The Sinner (25 page)

Victor gave a snort. “Smoke inhalation?”

“By the time that village was torched, the birds were already
dead. Everything was dead. Birds. Livestock. People. Nothing moving, nothing
breathing.
It was a sterilized zone. All life was wiped out.”

He had no response.

Rizzoli leaned forward, getting right into his face. “How
much
did Octagon Chemicals donate to your organization this year, Dr. Banks?”

Victor lifted the cup of water to his lips and took his time
sipping
it.

“How much?”

“It was in the . . . tens of millions.” He looked at
Crowe.
“I could use a refill of water, if you don’t mind.”

“Tens of millions?” said Rizzoli. “Why don’t
you
try eighty-five million dollars?”

“That could be right.”

“And the year before that, they gave you nothing. So what
changed?
Did Octagon suddenly develop a humanitarian conscience?”

“You should ask them.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I really would like some more water.”

Crowe sighed, picked up the empty cup, and walked out. Only
Rizzoli
and Victor were left in the room now.

She leaned even closer, a frontal assault on his comfort zone.
“It’s
all about that money, isn’t it?” she said. “Eighty-five million
dollars
is one hell of a big payoff. Octagon must have had a lot to lose. And you
obviously
have a lot to gain, by cooperating with them.”

“Cooperating in what?”

“Silence. Keeping their secret.”

She reached for another file folder and tossed it on the table in
front
of him.

“That was a pesticide factory they were operating. Just a
mile
and a half away from Bara village, Octagon was storing thousands of pounds of
methyl
isocyanate in their plant. They closed down that plant last year, did you know
that?
Right after the village of Bara was attacked, Octagon abandoned that factory.
Just
packed up all their personnel and bulldozed the plant. Fear of terrorist attack
was
their official explanation. But you don’t really believe that, do
you?”

“I have nothing more to say.”

“It wasn’t a massacre that destroyed the village. It
wasn’t
a terrorist attack.” She paused. Said, quietly: “It was an industrial
catastrophe.”

T
WENTY

V
ICTOR SAT UNMOVING
. Not looking at Rizzoli.

“Does the name ‘Bhopal’ mean anything to you?”
she asked.

It was a moment before he responded. “Of course it
does,”
he said softly.

“Tell me what you know about it.”

“Bhopal, India. The Union Carbide accident in
nineteen-eighty-four.”

“Do you know how many people died in that event?”

“It was . . . in the thousands, I believe.”

“Six thousand people,” she said. “The Union Carbide
pesticide plant accidentally released a toxic cloud that rolled over the
sleeping
town of Bhopal. By the next morning, six thousand were dead. Hundreds of
thousands
were injured. With so many survivors, so many witnesses, the truth couldn’t
be hidden. It couldn’t be suppressed.” She looked down at the photo.
“The
way it was in Bara.”

“I can only repeat myself. I wasn’t there. I didn’t
see it.”

“But I’m sure you can guess what happened. We’re
just
waiting for Octagon to release a list of their employees at that plant. One of
them
is eventually going to talk. One of them is going to confirm it. It’s the
night
shift, and some overworked employee gets careless. Or he falls asleep at the
switch,
and poof! Up goes a cloud of poisonous gas, to be carried off by the wind.”
She paused. “Do you know what acute exposure to methyl isocyanate does to
the
human body, Dr. Banks?”

Of course he knew. He had to know. But he didn’t answer her.

“It’s corrosive, and just touching it can burn your
skin.
So imagine what it does to the lining of your airways, your lungs, when you
breathe
it in. You begin to cough, and your throat hurts. You feel dizzy. And then you
can’t
catch your breath, because the gas is literally eating away your mucous
membranes.
Fluid leaks through, flooding into your lungs. It’s called pulmonary edema.
You drown, Dr. Banks, in your own secretions. But I’m sure you know that,
since
you’re a doctor.”

His head dipped in a defeated nod.

“That Octagon factory knew it too. It wouldn’t take long
for them to realize they’ve made a terrible mistake. They know that methyl
isocyanate
is denser than air. That it will collect in low areas. So they hurry out to
check
the leper village in the valley, just downwind of them. The village of Bara. And
what they find is a dead zone. People, animals—nothing left alive.
They’re
staring at the corpses of almost a hundred people, and they know they’re
responsible
for those deaths. They know they’re in trouble. There’ll certainly be
criminal
charges, and possibly arrests. So what do you think they did next, Dr.
Banks?”

“I don’t know.”

“They panicked, of course. Wouldn’t you? They wanted the
problem to go away. They wanted it to vanish. But what to do with all that
evidence?
You can’t hide a hundred bodies. You can’t make a village disappear.
Plus,
there were two Americans among the dead—two nurses. Their deaths
weren’t
going to be ignored.”

