Venus turned and stared at Kendrick like he’d just slithered from beneath a rock. “I beg your pardon?”
Kendrick stared at her, froze. He swallowed, looked ready to choke. “Ah, oh, it—it’s you, Mrs. Rasmussen—” He stopped dead, flushed red to his eyebrows, realizing he was standing not three feet from the biggest financial gun he’d ever speak to in his lifetime. “Ah, ma’am—Mrs. Rasmussen—you really shouldn’t hurt Mr. Willig. He’s already hurt.”
Venus waved a graceful hand toward Willig. “Of course he is. He should probably be dead for what he tried to do. Who are you?”
“I’m Mr. Willig’s lawyer, ma’am, Morton James Kendrick.” He didn’t want to be intimidated by one of the most powerful women in America, but he was, and knew he sounded like a prisoner being sentenced by the hanging judge.
Savich wanted to laugh, it was everything he’d hoped for. He looked at Sherlock, knowing she was having trouble keeping her face straight. Veronica had her hand over her mouth to keep in a laugh as well. The three of them watched Venus eye Kendrick slowly up and down. “It seems to me, Mr. Kendrick, that you have a great deal to talk about with your client. You can represent him until he runs out of the small bit of money he has to pay you for defending him against a charge of attempted murder, or you can convince him to tell us who hired him and accept one hundred thousand dollars from me, as well as my promise to intercede with the prosecutor to keep his sentence as short as possible. What do you have to say to Mr. Willig?”
Savich saw Kendrick swallow, could practically see him counting zeroes in his head, saw the you’d-better-take-the-bucks look he gave to Willig.
As for Willig, he was staring up at Venus as if mesmerized. Finally, he nodded, and whispered, “All right. I’ll tell you everything I know. It was that good-looking broad over there who’s acting all righteous, like she’d fling herself in front of a bus for you.”
Veronica opened her mouth, hissed, but Savich said over her, “You don’t even know her name, do you?”
Venus fisted her hand, but she didn’t smack him again. She really wanted to, very much, for that rank bit of idiocy, but she didn’t. She sighed and shook her head in disappointment, her eyes never leaving his face. Then she turned to Kendrick. “I will leave it to you, Mr. Kendrick, to talk Mr. Willig into accepting one hundred thousand dollars in exchange for the truth. And you will tell him he will give us the proof we need to be certain it is the truth, since his word isn’t worth much, now is it? Don’t stand there like blubber fallen off a whale, make your brain-dead client own up.”
Savich had to say that Big Mort looked ready to shoot Willig if he didn’t cooperate. His cut would be what? Thirty thousand dollars? Savich watched him clear his throat and boom out, “Yes, very well. Vincent, tell her the truth. I will get it in writing that Mrs. Rasmussen will pay you one hundred thousand dollars for the name of the person who allegedly hired you.”
Willig yelled, “I want more than the money. I want to walk, no jail time. I want that in writing, too.”
Savich said, “Mr. Willig, I’ve already spoken to the federal prosecutor. If you are ready to tell the truth, to cooperate fully, he’s willing to sit down and talk with you. But you will serve some time, no way around it.”
Willig gave him a cunning look. “How much time would I be looking at?”
“Your attorney can work that out with the prosecutor.”
“You think I’d trust a lawyer? Only fools trust lawyers.” Willig stared over at Big Mort. “How much would you take of my one hundred thousand?”
“Thirty percent,” Big Mort said.
“See that? Thirty percent for doing exactly nothing. Tell you what, I’ll think about it. Get me some pain meds.”
Savich said, “You have twenty-four hours. I suggest you consider the alternative, Mr. Willig, namely spending the rest of your life in Attica.”
25
* * *
RASMUSSEN MANSION
WASHINGTON, D.C.
TUESDAY EVENING
Venus’s face lit up when Rob strolled into the living room that evening and smiled broadly at his family. Ten years had passed and now a man stood in front of them, not a boy. His father, Guthrie, inhaled sharply and smiled. His voice was scarce above a whisper. “Robbie, it’s really you?”
“Yes, Father, I’m home.”
Savich thought for a moment Guthrie would leap out of his chair and embrace his son, but there was too much reticence on both sides, too much uncertainty. But no one could be blind to the hunger in both men’s eyes. It was like a beacon for all to see, including Alexander, who stood motionless by the fireplace, allowing no expression at all on his face. Rob looked at his brother from a distance of fifteen feet. “Alexander.”
Alexander said nothing, merely nodded to him.
Venus rose, her beautiful Rasmussen green eyes lit to a hundred watts, and when Rob leaned down and kissed her cheek, she hugged him close, a look of sheer joy on her face. Savich saw how gently Rob held her, so very carefully, until she turned away toward his girlfriend, shook her hand, and lightly patted her cheek. “You’re Marsia, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Marsia Gay was tall and model thin, her dark hair cut in a wedge that came to two sharp points at her jawline. She had remarkable dark purple eyes. Sherlock felt the pull of her when Marsia held out her white artist’s hand and beautiful long fingers to Venus. “At last,” Venus said, smiling at her. “Rob has told me so much about you, particularly your amazing sculptures. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to our home.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Rasmussen.”
“I believe you are younger than I expected.”
Rob gave them a silly grin. “Perhaps Marsia looks so much younger, Grandmother, because she never had the threat of jail hanging over her head like one of us here.”
There was a bit of laughter, and all eyes fixed on him.
Rob looked back over his shoulder. “The two guards you have posted outside were so thorough I expected to be strip-searched. I’m relieved they’re here, Grandmother.”
“I am as well. They will remain until this matter is resolved. Now, let Marsia meet everyone.” She made the introductions with an unspoken yet very real threat in her voice that the entire family seemed to heed, and wisely. Even Alexander stayed civil, though he eyed his brother with wariness and barely veiled contempt.