Allison Brennan - Cutting Edge

“In acts of domestic terrorism, yes I damn well can get first-degree murder,” Nora stated evenly. “But Jonah Payne’s death wasn’t an accident.”

“What the hell are you talking about? The reporter said that Dr. Payne died in his office. I assumed he’d been working or fallen asleep there when the fire started.”

Professor Cole’s frustration seemed genuine. Nora assessed Professor Cole’s posture and eyes and she believed he believed Payne’s death had been an accident. It seemed that the first Cole had heard of Payne’s death was indeed when the reporter phoned. Things began to click into place for Nora.

“Dr. Payne’s horrible death was no accident. It was cold-blooded, premeditated murder. Payne was tortured prior to bleeding slowly to death.”

“You’re lying through your teeth, and you know it,” Cole objected. “I’m not playing these games with you, Agent English.” He began to stand, but Nora waved him down as she pulled files from her briefcase. Without comment, she laid several of the crime-scene and autopsy photos in front of him. Again, the shock on his face wasn’t faked. Leif Cole looked ill.

“You’re a smart man,” she said when she’d finished laying out the gruesome pictures. She tapped the photo of Dr. Payne in his office, lying on his back. “He wasn’t killed here in his office. He was killed-” She turned her cell phone around and displayed a photo that the evidence response team had emailed her of the blood evidence in Payne’s Lake Tahoe bedroom. “-here.”

The digital image of dark red on the white sheets was stark. It had the desired effect on Cole.

“The M.E.’s preliminary report,” she said, gesturing toward several autopsy photos, “indicates that Dr. Payne bled to death”-she held up her phone again — “and was transported in a covered pickup truck eighty miles to his office. The research lab was doused with accelerant and set on fire. The sprinkler system was disabled in order to cause maximum damage, very likely to destroy evidence on the body. Or to make Dr. Payne’s death appear to be something that it wasn’t.”

Though that didn’t explain why the killers didn’t pour fuel onto his body, it did explain why they had disabled the sprinklers. Had Dr. Payne’s body been burned for a longer period of time, the authorities wouldn’t have discovered that he’d bled to death. Perhaps the arsonists had run out of 151 vodka. Or maybe they were running short on time. Or maybe the killer didn’t want the others to know about the cut-up corpse.

Ever since the autopsy, Nora had felt that Payne’s murder was personal, but still in some way related to his professional position. But maybe it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a biotech scientist. Maybe he’d been killed for other reasons and the arson had been merely a convenient distraction.

It explained the time gap between fires. Anarchists generally escalated, the time between attacks coming closer as the players relished the idea of getting away with it. But in this case, the hits had grown farther apart.

According to Sean Rogan, who was truly the only impartial observer, Anya Ballard was cheerful and generally happy when they had lunch together. Yet Sean saw that she had been upset in the garden …

Nora looked Cole straight in the eye. “Professor, when you were in the garden with Anya, did you tell her about Jonah Payne’s death?”

Cole considered his response before answering. “Yes. I told her that a reporter called with the news.”

“And what was her reaction?”

No comment.

Nora was getting irritated with his selective answers.

“Professor, let me explain something. Accelerant that is a likely match to the arsons was found in Anya Ballard’s dorm room, as well as the exact same spray paint used on the exterior of the target business. We have a thumbprint from the Nexum arson that I’d bet my pension belongs to one of the three suicides. And I have a suicide note that takes credit for the fires and expresses remorse for Dr. Payne’s death.” She was exaggerating the last point, but there was no law saying she couldn’t lie to suspects while in questioning.

Cole’s face remained impassive, his eyes never leaving her face.

Nora continued, “This is what I think: Anya, Chris, and Scott took what you preached and put it to action-”

As if on cue, the attorney objected, “Professor Cole has never advocated arson or murder.”

Nora frowned and glared. “I’m not out to get your client, and I never was. I don’t think he’s a killer. I don’t think that he burned down Butcher-Payne. What I think is that he knows damn well who did and out of a misguided sense of loyalty or guilt, he has kept quiet. Why? Because, up until two days ago, no one had been killed. Things, not people, were destroyed.” She turned to Cole. “I’ve read everything you’ve written, Professor,” she said, staring Leif in the eye. He was clearly surprised by her statement, and she continued. “And in your writings, you have an incredibly strong theme of preserving human life. You wouldn’t condone murder, and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you didn’t do something to stop it.”

Nora continued. “Maybe at first you didn’t know about Anya and the boys. But you’ve admitted to a relationship with Anya, and you probably figured it out. If I had to guess …” She mentally ran through the three previous arsons. “… I’d say it was after the security guard was injured at Sac State. Anya would have been distraught at hurting a human being. She probably confessed everything, or hinted enough so you knew-and you told her to say no more. So she kept quiet about her other activities.”

Nora raised an eyebrow. “I have doubts as to whether those three kids killed themselves. Maybe it was a murder-suicide.” Nora wasn’t about to let on that the suicide note had been written by a woman.

She watched the professor’s mind working, as he tried to figure out how to talk to her without incriminating himself.

“I would say-”

Shepherd cleared his throat. “Leif, I need to advise you to-”

Cole shook his head and continued. “There are many truths in your story.”

She’d nailed it. He didn’t incriminate himself, but gave her what she needed-information.

“If Anya learned that she had accidentally killed someone,” Cole said cautiously, “she would have been extremely upset. But never have I imagined that she could be suicidal. She loved-” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “She loved everything. The outdoors, flowers, animals. She valued life, all life, human and animal and plant.”

“What about Chris and Scott?”

“Chris is a hothead and his academic work is hit-or-miss, and Scott’s quiet, restrained, a solid student. Chris is the one who speaks up in class, Scott never raises his hand. But I don’t see either of them killing Anya. They loved her.”

Lance Sanger spoke up for the first time since the beginning of the interrogation. “Maybe,” Sanger said, “they disliked your relationship with her. Maybe we’re dealing with a love triangle.”

Nora refrained from shaking her head. That didn’t fit, though she couldn’t articulate exactly why.

It ticked off Cole. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Lance. Chris and Scott were Anya’s best friends, and they knew about us. Have for a long time. And Scott had a girlfriend. He wasn’t thinking about Anya like that.”

Nora’s ears practically twitched like a cat. “Who’s Scott’s girlfriend?”

“Maggie O’Dell, Anya’s former roommate.”

Cole’s eyes widened at the same time Nora had the sense that she’d just heard something crucial to her case.