Edward pointed an accusing finger at Monty. “He’s lying, Vista. Don’t believe a word he said.”
“If you say so.” Monty arched a dubious brow. “Okay, Doctor, you want the low-down? Here it is. Between what Mrs. Pierson admitted on tape, and the skin cells and corresponding files the police will find in your trailer, you’re going down on more counts than you want to know. Now add kidnapping, attempted murder, and murder charges. That’s what you’re looking at, if you stay on the current path.”
Vista had bolted to his feet, all the color draining from his face. “There’s no way you could know about…How did you get into my trailer?”
“Whatever you found there is inadmissible, Detective,” Anne announced, her gaze boring through Monty. “You didn’t have a search warrant. That’s breaking and entering. Don’t let him rattle you, Lawrence.”
Monty’s brows rose in feigned innocence. “Now, did I say I saw that stuff firsthand? As for the warrant, it’s already been signed. The trailer’s being searched as we speak.” He inclined his head at Vista. “Listen, Lawrence, don’t be a jerk. Pierson’s only interested in saving his family’s ass. Yours is expendable.”
Vista wet his lips with his tongue. “What if I’m willing to talk?” he blurted out. “In exchange for some kind of deal?”
“That’s up to the authorities,” Monty returned smoothly. “But it’s worth a try.”
“I agree,” Deputy Kearney said. “I’ll do what I can to make it happen.”
“Sounds good.” Monty waved his hand in a fait accompli gesture.
“Are you crazy, Vista?” Edward demanded.
Ignoring him, Vista leaned forward, still addressing Monty. “So what happens next?”
“You, Deputy Kearney, and I can stroll down to Mr. Pierson’s office and have a private talk. My daughter can join us,” Monty added, feeling Devon’s insistent stare. “We’ll see if we can’t help each other.”
“Why your daughter?”
“Because she’s a doctor. We’ll be discussing medical procedures. She can translate.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” Vista was already in motion, despite Edward’s sputtering protests.
Before following them, Devon turned to Blake. “I want to be there,” she told him softly. “Plus, Monty’s right. I will understand more of the medicalese than anyone else. Will you be okay?”
“Yes.” Blake nodded. “Go. I have a few things to say to my family anyway.”
Squeezing his hand, Devon headed off.
She followed the others into Edward’s office. There was a trace odor of chloroform in the air, and Devon wrinkled her nose and grimaced, grateful that Monty was cracking open a window. Snowstorm or not, the fresh air was welcome.
Vista sat down. The others remained standing, clustered around the desk. Kearney gestured for Monty to take the lead.
“Let’s cut to the chase. You’re experimenting on illegal aliens,” Monty announced to Vista. “You’re also experimenting on Edward’s horses. How do the two connect?”
Silently, Vista lowered his gaze, staring at the oak planks of the floor.
“Your license is gonzo no matter what,” Monty informed him, reading Vista’s mind and making quick work of his reticence. “But your jail time has yet to be determined. That depends on what crimes you’ve committed, and how much you’re willing to help us.”
“I had nothing to do with any murder.” Vista’s head jerked up, and his frightened gaze darted from Monty to Kearney and back again. “I’m a doctor. A scientist. Not a killer.”
Monty nodded. “I believe you. So tell me about your genetic research.”
Somewhat appeased, Vista hunched forward, gripping his knees as if to steady his nerves. “There was very little risk involved. Whatever risk existed, the subjects knew about it up front. They signed releases to that effect. It’s no different from what drug companies do when they’re testing a new product. The subjects in question were my control group.”
“Where did you find these subjects?”
“Through Roberto, the Piersons’ groom. He lives in Poughkeepsie, where there’s a large Mexican community. Many of them are illegals. They need jobs, money.”
“And you supplied both. What a guy.”
“I provided income for a service.”
“Tell us about that service. What type of drug did your subjects have tested on them?”
“No drug. Not in the way you mean. Drugs are detectable. Genetic enhancements aren’t.”
