Michael Palmer - The Society

After writing down his responses, Moriarity again took him step by step through the minutes preceding, during, and following the eerie call. She was clinical if not cold, and even the most innocent attempt on his part to inject anything light or personal was immediately stonewalled. It did not take long before the fact that she had the sort of scrubbed, earthy good looks that most appealed to him was lost in the chill of her interrogation and in the realization that she did not believe his only connection to the murderer was through the phone call.

“Dr. Grant, tell me again why you think there is more than one killer?” she asked.

Will consulted his notes and read off each time the words we or us were spoken by the caller.

“You have no idea how the killer could have gotten your private, inside line?”

“None at all. It’s not like it’s the combination to Fort Knox, though. People do have the number.”

“And you have no idea how the killer or someone associated with the killer could have gotten into your office?”

“The maintenance people in this building probably make eight-fifty an hour. It wouldn’t take much to get one of them to put the envelope in my desk. Hell, with what I earn, it wouldn’t take much to bribe me into doing it.”

“There’s nothing funny about this, Dr. Grant.”

“And there’s nothing funny about you insinuating that I might have murdered three people,” he snapped back.

“Did you?”

“No. Why would I call you about a phone call that never happened and put that envelope in my desk?”

“Crazy is its own definition, Doctor. Sooner or later, most serial killers need attention, and many of them also need to prove that they are smarter than we are. That’s when games like claiming you received a call from the killer begin.”

“I’m not crazy and I didn’t kill anyone. Should I have a lawyer here?”

“If you want one.”

At that moment, Wayne Brasco appeared at the doorway, looking like he just rode into Dodge. He was wearing jeans with a wide, hand-tooled belt, cinched with a massive silver horseshoe buckle, a suede jacket, and alligator cowboy boots. He glared first at Patty, then at Will.

“Why didn’t you call me about this?” he snapped, gesturing to the office in general.

Jesus . Patty felt herself flush at being rebuked in front of someone, let alone a suspect.

“You were out of the office when I got the call from Dr. Grant here about the alphabet letters. I felt we needed to get right down here, so I called the crime-lab people and I told Tomasetti to get a- hold of you. Didn’t he?”

Patty flashed on the notes in her shoulder bag dealing with Will Grant’s past. Originally, she had decided to keep the information to herself until she could investigate the charges in more detail and see if there was anything else on the man between the explosion in the lab at medical school and the restraining order taken out against him by his wife. Now, with the phone call and the envelope, whether real or concocted by Grant himself, things had changed. The longer she held information back from Brasco, the worse it was going to be for her.

“This Grant?” Brasco growled, pointedly ignoring her question about Tomasetti.

Patty groaned inaudibly and introduced the two men.

“Lieutenant Brasco is in charge of the investigation of the managed-care murders,” she explained, disgusted with herself for trying to mollify the jerk at all.

Brasco made no attempt to shake hands.

“So, what’s this all about?” he asked Will.

“I. . um. . I’ve been interviewing him,” Patty said evenly.

“So now I’ll interview him. That’s what officers in charge are supposed to do.”

Will looked over at Patty, embarrassed for her. He wasn’t the most socially aware being on the planet, but he certainly knew a boor when he saw one.

“I. . need to speak with you first, Wayne.”

“So, speak.”

“In private?”

They left Will in Susan Hollister’s office and found a spot in the waiting room out of earshot from the crime-scene people and the two uniformed officers who were keeping the office staff from getting in anyone’s way. Patty considered beginning on the offensive by demanding that Brasco apologize for his behavior in front of Will Grant and also by reminding him of his failure to call her from Cyrill Davenport’s place. Instead, she propped herself against the wall, extracted her notes, and ran through them. She could tell from Brasco’s hardly subtle expression that she should have brought up her research at their team meeting with Lieutenant Court. Brasco was a pigheaded brute, but he was hardly stupid.

Stick a fork in Patty, folks, it looks like she’s done, she was thinking.

“So,” Brasco said when she had finished, “let me get this straight. You uncovered this guy with a recurrent history of violence, connection to a murder committed by some sort of social-action group, and current active membership in another social-action group that just happens to hate HMOs, and you didn’t feel this information was relevant enough to share with the rest of us.”

“I. . um. . wanted to dig into things a little deeper before-well, yes, yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

Brasco raised his hands in a “suit yourself” gesture.

“I’ll take over interrogating this suspect from here,” he said.

“Mind if I listen in?”

“I think you’ve done enough for one day. Why don’t you interview the staff? We can discuss this whole business with Jack later on.”

“You’re in charge,” Patty said.

“You’re damn right I am,” Brasco replied.

ERRTBECN

Deflated by this latest round with Wayne Brasco, Patty mulled over the two new letters as she gathered her things and prepared to leave the offices of Fredrickston Surgical Associates. They had to be part of a multiple-word message-a saying?. . a place?. . a company name? She was the last of the investigating crew remaining, but she was reluctant to go, sensing that her involvement in the managed-care murders might soon be over.

You can only do what you can do, sister, she reminded herself. You can only do what you can do. The world was full of Wayne Brascos and Jack Courts. If she was going to make it, she would have to learn how to deal with them. Well, the hell with them, she thought, heading for the door. If they want me off this case, they’re going to have to pry me off.

“Sergeant?”

Will Grant stood just a few feet behind her.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a couple of minutes?”

In addition to the stack of reports she had to write covering the past few hours, there was a session scheduled at the office with Lieutenant Court and the other principals in the managed-care case.

“I’m in a bit of a rush. Perhaps-”

“It’s very important.”

“Something you didn’t tell Detective Brasco?”

“Something I chose not to tell him.”

The vulnerability in his eyes made her uneasy. She reminded herself again about the ingratiating charm of sociopaths.

“I suppose I can listen. You know, we’re wary of people who try and drive a wedge between members of an investigating team. We call it splitting.”

“Forgive me for saying it,” Will replied, “but it didn’t seem to me as if Lieutenant Brasco was treating you as a teammate.”

“Is your office empty?”

Will settled in behind his desk. Patty took the chair directly across from him.

“That was a very frightening session I had with your teammate,” Will began. “I would bet that he’s not a legend on the force for his subtlety.”

“He has other strengths.”