Jeffery Deaver - The Kill Room

One of her trademarked pauses. “Now, Jacob, we know Harry Walker’s behind this. He had you plant fake intelligence to trick NIOS into assassinating Robert Moreno as a cover so you could kill his guard, Simon Flores, who was blackmailing Walker. You were at the South Cove Inn when it happened, waiting for the drone strike. Just afterward, before the rescue workers got there, you broke into suite twelve hundred and stabbed Flores and Eduardo de la Rua to death. Then you went to Flores’s lawyer’s office in Nassau and tortured and killed him, stole the documents Flores had left for safekeeping—the documents Walker was worried would be made public.

“After my investigation started, Metzger gave Walker updates and names—to destroy evidence and be on guard against the police running the case. But Walker told you to do more than that—to eliminate witnesses and the investigators. You killed Annette Bodel, Lydia Foster and Moreno’s driver, Vlad Nikolov—” Laurel glanced toward Sachs and Rhyme. “Officers in Queens found his body in the basement of his house.”

Swann merely looked down at his bandaged hand and said nothing.

The prosecutor continued, “You also arranged with some associates in Nassau to kill Captain Rhyme and others working with him down there… And then there was this.” She offered a nod around the marred suburban landscape, resembling a combat zone.

The depth of this information, laid out so unemotionally by Nance Laurel, must have taken Swann by surprise but he hesitated only a moment then said in a calm voice, “First of all, as for this incident…” He nodded at Boston’s house. “Regarding the weapons, all three of us have Class Three federal firearms licenses and concealed-carry permits valid in the state of New York. Now, in my job at Walker Defense, I’m involved in national security. We came here on a tip that Spencer Boston represented a dangerous security leak. My associates and I were simply going to check that out and discuss the matter with him. Next thing I know, tactical troops were threatening us. They claimed they were NYPD but how was I supposed to know? Not a single person offered me their identification.”

Amelia Sachs actually laughed at this.

Laurel asked, “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Ah, the important question, Ms. Laurel, is will a jury believe it? And I suspect they might. And as for those other crimes you mentioned? All speculation. I guarantee you don’t have anything on me.”

The prosecutor looked at Rhyme, who wheeled up closer. He realized that Swann was intensely studying his insensate legs and left arm. He was truly curious but Rhyme had no idea what he was thinking or what the purpose for the examination was.

The criminalist, in turn, looked the suspect up and down and smiled as he often did at the arrogance of perps. “Don’t have anything, don’t have anything.” Musing thoughtfully. “Oh, I think maybe we do, Jacob. Now, I don’t care much for motives, but we have a couple of good ones here, I have to admit. You killed Lydia Foster—and wanted to kill Moreno’s driver—because you thought the subject would come up of why Simon Flores wasn’t accompanying Moreno on the trip. And that would make us wonder why he wasn’t here too. And your motive for killing Annette Bodel was that she could place you at the scene in the Bahamas when the shooting happened.”

Swann gave a blink but recovered quickly and simply cocked his head in curiosity.

Rhyme paid him no mind and addressed the sky. “Now, for more objective evidence: We have a short brown hair from the Lydia Foster crime scene.” He glanced at Swann’s scalp. “We can do a mandatory DNA swab and I’m sure it will match. Oh, and we’re still working on tracing that silver necklace you bought Annette Bodel—to attract the barracuda to hide the fact you’d tortured and killed her. I’m sure somebody will have seen you buy it.”

This opened Swann’s mouth slightly. A tongue touched the corner of his lips.

“And we found some allspice and hot sauce on the clothing of Eduardo de la Rua. I thought that was from his breakfast the morning of May ninth. But knowing your affinity for the culinary arts, I wonder if you’d been cooking the night before you killed him. Maybe you made dinner for Annette. It’ll be interesting to examine your suitcase and clothing and see if there’s associated trace.

“And speaking of food: We found some trace in two locations in New York: combine them and apparently you end up with a very interesting dish involving artichoke, licorice, fish roe and vanilla. Did you happen to see the recent recipe in the New York Times ? I understand the Patchwork Goose is quite the restaurant. And you should know that I have an expert witness to testify about the food.”

Rhyme knew Thom would love being thus described.

Swann was completely silent now. In fact, he seemed numb.

“Now, we’re looking into whether you had access to a particular type of military IED, which was used at the Java Hut. And saltwater-laced sand was found both there and at Annette Bodel’s apartment in Nassau. We’ll subpoena your clothes and shoes and see if you happen to have any grains left on them. Your washing machine too. Hm, do we have anything else?”

Sachs said, “The two-stroke oil trace.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Sachs. You left some two-stroke oil trace at one of the scenes and I’m sure we’ll find the same fuel mixture in your office at Walker Defense or at Homestead Air Reserve Base, if you were there before or after the attack on May 9. Thanks particularly for that find, by the way—the oil; that’s how we figured out that NIOS was using drones, not flesh-and-blood snipers. Excuse me, UAVs.

“But, I digress. Now, that interesting blade of yours…” Rhyme had seen the evidence bag containing the Japanese chef’s knife. “We’ll match its tool mark profile with wounds on the bodies of Lydia Foster, de la Rua, Flores and the lawyer in the Bahamas. Oh, and the limo driver too.

“More? Okay. We’re datamining your credit card, ATM withdrawals and mobile phone usage.” He took a breath. “And we’re subpoenaing the Walker Defense Technical Services and Support operation to see whom they’ve been datamining and spying on. Now, that pretty much wraps up my formal presentation. Prosecutor Laurel?”

A trademark pause, which by now Rhyme found rather charming. She then said in an at-attention tone, “Do you see where we’re going with this, Jacob? We need you to testify against Harry Walker. If you do that we’ll work something out.”

“What does that mean, ‘work something out’? How many years?”

“Obviously I can’t say for certain but probably we’re looking at thirty.”

“Not much in it for me, then, is there?” he asked, gazing back at her coolly.

She replied, “The alternative is I don’t fight extradition to the Bahamas. And you spend the rest of your life in one of their prisons.”

That seemed to bring Swann up short. Still he remained silent.

This wasn’t, technically, Rhyme’s concern. But he felt he should contribute. “And who knows, Jacob?” Rhyme said, an amused tone in his voice. “Maybe ADA Laurel here might see if you could get a spot in the kitchen in whatever facility you’re sent to.” He shrugged. “Just a thought.”

Laurel nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

Swann looked over the smoke-damaged house of Spencer Boston. Then turned back. “When do you want to talk?”

Nance’s response was to dig into her pocketbook and extract a battered tape recorder.

CHAPTER 91

BUSINESS ISN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE, the arms business, I mean,” Swann was telling them. “Walker Defense was having problems, bad problems, with the wars winding down.”