You Have the Right to Remain Silent (18 page)

“You don't know the Defense Department.” Quinn ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Hoo. Defense is so damned prickly, Normally I'd send Conrad Webb to Washington to straighten it out, but now …” Abruptly he sat back down. “You think I'm overreacting, don't you? I hope to god you're right. So. Page told you about Soundbender, did he?”

Marian tried to look innocent. “To tell you the truth, I didn't really understand that part about the earth-curvature limitations.”

“Oh, it's simple enough when you consider Soundbender's just an extension of current technology. Information-gathering agencies use lasers to amplify window glass vibrations and convert them into audible sounds. But the Defense Department got it into its collective head that depending on spy satellites alone was too risky, so they want to operate the lasers from regular aircraft—much closer to the ground, you see. The idea is to keep the planes safely in American air space but still have them listen in all over the world. But the surface of the earth curves, and lasers travel in a straight line. The problem is obvious.”

“So an airplane flying over Tucson can eavesdrop on a conversation in Beijing? No privacy at all left in the world, is there? Anyone with the right computer knowledge can enter a bank account and help himself, and now no conversation anywhere will be safe from being overheard. The next thing you know, even our thoughts will no longer be private.”

“Yes. That's coming.” Quinn didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the idea.

“And as important and earthshaking and all-consuming as Soundbender is,” Marian said casually, “it still doesn't have doodleysquat to do with the East River Park murders.”

“What?”

Marian uttered a silent prayer that Rachel North knew what she was talking about. “Nobody sold any Soundbender secrets, Mr. Quinn. The leak had to do with an entirely different project. And you must have known that all along.”

“What are you saying?”

“You know what I'm saying. Universal Laser has something else on the burner, something even more dangerous than a supereavesdropping system. Why don't you tell me about it?”

Quinn spread his hands. “We have a dozen projects in development.”

“But only one of them significant enough to get four men murdered. Which one, Mr. Quinn? And how did you find out about the leak?”

“You're mistaken, Sergeant Larch. Nothing like that is—”

“Stop it!” Marian commanded angrily. “Stop lying! Your whole company knows that leak led to the killings, and it's got them scared to death. But only key personnel know what the connection is. One of you is going to talk eventually—we're going to find out, one way or another. It would be better if it came from you.”

Tiny beads of sweat had appeared on Quinn's upper lip. “I repeat, you are mistaken. And I don't take kindly to being called a liar, Sergeant. The biggest project we have going is Soundbender and—”

“Liar. Get used to it, Quinn, because I'm going to keep on calling you a liar until I get the rest of the story. You know what's going on and you're keeping it from the police. As I see it, that makes you an accessory. And we will prosecute, you can bet your ass on that. So why don't you just cut through all the bullshit and tell me
what the hell is going on?
”

“Get out,” Quinn said hoarsely. “I want you out. Right now.”

Marian stood up slowly. “Okay, you can throw me out, but you can't stop the entire NYPD from doing its job. Talk to me, dammit! Get your lawyer over here if you like, but
talk to me
.”

“I said get out! Lewis! Lewis!” The manservant appeared immediately. “Escort the sergeant out.
All the way
out.”

“This way, please,” Lewis said without a flicker of expression.

Marian followed him out to the entrance hall. She glanced back to see Quinn standing in the doorway of the room she'd just left, watching tensely. Did he think she was going to hide behind a chair and then pounce out on him? She stepped through the door the manservant was holding open.

Lewis had a disapproving look on his face. “You put him on the spot, you know,” he whispered, and closed the door silently behind her.

Friday morning the light was a peculiar color … storm brewing? Not a very good omen for Kelly's opening night, when the Critics from Hell were expected in force. Marian would have to give her friend a call later during the morning, when she was sure Kelly was up;
you can do it, enjoy yourself
, something upbeat and positive. Marian knew she was not supposed to say
good luck
; for some reason that was
bad
luck. And she didn't think she could say
break a leg
without giggling. But she did want to talk to Kelly, on this most important day of her friend's life.