A lightbulb went off in Devon’s head. “You’re experimenting with gene therapy. Whatever you’re working on for Edward, it’s not just for his horses. It’s for James.”
“Exactly.” Vista looked pleased by Devon’s response. Clearly, he regarded her as the closest thing in the room to a colleague—one who should be excited and amazed by his accomplishment. “Gene therapy itself isn’t new. Nor is the attempt to utilize it in professional sports. But my research goes beyond that. It’s unique in its specificity and sophistication.”
“Go on.” Devon folded her arms across her breasts. She didn’t have to fake her curiosity.
Vista converged on it like a moth to a flame. “I’ve actually managed to genetically engineer skin cells—both equine and human—and reinject them to enhance the exact qualities necessary for a champion jumper.” Animatedly, he leaned toward Devon. “This produces both winning riders and winning mounts. In short, I’ve tailored gene therapy not just for professional sports, but for equestrian jumping.”
“How?” she demanded.
“As I said, I harvest then genetically manipulate the skin cells. Those cells are then reintroduced into the body—the horse’s cells through the hock, the human cells through the forebrain.” Vista indicated the back of his neck. “The procedure results in exactly the enhancements needed for both subjects: improved focus and concentration. Strengthened leg muscles. Decreased nervous tension. And heightened tactile sensitivity, which makes the rider more attuned to his horse and better able to convey instructions to it via his thighs and knees. As a result, a fine contender like Sunrise can become an Olympic winner rivaling Stolen Thunder. And a champion rider like James can become a legend.”
“And no drug test can detect the enhancements,” Devon concluded.
“Precisely.”
Monty let out a low whistle. “No wonder Edward was shelling out such big bucks for you—and from a secret account. Also why your heavy-duty lab is set up in your trailer as opposed to in his stables. Talk about protecting his ass and hanging yours out to dry.”
Vista’s pride vanished, supplanted by fear. “I haven’t hurt anyone.”
“I’d call using desperate illegal aliens as human guinea pigs a major violation of medical ethics, not to mention a criminal act.” Monty tapped his fingers together thoughtfully. “Did you help plan Frederick’s murder? Or just Philip Rhodes’s?”
“Neither!” Vista’s voice shot up as he took Monty’s bait. “Until the police dragged me over here, I had no idea my research was tied to those murders. I would never get mixed up in taking a human life.”
Monty wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “To your knowledge, was Edward part of his wife’s plan? Or did he only jump in afterward, to do damage control?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about James?”
Vista blew out a breath. “I never can tell what James doesn’t know and what he doesn’t want to know. He was aware of the research I was conducting. That much I’m sure of. It’s all I’m sure of.”
“Anything else?”
“No.” Under Monty’s rapid fire and blazing glare, Vista began sweating profusely. “I swear I’m telling the truth.”
Before Monty could respond, James Pierson appeared in the doorway, escorted by Tompkins. His face was haggard, his hair damp and clinging to his neck. Tension creased his forehead, and his skin was ashen. He looked beaten, as if he’d fought a painful war and lost.
“Can I talk to you?” he ask
ed Monty bluntly.
“Sure. Join the party.” Monty waved him in.
“No. Alone.” James’s jaw set.
Monty considered the offer, exchanging a quick glance with Deputy Tompkins. “We have time to kill before Ms. Chambers gets here,” he said. “Any problem if I meet with Golden Boy for a few minutes?”
Tompkins’s lips quirked at Monty’s reference to James. “No problem. I’ll stand outside the door.”
“I’ll take Dr. Vista back,” Kearney said, gesturing for Vista to accompany him. “We’ll be in the living room with the others.”
Devon watched them go, hanging back for a minute.
“Go ahead, Dev,” Monty instructed. “It’ll be easier if James and I talk one-on-one.”
She nodded, following the others to the door.
James caught her arm as she passed. “I’m not a killer, Devon,” he said, his panicky gaze on her face. “You must realize that.”
“I do,” she agreed. “You’re not a killer. Just a coward, a felon, and a spoiled, self-centered son of a bitch.”
He flinched, releasing her arm and letting her leave.
