Insidious

“So my successor is Alexander. Last year I arranged a position for him as a consulting lawyer for the Smithsonian—they were pleased enough that a Rasmussen family member would be associated with them in a role like that. They provided a small office for him in the tower. He’s concerned with the provenance of their newly acquired collections, rather than simply focusing on making money, as he did with that law firm in New York. Of course, he doesn’t appreciate my pressing him into that position, but I felt it was important for him to be involved in bettering the community, in giving back. Our family has never failed to do that. I’d hoped he’d settle in after a time, but I’m afraid he’s not very happy there.”

Savich imagined that all Alexander—never Alex—wanted was to leave Washington in his rearview to run Rasmussen Industries from a newly relocated headquarters, most likely New York. He never seemed much interested in giving back. He recalled that Alexander had been eased out of the prestigious law firm in New York—Rathstone, Grace, and Ward—in his second year. Why? Was he not up to it? Or was it malfeasance? “Venus, why was Alexander let go from Rathstone, Grace, and Ward?”

She seamed her mouth. So there was something there, something Venus didn’t like to talk about. Savich let it go, backed off. He’d ask Alexander in interview. “What about his personal life? Is he seeing anyone?”

“After he and Belinda divorced three years ago, he did go through a rough patch. I know he’s escorted high-powered women to various functions from time to time, but as to anyone special, he hasn’t said anything to me nor would I expect him to. He’s very private.”

Savich said, “All right. Let’s talk about Guthrie.”

“I dearly love my son. I can’t imagine he would be responsible for this. If such a thing did ever come to his mind, it would fall right back out. His life is easy and comfortable, predictable, and he dearly likes that. He’s always been rather indolent, in fact, and utterly indifferent to woes not his own, which is a pity because he has a very good brain. I think my husband and I spoiled him rotten, not intending to, of course, but it was the early years of the Vietnam War and so many young men were dying and we loved our son, wanted the best for him.

“Like Isabel, I agree this is evil. Guthrie isn’t evil.” She shook her head, looked at them straight on. “The only worthwhile thing Guthrie ever managed to accomplish was to marry the woman who gave birth to his second son, Rob—so bright, so eager to eat life right up.”

Savich cocked his head, surprised to hear Rob’s name. Robert Rasmussen was the black sheep of the family, wild to a fault as a teenager, arrested for joyriding, marijuana, and a couple of bar fights. He’d escaped prison only because Venus had pulled strings. “Rob? You’ve heard from him?”

Venus was silent.

Savich said, “It’s been what, Venus, ten years?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Venus said. “He has nothing to do with this.” She rose slowly, not waiting for Savich to help her. They heard Isabel coming.

“Mr. Paul is setting out Dillon and Sherlock’s lunches, Ms. Venus, and L’Etoile just delivered yours. All of you are free to come to the dining room whenever you wish.”

“A moment,” Savich said, and took himself off to the modern kitchen, the size of two New York apartments, to speak to Mr. Paul personally. He was greeted by the smell of Spanish risotto and several classic Gaelic shrugs from Mr. Paul, who accepted his apologies with raised black eyebrows and rolling eyes. His opinion was that some malcontent in the steel business, possibly a German, had crept into the kitchen and done this foul deed. He turned up his nose when the lovely lunch from L’Etoile arrived. The chef there, he believed, was a commoner with no imagination.

He served Savich and Sherlock his Spanish risotto, freshly baked rolls to die for, and a salad of poached pears. As Savich took a bite of the risotto, better than his own, he had to admit, he thought again of Rob. Venus had seemed to mention him by accident. Why? Was he back? Had he contacted her, asking her for money? Was Venus still protecting him? Was Rob Rasmussen a seasoned criminal now, maybe the one responsible for this? The more Savich thought about it the more he was convinced Venus was right. It was poison.

Sherlock bit into a roll, closed her eyes at the taste. Then it was back to business. It was like she was reading his mind when she said, “Dillon once told me Rob was more than a bit wild, but he always liked him. He said Rob was a straightforward guy who never made excuses. Dillon and Rob had a fight once, you know. Dillon couldn’t remember what it was about. Since he was four years older than Rob and trained, he put him on the ground in no time, held him down. What was it he said to you, Dillon?”

“I remember he was gushing blood from his nose. When I pulled him to his feet, he tore off a sleeve and pressed it hard against his face. Then he started laughing and said no matter I’d bloodied his nose I was still a wuss and he guessed he owed me a beer.”

Venus smiled but didn’t say anything. What was happening? He’d hoped that story would open a spigot, but it hadn’t.

Savich went with his instincts. “Venus, you know I always liked Rob, but I couldn’t ever figure out how to help him, how to make him see that occasionally doing something other than shooting himself in the foot could be a smarter choice. Then he was simply gone, into the army. Ten years I haven’t heard his name spoken. Until today. You sounded pleased when you mentioned him. Have you seen him?”

“I’d rather not talk about him now, Dillon. I’d like to keep Rob out of this—this mess. I didn’t mean for his name to slip out. I’m old, it happens.”

As they were preparing to leave a half hour later, after a dessert of orange sorbet, Savich pulled Venus gently against him. “I know you’re sure it’s poison. I know you’re scared and you’re angry and you feel betrayed. But we don’t know about any of it yet. Don’t jump ahead and make yourself crazy. We’ll be speaking with our forensics lab this afternoon, and I’ll call you. Do think about that list, Venus, do it now. And don’t forget, do not eat or drink anything given to you in this house. If you’ve been poisoned, you specifically have been targeted, no one else.”

Venus pulled away. “It’s very difficult. Thank you, Dillon, Sherlock, for coming.” She walked with them to the door. “I’ll get the list to you as soon as I’m able. Now, though, I have to get to a board meeting at the office. Life must go on.”