Marian checked over the clothes she planned to wear that night, her thoughts full of Kelly and what she must be going through right now. The waiting must be torture. Would they be squeezing in a last-minute rehearsal, or would the actors have the day off to prepare themselves? A whole day to think about all the things that could go wrong. To worry about forgetting their lines. To build up an intense fear of the critics.
Will they like me? Will they boo me off the stage?
“Thank god I'm not an actor,” Marian said aloud.

She was still thinking of Kelly while she got ready for work. Marian was excited about that evening; she was excited for her friend and she was excited for herself. An opening night. A Reaffirmation of Civilization within a Savage World. An Oasis of Creativity in the Desert of Destructiveness. Marian laughed at herself and pulled on new black slacks and a soft white sweater she'd been saving for a special occasion. Today
felt
special. She took a raincoat down to toss in the back seat of the car and drove to the East Fifth Street parking lot across the street from the station.

Upstairs in the PDU room, Trevor Page was sitting at her desk drinking coffee. He got up when he saw her come in and pointed to a brown paper bag. “Eat your breakfast.”

The bag contained fresh pineapple and a brioche, still warm in its aluminum foil wrapping. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Your boss wants a show-and-tell. Someone called me at six to make sure I'd be here.” He went to get her some coffee.

The pineapple was tangy and cold, just right with the buttery brioche. Foley and three of the other four detectives assigned to the East River Park murders were sipping at their own cups of coffee and helping themselves to a bakery box full of danish. Gloria Sanchez hadn't come in yet. Marian wondered where Curt Holland was; she hadn't seen him since Tuesday night, after that humiliating scene at Brian's gallery when she'd told him to disappear. He'd certainly taken her at her word. She asked Page.

“I didn't want to pull him off his search for the money trail,” Page said. “Holland gets a bit tetchy when his concentration's broken. Besides, only one of us needs to be here.”

“He hasn't found anything yet?”

Page shrugged. “He says he has a couple of lines to follow. It's a complicated business.”

Marian had finished her breakfast and thanked Page for it. “What time did Captain DiFalco want to start?”

“The androgynous voice on the phone said eight o'clock,” he said.

She looked at her watch, but saw only a blank silver face. “Oh-oh. I need a new batch watery.”

“A new what?”

“I mean watch battery.” She told him about Kelly's spoonerism. “It must be catching.”

“How'd you and Kelly Ingram ever meet?”

“A case I was working on. A friend of hers was killed.”

Gloria Sanchez came in and lowered herself gently into her chair, looking half asleep and hung over. Marian could get no clues from her clothing whether she was black or Hispanic—no ethnic self-parody today? A first for Sanchez. Right on cue Captain DiFalco joined the rest of them, perching on Sanchez's desk. “Okay, folks, let's get started. I want to make sure that every one of you knows what everyone else is doing. I'm especially interested in what you learned at Universal Laser yesterday. But first, I'd like to hear from the FBI about this arms dealer who died Sunday.”

Page nodded and told them everything he knew about Evan Christopher, which wasn't much. “We're still looking for a money link between Christopher and any member of the Universal Laser liaison team, concentrating on Jason O'Neill. Without that link, we've got nothing. But as things now stand, Evan Christopher is our best hope.”

Marian cleared her throat. “You put a tap on Edgar Quinn's home phone, didn't you? Anything there?”

“Not a damned thing. Mostly personal calls, some legitimate business stuff. But Mrs. Quinn uses the phone the most at home.” Page smiled faintly. “The manservant plays the ponies.”

Lewis, a gambler? “And that's all?”

“That's all. As far as we're concerned, Edgar Quinn is clean.”

“All right,” said DiFalco. “What about Universal Laser? Larch, you first. What did you get yesterday?”

