J. Robb - Delusion in Death

“I realize you and Nadine have a personal dynamic,” Kyung began.

“It’s not a matter of our dynamics. It’s a matter of her ethics. She agreed not to use the information I gave her until I cleared it. She won’t. There’s a connection,” Eve continued, addressing both men. “She’ll keep digging until she finds it—unless I find it first.”

“Nadine’s given me no reason to doubt her word or her ethics,” Whitney commented. “If the Red Horse angle leaks …”

“It won’t have come from her, or from my team. If it leaks, it’s a damn sure bet it came from the killer. Sir?”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“We handle this, media-wise, in a straightforward fashion. Keep the details lean, but don’t cover up the fact something was done to these people. I think that’s exactly the right way to go. Going on the theory we have one guy, or a guy with a partner or partners. He’ll enjoy the attention. The fast spurt of questions, the careful answers. But it won’t be enough. The commander is a calm, and okay, commanding presence. While our guy’d enjoy the fact the NYPSD’s commander is leading the charge, he’s probably going to be irked he didn’t get the mayor to come out and dance. Then he’s going to bask awhile as the reporters get their stories on. But it won’t be enough,” she repeated.

“You’re saying he’ll be compelled to repeat the experience.”

“Kyung, he’s going to hit again unless we catch him first however we play it. Nobody goes to this much trouble, this much planning, achieves a whopping success, then dusts his hands off and moves on.”

“That’s …” Kyung searched for the proper word. “Unsettling.”

“Oh yeah. And if we go by the other theory, whacked religious cult picking up where they left off during the Urbans, same deal. This type needs to feed, and the appetite’s voracious. For the thrill and satisfaction of the kill, from the glow and ego of the aftermath. Everybody’s talking about him. They’ll be talking about all the memorials for all the dead. All that grief’s like chocolate sauce. It just sweetens the meal.”

“You’re telling me to prepare for another statement, more briefings.”

“Don’t plan a vacation. Sir, I’ve got an interview coming in.”

“Go. If you’re in Interview or following up a viable lead, don’t come in for the media conference. The media, and the public,” Whitney continued before Kyung could protest, “will be satisfied the lead investigator is working the case.”

“Thank you, sir.” She beat feet before he could change his mind.

Eve moved through the buzz of Homicide. Cops who weren’t out in the field or in Interview worked their ’links and comps. The smell of bad coffee swirled so thickly she could have bathed in it.

“Dallas.” Peabody intercepted her. “I’ve got Devon Lester in Interview B. He came right in.”

“Cooperative.”

“Baxter and Trueheart have Adam Stewart in A. I don’t know the status. I’m having Christopher Lester brought in, and hooked C for him. The uniforms are going to signal me when he’s tucked in.”

“Okay. Quick overview. The Lester boys are tight. Christopher’s five years older, big IQ, did the fast track through school. Some big, fancy degrees in chemistry, biology, nanotech. He heads his own department at Amalgom, developing and testing new vaccines.”

“Kind of tailor-made for brewing up a psychedelic stew.”

“He’d know how, or could find out. I didn’t come up with a connection to Red Horse. Neither brother has any religious affiliation. Devon, average student, got an undergrad degree in business and management. Christopher’s married, twelve years, two sons. Devon’s divorced once, currently in three-year same-sex marriage.”

“I looked at criminal on Christopher,” Peabody told her. “Traffic violations. He likes to drive fast. But that’s it.”

“Their finances diverge like the education,” Eve continued. “Chris pulls in about four times what his brother makes. But Devon stood as his brother’s best man, is godfather to one son. Interesting bit. Before Roarke bought the property, Devon was looking to secure a loan to buy it himself.”

“I can’t have it, I’ll kill everybody in it, in a really spectacular way. Then maybe I can get it cheap?” Peabody pursed her lips. “It could play.”

“Let’s go try it out. Look busy,” Eve added, “a little harried.”

“I already do.”

“Play it soft, sympathetic.”

Peabody sighed. “What else is new?”

Eve breezed into Interview where Devon sat at the table, hands clasped together. A long-sleeved black tee fit snug over his chest.

“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with Lester, Devon, on the matter of Case Number H-3597-D. Mr. Lester, thanks for coming in.”

“I’m glad to do it, to do anything I can.”

“We’re recording this follow-up. As you can imagine, we’re taking statements and follow-ups from a lot of people.” She sat, rubbed the back of her neck as if it troubled her. “When we have people in like this, we routinely read them their rights. It’s for your protection, and it keeps everything clean.”

He paled a little under the explosion of red dreads, but nodded. “Sure. Okay.”

She read off the Revised Miranda. “So, do you understand your rights and obligations?”

“Yeah, sure. I keep thinking about my guys. D.B. and Evie, and all of them. Drew’s still in a coma. Is there any more you can tell me? Anything?”

“We’re shifting through a lot of evidence, Mr. Lester.”

“Devon, okay? I know you’re doing everything you can, but all those people … We went to see the rest of the crew, Quirk and me. He’s been a rock, but it was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I couldn’t tell them why or how. I couldn’t really tell them anything.”

“It’s hard,” Peabody said gently, “to lose someone, then to be the one responsible for telling others they’ve lost someone, too.”

“I didn’t know how hard. Every time we told one of the guys, it was like it happened all over again.”

“Let’s try to sort it out,” Eve began. “You know the setup better than anyone.”

“Yeah, well, D.B. had it down. Really the whole crew.”

“Still, you’re the manager.”

“I don’t know how I can go back there. I don’t know how anyone can. I don’t know what Roarke’s going to do with the place now.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t know what anybody’s going to do.”

“Why don’t you take me through the routine? Who opens, who closes, who has access to what.”

“Okay.” He took a long breath. “Either D.B. or me are there. Either of us could open or close, or both depending.”

“No one else?”

“We were the only ones with the codes. Well, I mean Roarke would have them, and Bidot. But on the day-to-day, just me and D.B. One of us would be the first one in, last one out. You check the drawer. We don’t do much cash business, but you gotta keep some. You check the night’s receipts. The office isn’t locked, but nobody goes in but me or D.B. And the comp and drawer are locked, and passcoded. That’s SOP. You gotta check supplies,” he continued, moving through the opening procedure, then through the closing.

“Could D.B. have lent his codes to anyone?”

“No way. No way he’d do that.”

“And you?”

“Lieutenant. Ma’am. A manager’s got to be responsible. Trustworthy. You can’t play fast and loose and keep your job. I trust my crew, but nobody but me and D.B. could open or close, or access the receipts.”

“You didn’t share that information, not with your partner, your brother?”