll turn off a couple of fans so we can hear each other without shouting.”

Marsia turned off two of the four fans. Sherlock said, “Yes, that’s better. You have quite a setup here, Ms. Gay. All those bins—so many different metals.”

“Yes, most of it scrap metal. Sometimes I think the folk who sell scrap metal online make more money than I do. They scrounge through dump sites, carry away tossed-out washers, TVs, toasters, whatever—and strip them down for scrap metal to sell. Come, sit down.”

Savich and Sherlock were soon sitting on an old love seat beneath one of the large windows, glasses of water in their hands. Marsia on the floor facing them, her knees drawn up to her chin.

Sherlock said, “Ms. Gay, how long after you met Rob Rasmussen did you realize who he was? Or did you find out who he was and that’s why you hired him?”

38

* * *

Marsia’s head snapped back. “You come out of the gate fast, don’t you, Agent Sherlock? Let me think. I didn’t know his grandmother is the Venus Rasmussen until after he had lunch with her. I remember asking him why he’d broken our date and he told me about seeing his grandmother for the first time in ten years. Then he told me his history, the severed relationships with his family, how it turned out both he and his grandmother wanted to see each other again at nearly the same time. A quite wonderful story, really. As you know, I met her for the first time last night. She’s a grand old lady. I’ve got to say she has quite a flare. I loved her Dior suit.”

Savich said, “When Rob told you about her, you knew who she was?”

“Of course I knew who she was. I’m not deaf or blind. I occasionally watch the news, read the paper. The woman is practically an institution. What amazes me, though, is that someone is trying to kill her. Why? She’s getting up there, maybe another five years at most before she passes the reins to one in her family.”

Savich said, “Alexander is being groomed, yes, but I can see Venus driving the bus for more than just another five years. I think she’ll know when it’s time to hand over the reins.”

“That’s what Rob says. You know, if it is Alexander who is trying to poison his grandmother, I can’t see what his motive would be. So he’d have to wait a bit longer until she stepped down. Why would he care so much? Ah, forgive me, talking about the family as if I’m intimate with them. I’m certainly not.”

She brought her legs into the lotus position. “All of them were very kind to me last night. And I was there to make a good impression. You were there to observe, weren’t you? To see how everyone reacted to the black sheep—namely Rob—and to me, his girlfriend?”

Again Savich remembered Rob and Delsey Freestone when they’d first seen each other the day before, by the elevator at the Hoover Building. Instant chemistry. Maybe Rob wouldn’t follow up with Delsey. Maybe he was in love with Marsia; maybe he was loyal. Savich wanted to believe it. But from the look on Delsey’s face, and Rob’s, they seemed ready to leap right into the fire.