“I found out what Universal Laser's hush-hush project is,” Marian said with an apologetic glance at Page, “and I also found out that it most likely has nothing to do with the East River Park murders.” She told them about Project Soundbender and Rachel North's conviction that the killings were connected to a different project, one the secretary had no firsthand knowledge of.

“That's what all the fuss is about?” Foley said with disgust. “Some eavesdropping machine? I'da thought they had the ultimate weapon, the way everyone was carrying on.”

Marian couldn't believe her ears. “Foley, don't you understand what it means?”

“Later,” Captain DiFalco stopped her. “All you've got to go on is what this one secretary told you, right?”

“That's all so far, but the others will start talking now that someone else has opened up. And Rachel North is in a position to know, Captain. She handled all of Sherman Bigelow's business for him, typed his papers. And she's positive there's no connection between whatever was leaked and Project Sound-bender. Soundbender was just business as usual during all the panic about the leak.”

Page was groaning audibly. “Marian, you're not supposed to know about Soundbender!”

“So what do we know?” she asked him reasonably. “The name of the project and the fact that it has to do with converting vibrations into sound. No state secrets are out.”

“You can never be too careful,” he insisted. “I don't think you understand how many terrorist groups are watching this country every minute for any little slip we make, just waiting for a chance to attack in any way they can. What are we supposed to do about them?”

“Nuke 'em till they glow?” Gloria Sanchez suggested lazily.

“Look, I know you all think the Bureau is paranoid and I can't do anything about that,” Page said earnestly, “but I must ask you to forget you ever heard the word ‘Soundbender.' Never say it again, even among yourselves.”

“Sure, sure,” DiFalco said impatiently. “If it's not behind the East River Park murders, we're not interested anyway. Larch, you got anything else?”

She told them about her subsequent interview with Edgar Quinn and her own conviction that Quinn was lying when he denied the “secret” project story. “The FBI may consider him clean, but I don't—sorry, Trevor. Certain key people at Universal Laser are working on something they don't want us to know about, they don't even want the rest of the
company
to know about.” Marian said she'd leaned on Quinn as much as she could until he threw her out.

One of the other detectives had a question. “That word we're not supposed to say—it was just a red herring? Nothing more?”

“It was a red herring handed to us by Edgar Quinn,” Marian said. “He wants us to think the killings are connected to you-know-what, which is another good reason to keep him on our suspects list.”

“A list of one,” DiFalco grumbled. “And another secret project, just what we need. But Quinn says not?”

“Quinn is saying as little as possible,” Marian replied.

“Maybe you shouldn't have challenged him,” Page suggested.

“Maybe not,” Marian acknowledged, “but I wasn't getting anywhere with nice and polite.”

“Okay, what about the rest of you,” DiFalco said. “Get anything?”

Sanchez was the only one with something to report. “What I got backs up Marian, in a way. Elizabeth Tanner was telling me general stuff about Universal Laser, and she started to say ‘weapon' but changed it to ‘project.' The first time it happened, I didn't pay much attention. But when she did it
four more times
, I got the message. Also, she made a point of telling me twice that Universal was working on a new technology with no Defense Department contract to underwrite it. And here's the kicker. This new technology? She kept calling it ‘Edgar's project.'”

DiFalco actually smiled. “Conclusion?”

“Conclusion—the lady wants us to know Edgar Quinn is using his company to develop a weapon that even the government doesn't know about. She wants us to know
real bad
.”

Page frowned. “That's just supposition.”

Sanchez gave him a big smile, all flashing white teeth. “Yeah. But it's
good
supposition.”

“But why would she give all that away?”

“She wants Quinn's job,” Marian said. “Another thing. Remember the ‘message' aspect of the murders? The handcuffs, the bullet through the eye, as if the killings were a warning? These people at Universal who're working on this new weapon—I wonder if they're the ones who were being warned. Keep your mouths shut or look what will happen to you.”

DiFalco whistled. “That must be some weapon. And the liaison group had talked? All of them?”