like talking. We’ll both come at him.”
They turned in their weapons, signed in and were escorted to a holding cell. The guard bringing them in said that Fred Crandall was in the viewing room; he had been watching Henry Lawrence since he’d been brought to the interrogation room.
“You first—memory lane,” Keenan decided. “I’ll see if Fred has gleaned any more information since last night.”
“As you wish,” Stacey said.
Keenan slipped into the viewing room, nodding to Fred.
“A hell of a thing!” Fred told him. “I stayed until about five in the morning. I figured we were on to something complicated, but man...that was a damned body farm. How the hell did you get on to all those bodies?”
“The earth just looked...odd. I asked Jackson to arrange for dogs. And well, you know the story from there.”
Fred was a good guy, but if Keenan had told him that the ghost of one of the victims had come after him, he might have reported Keenan as needing a psych evaluation.
“By the way, where’s Jean? Thought your respective precincts decided you two needed to pair up for this.”
“They did, and we did. Jean was out there with me. I’m still geared up—wanted to watch you questioning this guy and thought it was better you two than me. Always thought I could go in with Jean and I’d remind him he could face DC charges and she could remind him that he’d also face federal charges—and the Commonwealth of Virginia, if he was wavering. She’ll be here in a bit; she thinks it might be nothing, but she went to see a woman who called her precinct this morning. In the task-force meetings, we were talking about those who’d fallen off transplant lists. Could be a fluke or a fake. You know how many calls we get.”
“It could be important. When did this call come?” Keenan asked him. He looked through the viewing window. Stacey was just sitting down with Henry Lawrence.
The doctor was staring at her as if he’d like to slice and dice her. He was tired, aggravated, and looked as if he’d been forced to roll in the mud.
“Dr. Lawrence,” Stacey said.
“I’ve been set up,” he told her.
“But you’re a transplant doctor.”
“I was a transplant doctor.”
“You know how to transplant human organs. Tough science. In fact, I don’t know how you’ve been pulling it off. But then, you must think that you pick up throwaway people and their lives don’t matter. Still, you must make sure that your wealthy clients live. I mean, if you’re going to get paid, right?”
“Idiot woman!” he said. “I told you—I don’t do transplants anymore. Everything you’re saying is untrue. You can’t just grab anyone.”
“But you can go for the young and healthy and hope for the best, right?” she asked.
“I keep telling you—”
“But you did know Billie Bingham.”
He sighed. “Look, I don’t even live in DC. And whether I was ugly as sin or not, I’m a surgeon. I’d never need an escort service. I’m a surgeon.”
“Billie wasn’t the famous Billie Bingham, back in the day of the McCarron trial.”
He sighed again. “My lawyer is going to dice you people to pieces,” he said.
“Dice. Interesting choice of word,” Stacey said. She stood. “Well, enjoy your accommodations!”
“Wait! Wait. You should believe me. You, of all people. Your father was important in that trial. You know that I was devastated. That I tried to save Dr. Vargas... Hey! Don’t you walk out on me!”
Stacey walked out.
She joined Keenan and Fred in the observation room.
“Your turn,” she told Keenan.
“You got a rise out of him,” Fred told her.
“But no confession, no names.”
“I’ll take a different tack, ask him who he thinks might be setting him up, who might be involved.”
Keenan walked in to talk to Henry Lawrence.
“What is this? Musical cops? You know your boss was in this morning. You can ask me questions from here to eternity. I didn’t do it.”
“I just find it hard to believe that you didn’t know that Billie Bingham was in the courtroom during the McCarron trial. She was beautiful—staid-looking at the time, but young and very beautiful. She had to have caught your attention,” Keenan said.
“I’m a surgeon. Women flock to me,” he said.
Beyond a doubt, the man was a narcissist.
“Then again, all those bodies. Right under your nose. It’s difficult to believe all those people were buried and you had no clue.”
“I have an office and long hours at the hospital. When I’m home, I’m holed up—sleeping, working or relaxing. I’m