8:37 p.m.
TWO SURPRISES awaited Veena Lion at Lankenau Medical Center.
One was the armada of TV reporters blocking the entrance to the emergency department. She’d known word would travel fast, and the media was starving for any crumbs they could link to the Archie Hughes murder. But it was rare for TV reporters to beat Janie Hall on a breaking development. This case was going to test all of them.
The second surprise was waiting just behind the security checkpoint, which Veena got past by telling the officer she was Roy Nguyen’s personal attorney. “How many lawyers does this guy have?” asked the beleaguered Lower Merion cop. “Your colleague is over there, by the vending machines.”
Cooper Lamb, who was no lawyer, was busy ripping open a plastic bag of turkey jerky. “Rowrr.”
“Baaaaa,” Veena replied.
“I didn’t know you were close with the chef.”
“Yeah. He makes incredible fried spaghetti.”
“If that’s an in-joke, I’m missing the gag.”
“Life doesn’t revolve entirely around you, Cooper. What’s the latest?”
The latest was that Roy Nguyen was still in surgery, and the hospital was clearly not prepared for all of the attention or the constant inquiries from private investigators.
“So we might as well go for a cocktail,” Cooper said. “Unless you want to get in on this jerky with me. We can even split a root beer.”
“I need to talk to Roy the minute he wakes up.”
“Get in line. The police are downplaying this, but did you know that Chef Roy was fired by the Hughes family just two days before the murder?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Do you know why?”
“Of course.”
“See, I don’t think you do. He probably told you that Francine Pearl was just a bitch or something. But no, the dude flat-out stole stuff from the house. Watches, jewelry, sports memorabilia. And he was caught on a nanny cam.”
Veena frowned. “That doesn’t sound right. Who’s your source?”
“Nobody you’d know.”
“Is it Red from Atlantic City? Your old army buddy?”
“Damn it. I wish I’d never told you about him. Look, Red knows his stuff. Including the fact that your boy Roy owed a lot of people in Atlantic City a lot of cheddar. Which would explain the not-so-petty larceny from the Hughes home.”
Veena considered this and replayed some of their lunchtime conversation. She thought about her legal-pad list of suspects. She thought about Maya Rain. But mostly, she considered that the day had been a very long one.
“Throw that crap away,” she said, “and let’s have that cocktail.”