“I guess you expected Devon to be an ally,” Monty commented when they were alone. “Think again. She’s got a core of steel when it comes to her family.”
“I understand.” James swallowed. “I don’t know what Vista told you, but I can give you a lot more. But it has to be off the record. No cops, no tapes, no notes.”
“In other words, you want to be able to deny having said any of it.”
“For the time being, yes. Look, I can’t go to jail. It’s that simple. Until I figure out the best way to accomplish that, I’m keeping my options open. So, do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”
Monty folded his arms across his chest in a formidable stance. “I’m listening.”
James sank down into a chair. “I didn’t know any part of what I’m about to tell you until a few hours ago, when I walked into this room and saw my grandmother pointing a gun at you. I was as stunned as you were.”
“Yeah.” Monty nodded. “That much I believe.”
Stark relief registered on James’s face, and inspired him to continue. “My grandfather was very shaky when I settled him in. He needed to talk. The more he said, the sicker I felt. He told me my grandmother was responsible for what happened at the cabin in Lake Luzerne. She knew what your ex-wife had overheard between Frederick and my grandfather at the stables. She was hell-bent on preventing her from ruining things. So she hired one of Vista’s illegals—some guy with a criminal background—to kill Sally. The plan backfired. Frederick came face-to-face with the guy and wound up dead instead. My grandmother promised to pay the guy fifty thousand dollars and gave him a one-way plane ticket to Uruguay. He was supposed to vanish into the woodwork.”
“Your grandfather had no part in this?”
“Nope. Not until afterward, when my grandmother confided in him. He’s been protecting her from the get-go. He was desperate to flush out your ex-wife so he could hand her a blank check and put the whole fiasco to bed. He hired that guy Carlos, who’d done some electrical work and who spoke English. My grandfather paid him to keep tabs on Devon and to bug her phone, just in case she had any contact with her mother.”
“But your grandmother wasn’t satisfied,” Monty surmised.
James nodded grimly. “She didn’t think my grandfather was being aggressive enough. She thought it was naive to assume your ex-wife could be bought off. She was also worried about all the poking around Devon was doing. Apparently, she was outside this door, listening, when Blake confronted my grandfather and told him how much Devon knew. My grandmother wanted her stopped. So she delivered that threatening note, warning Devon to back off. When that didn’t work, she resorted to kidnapping.”
“And attempted murder.”
“Yeah. That, too.”
“What about Philip Rhodes?” Monty pressed. “Your grandmother took care of his murder herself. She announced that while she held us at gunpoint.”
“I know.” James rubbed the back of his neck. “It seems that Philip dug up the information documenting those funds my grandfather used for his payoffs.”
“His payoffs?” Monty interrupted, his brows arching dubiously.
“Okay, fine, our payoffs.” James gave an impatient, and defensive, wave of his hand. “Look, Detective, I never claimed to be an altar boy. Sure, I greased a few palms along the way. I was also in on the ongoing arrangement with Paterson involving the Antidoping Agency’s drug-testing schedule.”
“And, in the process, you drugged a few riders.”
“Yeah, that, too. You want the rest of my list of transgressions? I helped my grandfather fabricate the extortion scheme to throw you off track. I knew about Dr. Vista’s research. Hell, I applauded it. Why wouldn’t I, realizing how much it would benefit my future? And I left this room when you, Meredith, and your ex-wife were being held at gunpoint—although I deluded myself into believing my grandmother would let you go. So there you have it—the beginning and the end of my culpability. You can argue that any of it’s criminal. But none of it’s murder. Not even close.”
Monty didn’t comment. Instead, he asked, “What about the payments to Uruguay?”
“What about them? I assumed they all related to Vista’s research. It never occurred to me that a portion of it was payment to a hit man, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“All right. Let’s get back to Philip Rhodes.”
James blew out a breath. “After finding that spreadsheet and poring over it, Phil called my grandfather. He meant to have it out with him.”
“But your grandmother intercepted the call.”