She spread the photos across the table, so all were visible at
once.
Three views, three separate piles of corpses.

“They burned them,” she said. “They got to work
covering
up their mistakes. Maybe they even cracked a few skulls, to confuse the
investigators.
What happened in Bara didn’t start off as a crime, Dr. Banks. But that
night,
it turned into one.”

Victor pushed back his chair. “Am I under arrest, Detective?
Because
I’d like to leave now. I have a plane to catch.”

“You’ve known about this for a year, haven’t you?
But
you’ve kept quiet, because Octagon paid you off. A disaster like this would
have cost them hundreds of millions of dollars in fines. Add in lawsuits and
stock
losses, not to mention criminal charges. Buying you off was the far cheaper
option.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person. I keep telling you,
I wasn’t there.”

“But you knew about it.”

“I’m not the only one.”

“Who told you, Dr. Banks? How did you find out?” She
leaned
closer, gazing across the table at him. “Why don’t you just tell us
the
truth, and maybe you’ll still have time to catch that plane to San
Francisco.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze on the photos spread out
before
him. “She called me,” he finally said. “From Hyderabad.”

“Sister Ursula?”

He nodded. “It was two days after the . . . event. By then,
I’d
already gotten word from Indian authorities that there’d been a massacre in
the village. That two of our nurses had been killed in what they believed was a
terrorist
attack.”

“Did Sister Ursula tell you otherwise?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know what to make of her call. She
sounded
scared and agitated. The factory doctor had given her some tranquilizers, and I
think
the pills were adding to her confusion.”

“What did she say to you, exactly?”

“That something was all wrong with the investigation. That
people
weren’t telling the truth. She’d spotted some empty gasoline
containers
in one of the Octagon trucks.”

“Did she tell the police?”

“You have to understand the situation she was in. When she
got
to Bara that morning, there were burned bodies everywhere—the bodies of
people
she knew. She was the only survivor, and she was surrounded by factory
employees.
Then the police arrived, and she took one of them aside and pointed out the
gasoline
cans. She assumed it would be investigated.”

“But nothing happened.”

He nodded. “That’s when she got frightened. That’s
when
she wondered if the police could be trusted. It wasn’t until Father Doolin
drove
her all the way to Hyderabad that she felt safe enough to call me.”

“And what did you do about it? After that call?”

“What could I do? I was half a world away.”

“Come on, Dr. Banks. I can’t believe you just sat there,
in your office in San Francisco, and let it drop. You’re not the kind of
man
who’d hear a bombshell like that, and not do anything about it.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“What you ended up doing.”

“What would that be?”

“All I have to do is check your phone records. It should be
there,
somewhere. The call you made to Cincinnati. To Octagon corporate
headquarters.”

“Naturally I called them! I’d just been told their
employees
burned down a village, with two of my volunteers.”

“Who did you speak to at Octagon?”

“A man. Some senior vice president.”

“Do you remember this man’s name?”

“No.”

“It wasn’t Howard Redfield, was it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What did you tell him?”

Victor glanced at the door. “What’s taking that water so
long?”

“What did you tell him, Dr. Banks?”

Victor sighed. “I told him there were rumors about the Bara
massacre.
That employees from their factory may have been involved. He said he didn’t
know anything about it, and promised to check into it.”

“What happened then?”

“About an hour later, I got a call back from Octagon’s
CEO,
wanting to know where I’d heard that rumor.”

“Is that when he offered your charity a multimillion dollar
bribe?”

“It wasn’t put that way!”

“I can’t blame you for cutting the deal with Octagon,
Dr.
Banks,” said Rizzoli. “After all, the damage was already done.
There’s
no bringing back the dead, so you might as well use a tragedy for the greater
good.”
Her voice dropped, and turned almost intimate. “Is that how you saw it?
Rather
than hundreds of millions of dollars going into the pockets of lawyers, why not
put
the money directly to good use? It only makes sense.”

“You said it, Detective. I didn’t.”

“And how did they buy Sister Ursula’s silence?”

“You’d have to ask the Boston archdiocese that question.
I’m sure a deal was made with them, as well.”

Rizzoli paused, suddenly thinking of Graystones Abbey. The new
roof,
the renovations. How could an impoverished sisterhood of nuns hold onto, and
restore,
such a valuable piece of real estate? She remembered what Mary Clement had said:
that a generous donor had come to the rescue.

The door opened, and Crowe walked in with a fresh cup of water,
which
he placed on the table. Victor quickly took a nervous gulp. The man who had
started
off so calm, even insolent, now looked wrung out, his confidence destroyed.

Now was the time to squeeze out the last drops of truth.

