Rob studied the photo of Vincent Willig, his eyes drugged and vague, fresh out of surgery. He frowned, cocked his head to the side, a mannerism Savich had seen Venus do when she was curious or worrying a problem. “Is this the guy who tried to kill Grandmother yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“I think he looks familiar.” Rob tapped his forefinger on the phone. “But I can’t remember from where.”
Savich said, “His name is Vincent Carl Willig and he has an impressive rap sheet—spent ten years in Attica. He got out six months ago. Think about where you could have seen him, Rob. It’s important.”
Rob nodded. “I’m not sure I have, but I’ll think about it. What about employees? Would Veronica have any reason to want to poison Grandmother?”
Sherlock said, “Veronica has been with Venus fifteen years. Her finances are sound, since Venus invests most of her pretty substantial income for her. And she has free room and board in a mansion. She’s dependent on Venus for her livelihood. I can’t see a reason for her to want to do away with her meal ticket.”
“She must be nearly forty now, isn’t she?”
“She’s thirty-six,” Savich said. “Only five years older than you.”
“Grandmother speaks highly of her, says Veronica makes her laugh. And she’s always been completely loyal to her.”
“Were you in love with her when you were a teenager?” Sherlock asked.
“Sure, she was a young guy’s wet dream, blond, beautiful, a superb body. Is Alexander sleeping with her?”
Savich said, “Evidently not.”
Rob laughed, shook his head. “I doubt it, too—Alexander wouldn’t ever dip his quill in company ink. He always used to preach to me to keep away from the Help, always said it with a capital letter. He actually used those words—the Help. Veronica never liked him anyway.”
Savich said as he rose, “That would sure make things neat, now wouldn’t it? Not a Rasmussen behind this. Only the Help.” He added more formally, “Sherlock and I will see you this evening, Rob. Thank you for coming in. I’ll call if we have more questions.”
Rob splayed his palms on the table, leaned toward them. “I’m not only angry, Savich, I’m scared. I just found Grandmother again and I don’t want to lose her. That shooting yesterday, if you guys hadn’t been there, if MacPherson hadn’t been there—she’d be dead. Please find out who’s doing this.”
“We will.” Savich turned to Griffin. “Let’s show Mr. Rasmussen to the elevator.”
“You know, Savich, both my dad and Alexander wrote me off years ago—Alexander ever since I stole his new Mustang and took it for a spin. A pity I wrecked it.”
“You were thirteen, Rob,” Savich said, as the group of four walked together down the wild hallway.
“And a spoiled little idiot. I remember Alexander had just turned eighteen, the Mustang was his graduation present from Father. A fine car, that Mustang. Then after I nearly killed that guy in the bar fight, Alexander wanted me sent away forever.”
Sherlock knew all about the bar fight, but she wanted to hear what he would say about it. “What happened?”
“I hate to own up to it, even now, but I was treating my girlfriend like dirt because I was drunk and I’d heard she cheated on me, and this older guy—around twenty-five—took exception. We got into it and I hurt him, ended up in jail. Then my girlfriend hauled off and whacked me in the jaw. I was lucky, she didn’t break it, even though I deserved it.
“Venus arranged the army option, she has friends everywhere who’ve helped me out more than once.”
“There were other times?” Sherlock asked.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I did a bit of shoplifting when I was a kid, a bit of pot when I was in high school, some speeding, well, okay, a couple of DUIs when I was old enough to know better. But beating up that guy, that was the biggie. His name is Billy Cronin, he’s married and has three kids, lives up in Philly. I, ah, check on him every couple of years.”
When they reached the elevator, Savich pushed the button. The doors opened almost immediately and out stepped Agent Hammersmith’s sister, Delsey Freestone, singing a twangy western song Savich didn’t recognize, thought she’d probably written it herself. Two agents on the elevator stood behind her, obviously enjoying themselves.
She broke off, mid-verse, turning to the agents behind her. “I’ll catch you guys later, thanks. Dillon! How nice to see you. I’m here to take Griffin to lunch. Hi, Sherlock.” She stopped cold, blinked at Rob. “Who are you?”
Griffin laughed behind Savich. “Delsey, what’s that song you’re singing?”
Delsey sang a couple of bars, never taking her eyes off Rob Rasmussen. “I call it ‘Lamebrain at the Hoedown,’ classic country and western, all the way down to the twang and the head in the toilet the morning after. I’m hoping you’ll sing it at the Bonhommie Club, Dillon.”
Savich saw that Rob stood staring back at Delsey, his eyes a bit unfocused, looking shell-shocked. Tell me this isn’t happening. Savich didn’t want to, but he had no choice. “Delsey, this is Rob Rasmussen.”
Delsey looked up at him, and slowly, she smiled. “Have you had lunch yet?”
Rob shook his head, ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. “Well, no, and I’m starved. But what about your brother?”
“Who? Oh, Griffin, I’ll bet he’s going to take Savich and Sherlock to lunch, right, Griffin?”
Griffin looked from Rob Rasmussen to his sister. He was no match for her blazing smile. “Sure, Dels, right.”
“Let’s go see what we can find,” Rob said, and offered Delsey his arm. “Savich, Sherlock, please keep me in the loop. Please find out who’s doing this. Agent Hammersmith, it was very nice to meet you.” He gave Savich a little salute. “See you tonight.”
Savich watched the elevator doors close behind Rob and Delsey, neither of them speaking, only smiling at each other like loons. “Well, Griffin, it looks like you’ve been kissed off.”
Sherlock shook her head. “Let’s just hope Rob has nothing to do with the attempts on his grandmother’s life.”