“Right. She told Philip she’d give my grandfather the message that he’d called and urgently needed to speak with him. She never did. Instead, she went to the office, shot Rhodes, and typed up the suicide note.” James swallowed, shaking his head in appalled shock. “I’m saying all this, but I still can’t believe it. My grandmother…anyway, that’s what happened.”
Monty absorbed all that in silence, intentionally keeping the tension high.
“Now what?” James demanded.
“Now, nothing.” Monty shrugged. “As long as this is off-the-record, there’s not a damned thing I can do for you. Want my advice? Come clean. It can only help you. Your grandparents will get off easy. They’re elderly. They’ll win the sympathy vote. You won’t. If you’re implicated in these homicides—especially killing your own uncle—you’ll wind up being somebody’s bitch in jail.”
“You’re right.” James shuddered, dragging a palm over his jaw.
“The evidence will support what you and Vista each told me. Do the right thing—you’ll be doing everyone a favor.”
At that moment, there was a commotion outside the door, and Louise Chambers burst in.
“James, don’t say another word,” she ordered, staring grimly from him to Monty and back.
Monty straightened, the stare he leveled at Louise coolly detached. “Not to worry, Ms. Chambers. Your client and I are finished.” He crossed over, stopping in front of James. “Think about what I said. Any way you slice it, the good doctor won’t be winning the Nobel Prize, and you won’t be winning gold at the Beijing Olympics.”
CHAPTER 32
Devon pulled the prime rib out of the oven, took off her oven mitts, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. She might not cook often, but when she did, she did a damned fine job. Whether or not it was enough to best Blake’s salmon remained to be seen. But the ten pound beauty in front of her faced a challenge that Blake’s salmon hadn’t. It had to feed all the Montgomerys and Blake.
Terror barked, scratching eagerly at her legs to ensure that his name was added to the guest list.
“You don’t need to remind me you’re here,” Devon told him. “I know. Besides, there’s more than enough. But just to be on the safe side, I’ll put your portion aside. Okay?”
He yipped his approval
, then rushed off as the front door slammed.
“It’s me,” Lane called out, making his way to the kitchen. “I didn’t miss dinner, did I?”
“Nope,” Devon assured him as he gave an appreciative sniff. “You’re right on time.” She checked on her scalloped potatoes, added some spices, and put them back to simmer. “Are you really leaving tomorrow?” she asked her brother.
“For the fifth time, yes.” He leaned past her and swiped a slice of tomato off the salad.
Devon slapped his hand. “You could sound a little unhappy about it. You just enjoyed a three-week reunion with us. I thought you’d be a little ambivalent about flying three thousand miles away.”
Lane licked his fingers, his expression remaining nondescript. “I would be. If it wasn’t for the move.”
“What move?” Devon demanded.
“The one to New York.” He grinned as Devon’s jaw dropped. “I just finalized a book deal with Time-Life. They’re publishing a compilation of my photo essays on survivors of natural disasters. Besides, I’ve had enough sun and sand. So I’m moving back east in three weeks.”
Devon let out a shriek and threw her arms around him. “You miserable creep. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What, and ruin the fun of torturing you? Nah.”
“Does the family know?”
“Mom and Dad do. I went up to Mom’s place today and told them.”
Devon smiled as she pictured that announcement. “They must have been thrilled.”
“Actually, they were caught off guard. But you’re going to be thrilled.”
A puzzled shrug. “You lost me.”
Lane plucked out an olive and munched on it. “Let’s say I dropped by at an inopportune time.”
Devon stared. “You didn’t.”
“Oh yeah, I did. Mom was in the bedroom, indisposed. Monty was in the kitchen, wearing a towel and throwing together some breakfast in bed. We collided in the hall.”
Stifling her laughter, Devon caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I don’t know who I feel sorriest for.”
“Me,” Lane supplied. “I waited for them in the living room like a kid who’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mom finally came out in a bathrobe. She couldn’t look me in the eye for ten minutes. All she did was blush. And Monty—his jaw was clenched so tightly, I half expected him to pull out his Glock and blow me away.”