Rizzoli leaned closer as she launched her final assault. “Why
did you really come to Boston, Dr. Banks?”

“I told you. I wanted to see Maura—”

“Octagon asked you to come. Didn’t they?”

He took another sip of water.

“
Didn’t
they?”

“They were concerned.”

“About what?”

“They’re the target of an SEC investigation. It has
nothing
to do with what happened in India. But because of the size of the grant One
Earth
received, Octagon was concerned it might come to the attention of the SEC. That
questions
might be raised. They wanted to make sure that we were all reading from the same
script, in case we were questioned.”

“They were asking you to lie for them?”

“No. Just to stay silent. That’s all. Just not to . . .
bring
up India.”

“And if you were asked to testify? If you were asked directly
about it? Would you have told the truth, Dr. Banks? That you took money to help
cover
up a crime?”

“We’re not talking about a crime. We’re talking
about
an industrial accident.”

“Is that why you came to Boston? To convince Ursula to stay
silent
as well? To maintain a united front of lies.”

“Not lies. Silence. There’s a difference.”

“Then somehow, it all gets complicated. An Octagon senior
vice
president named Howard Redfield decides to turn whistle-blower, and talk to the
Justice
Department. Not only that, he produces a witness from India. A woman he’s
brought
back from India to testify.”

Victor’s head came up and he stared at her with genuine
bewilderment.
“What witness?”

“She was there, at Bara. One of the lepers who survived. Does
that surprise you?”

“I don’t know about any witness.”

“She saw what happened in her village. She saw those men from
the factory drag bodies into piles and light the fires. She saw them smash the
skulls
of her friends and family. What she saw, what she knew, could bring Octagon to
its
knees.”

“I don’t know anything about this. No one told me there
was
a survivor.”

“It was all about to come out. The accident, the cover-up.
The
payoffs. You might be willing to lie about it, but what about Sister Ursula? How
do you induce a nun to lie under oath? That’s the trick, isn’t it? One
honest nun could bring it all crashing down. She opens her mouth, and there goes
eighty-five million dollars, right out of your hands. And the whole world sees
Saint
Victor fall off his pedestal.”

“I think I’m finished here.” He rose to his feet.
“I
have a plane to catch.”

“You had the opportunity. You had the motive.”

“Motive?” He gave a disbelieving laugh. “For
murdering
a
nun
? You might as well accuse the archdiocese, since I’m sure they
got paid off quite nicely.”

“What did Octagon promise you? Even more money if you came to
Boston and took care of the problem for them?”

“First you accuse me of murder. Now you’re saying that
Octagon
hired me? Can you see any executive personally risking a murder charge, just to
cover
up an industrial accident?” Victor shook his head. “No American went
to
jail for Bhopal. And no American will go to jail for Bara, either. Now, am I
free
to leave or not?”

Rizzoli shot a questioning glance at Crowe. He responded with a
dispirited
nod, an answer that told her he had already heard back from the Crime Scene
Unit.
While she was questioning Victor, CSU had been searching the rental car.
Obviously
they had turned up nothing.

They did not have enough to hold him.

She said, “For now, you’re free to go, Dr. Banks. But we
need to know exactly where you are.”

“I’m flying straight home to San Francisco. You have my
address.”
Victor reached for the door. Stopped, and turned back to face her. “Before
I
leave,” he said, “I want you to know one thing about me.”

“What’s that, Dr. Banks?”

“I’m a physician. Remember that, Detective. I save
lives.
I don’t take them.”

Maura saw him as he left the interrogation room. He walked with
his
gaze straight ahead, not even glancing her way as he drew near the desk where
she
was sitting.

She rose from the chair. “Victor?”

He stopped, but didn’t turn toward her; it was as though he
could
not stand to look at her.

“What happened?” she said.

“What do you think happened? I told them what I know. I told
them
the truth.”

“That’s all I was asking from you. That’s all
I’ve
ever asked.”

“Now I’ve got a plane to catch.”

Her cell phone rang. She looked down at it, wanting to fling it
away.

“Better answer that,” he said, an angry bite to his
voice.
“Some corpse might need you.”

“The dead deserve our attention.”

“You know, that’s the difference between you and me,
Maura.
You care about the dead. I care about the living.”

She watched him walk away. Not once did he look back.

Her phone had stopped ringing.

She flipped it open and saw that the call had come from St.
Francis
Hospital. She’d been waiting to hear the results of Ursula’s second
EEG,
but she could not deal with that right now; she was still absorbing the impact
of
Victor’s last words.

Rizzoli emerged from the interrogation room and came toward her,
an
apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry we couldn’t let you
listen
in,” Rizzoli said. “You understand why, right?”