for Ben."
"Why don't you tell me what you know first."
"I know I haven't killed any police commissioners."
Ranken, who had been standing quietly, stared at the floor on that one.
Frick actually smiled, but his eyes showed pure malevolence.
"No, I don't imagine. You don't have that kind of talent." Frick delivered the line easily.
"What kind of weapon are you carrying?"
"Ten-millimeter Glock."
"I'll take it. You won't need it on my crime scene."
Sam drew it and handed it to Frick, butt first.
Frick racked the slide. "It's empty."
"That way it won't hurt anybody."
"Gimme your ammo."
Sam reached into his back pocket, pulled out the clip, and handed it to Frick.
"You'll need to sign some papers, a release, and answer some questions for Detective Ranken," Frick said.
"Questions?" Ranken asked.
"A witness statement," Frick responded as if Ranken were slightly dull. "When you come in, you touch nothing. Understand?"
Sam nodded. "Right."
"There's a videotape of the break-in."
"I'd appreciate seeing it."
"I'm sure you would," Frick said. "It's confidential police business, so I'll just tell you: A brunette woman and two masked men enter the place. The brunette appears to be Haley Walther. Without her, there would have been no entry because the equipment demonstrates that Ben Anderson let them in. And, of course, she was here looting the place when we found her. Up to her old tricks—stealing secrets."
"You went to quite a little trouble to arrange that for the record, did you?" Sam said.
"What did you say?"
"Why don't we cut to the chase. Somewhere along the line you went from a bad cop to a common criminal. We both know that. You want something and only you know about it.
If what you want hurts Ben Anderson or Haley Walther, you can overlook it. Well, I can't."
Sam watched Frick's gun hand. Frick kept it and his glare steady.
Ranken cleared his throat. "You want me to interview Mr. Chase, then?"
CHAPTER 5
A fter Ranken was finished taking his statement, he walked Sam to Ben's office. Frick had no doubt ordered Ranken to delay him, for reasons he was sure he would soon discover. Ranken didn't much like being a stooge, but he was going along with Frick for the moment.
The building that housed Ben's office was impressive: the walls were of some rough-surfaced, stonelike concrete block; the ceilings were tall, about twelve feet; great care had been taken in making moldings of natural wood; the floors appeared to be acid-stained concrete made to look mottled in gold and rust. The money behind Sanker was evident.
A couple of officers stood in Ben Anderson's large office. There was no sign of Frick, and Ranken seemed interested in leaving upon arrival.
"You stay here with Officer Wentworth and Ms. Walthers. Officer Frick will be by with more questions," Ranken said.
Haley stood near one of the officers, looking a combination of angry and discouraged.
Sam went to her immediately, searching for any evidence of harm.
She gave him a look that said she was all right. "This is 'Crew' Wentworth." She indicated a handsome officer with a blond buzz cut. Sam had seen him around and had observed Haley talking with him when the squad car was curbside near the coffee shop.
"She's been telling me a little about Ben's work," Crew said.
Sam raised his eyebrows. Haley nodded quickly—Crew was okay.
"Basic molecular biology," she said. "One of the things Ben did was compare long-lived species with similar but shorter-lived species. Like the tortoise that lives maybe one hundred fifty years versus a sea turtle with a much more modest life span. Bottom line: he studied the DNA of sea creatures as it pertained to longevity. I think he was looking at over two hundred or so genes of interest."
"I'm supposed to find Ben's most current work," Crew said. "How the hell I'm supposed to tell, I haven't figured out yet. A Dr. McStott is really in charge of the technical stuff.
Haley here is my best hope. I'm supposed to be
"Why don't you tell me what you know first."
"I know I haven't killed any police commissioners."
Ranken, who had been standing quietly, stared at the floor on that one.
Frick actually smiled, but his eyes showed pure malevolence.
"No, I don't imagine. You don't have that kind of talent." Frick delivered the line easily.
"What kind of weapon are you carrying?"
"Ten-millimeter Glock."
"I'll take it. You won't need it on my crime scene."
Sam drew it and handed it to Frick, butt first.
Frick racked the slide. "It's empty."
"That way it won't hurt anybody."
"Gimme your ammo."
Sam reached into his back pocket, pulled out the clip, and handed it to Frick.
"You'll need to sign some papers, a release, and answer some questions for Detective Ranken," Frick said.
"Questions?" Ranken asked.
"A witness statement," Frick responded as if Ranken were slightly dull. "When you come in, you touch nothing. Understand?"
Sam nodded. "Right."
"There's a videotape of the break-in."
"I'd appreciate seeing it."
"I'm sure you would," Frick said. "It's confidential police business, so I'll just tell you: A brunette woman and two masked men enter the place. The brunette appears to be Haley Walther. Without her, there would have been no entry because the equipment demonstrates that Ben Anderson let them in. And, of course, she was here looting the place when we found her. Up to her old tricks—stealing secrets."
"You went to quite a little trouble to arrange that for the record, did you?" Sam said.
"What did you say?"
"Why don't we cut to the chase. Somewhere along the line you went from a bad cop to a common criminal. We both know that. You want something and only you know about it.
If what you want hurts Ben Anderson or Haley Walther, you can overlook it. Well, I can't."
Sam watched Frick's gun hand. Frick kept it and his glare steady.
Ranken cleared his throat. "You want me to interview Mr. Chase, then?"
CHAPTER 5
A fter Ranken was finished taking his statement, he walked Sam to Ben's office. Frick had no doubt ordered Ranken to delay him, for reasons he was sure he would soon discover. Ranken didn't much like being a stooge, but he was going along with Frick for the moment.
The building that housed Ben's office was impressive: the walls were of some rough-surfaced, stonelike concrete block; the ceilings were tall, about twelve feet; great care had been taken in making moldings of natural wood; the floors appeared to be acid-stained concrete made to look mottled in gold and rust. The money behind Sanker was evident.
A couple of officers stood in Ben Anderson's large office. There was no sign of Frick, and Ranken seemed interested in leaving upon arrival.
"You stay here with Officer Wentworth and Ms. Walthers. Officer Frick will be by with more questions," Ranken said.
Haley stood near one of the officers, looking a combination of angry and discouraged.
Sam went to her immediately, searching for any evidence of harm.
She gave him a look that said she was all right. "This is 'Crew' Wentworth." She indicated a handsome officer with a blond buzz cut. Sam had seen him around and had observed Haley talking with him when the squad car was curbside near the coffee shop.
"She's been telling me a little about Ben's work," Crew said.
Sam raised his eyebrows. Haley nodded quickly—Crew was okay.
"Basic molecular biology," she said. "One of the things Ben did was compare long-lived species with similar but shorter-lived species. Like the tortoise that lives maybe one hundred fifty years versus a sea turtle with a much more modest life span. Bottom line: he studied the DNA of sea creatures as it pertained to longevity. I think he was looking at over two hundred or so genes of interest."
"I'm supposed to find Ben's most current work," Crew said. "How the hell I'm supposed to tell, I haven't figured out yet. A Dr. McStott is really in charge of the technical stuff.
Haley here is my best hope. I'm supposed to be
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