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Jeannie didn't deny it But she didn't rub his face in it either. "Let's just say that going that rough on her is only going to put her on the defensive. And if she dislikes or distrusts us, you can forget her lifting a finger to help our investigation."
"She won't lift a finger to help if our investigation implicates her mother, either," Frank pointed out.
There was no arguing that one. "If," Jeannie stressed. "In the meantime..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Frank tossed the bag of carrots aside. "You're right. I drilled her too hard. Especially when I slammed home the idea that her mother's a possible suspect. She was royally pissed off. I'm not even sure I blame her. But, my short fuse aside, I don't think we can dismiss the possibility of Gloria Radcliffe's involvement, not after what came to light in that chat."
"I agree. She was in New York at the time of the shooting, and she sure as hell wants to keep her family's connection to Carson Brooks quiet. Of course, all that's circumstantial, and contingent on whether she knew Brooks was about to contact their daughter, and whether she can establish an alibi. If the answers to those questions are yes and no respectively, then we'd have motive and opportunity. So your reasoning was dead-on. It was your delivery that needed some toning down."
Deciding enough was enough, Jeannie waved away Frank's self-reproach, reaching for the bag of carrot sticks and taking out two—one for each of them. "Lecture over. Besides, there's a bright side to this. Your heated interrogation broadened the spectrum so it doesn't seem like we're on a witch hunt for Dylan Newport. That's the last thing I want Carson Brooks thinking. He's already not too happy with our progress, or the direction we're taking. He made that very clear to me this morning, even with a local anesthetic dulling his faculties."
Frank studied his partner intently. "You're not worried about what Brooks thinks. The truth is, you really don't believe Newport did it."
Jeannie released a harsh breath. "I told you, it doesn't sit right with me. His commitment to Brooks is just too real, and his mind's too sharp to plan a crime in which the key circumstantial evidence points to him." Her jaw tightened. "In the meantime, we're at no loss for suspects. The list seems to grow, rather than shrink. Roland Ferguson gave off some strange vibes when we talked to him yesterday. He's also got no witness to corroborate his whereabouts Monday evening but his wife. And she's so jittery, it's like trying to make eye contact with Road Runner. I actually had palpitations when we left her house."
"Stan Hager's a nervous wreck, too," Frank murmured, lacing his fingers behind his head. "I know we've only talked to him sporadically while he's pacing around outside ICU, but he's so hyper he's about to pop. I called him this morning to set up a meeting, and he fell all over himself setting up a time. I swear he was practically vibrating. He explained it away by saying he feels the weight of the company on his shoulders, but I'm not sure I buy it. He and Brooks go back thirty years—and he's lived every one of them in Brooks's shadow. I feel like he's holding something back; I just don't know what."
"What time's our meeting with him?"
"Two-thirty."
"Okay." Jeannie glanced quickly at her watch, and gave an exasperated sigh. "In the meantime, we've got three major competitors of Ruisseau we still need to do rundowns on. And now we've got Gloria Radcliffe to check into."
"Don't forget Claude Phelps," Frank reminded her. "We've got our heart-to-heart with him in an hour. He's making a special trip in to the corporate office just to meet with us."
"I can hardly wait. Sounds like a loose cannon, too, if you ask me."
"Agreed." Frank rubbed his eyes. "As you said, the list just keeps on growing."
"Let's slash a few names." Jeannie picked up the phone. "It's time to start setting up a few more appointments and verifying a few more alibis."
CHAPTER 13
12:35 P.M.
Mt Sinai Hospital
The upper half of Carson's bed was at a slight incline when the three of them walked in. He looked pale, but his eyes were sharp and alert.
"Don't even think about doping me up," he warned the nurse, who was in the process of adjusting his IV. His speech was still a little slow, but it was much clearer than yesterday. And, although he spoke in staccato phrases, he wasn't nearly as winded as before. "I mean it," he reiterated, glaring at the uniformed woman as she jotted down a few notes. "No drugs. I'll live with the pain. I'm conducting business. I need to be lucid."
She lowered her clipboard and rolled her eyes, looking more frustrated than intimidated. "Fine. But after your visitors leave..."
"We'll discuss it then. So long." A meaningful look until, muttering under her breath, the nurse left.
"You're obviously the most popular patient in ICU," Dylan observed dryly. "They'll probably throw a huge party when you leave."
"That's the point. If I'm a pain in the ass, maybe they'll kick me out sooner." Carson's gaze shifted immediately to Sabrina. "You look better. Did Dylan feed you?"
"Fed me and delivered me to my door," Sabrina confirmed. "He obeyed your orders to a tee. And I do feel better. I'm fine."
"Liar. You're a wreck." With that, his gaze shifted to Stan. "Morning, Hager. Or is it afternoon? Either way, I didn't expect you. Have you been hovering around, too, making sure I don't crap out on you? Because I'm not planning to die. So relax."
"Thanks for the reassurance." Stan didn't miss a beat. "Now I can sleep tonight. And here I thought I had to wait for the doctor to give me a prognosis. Stupid me. As for hovering around, don't flatter yourself. I dropped by because the coffee's good here, and I'm too lazy to brew my own."
"Well, buy yourself a cup and get over to Ruisseau. They need you. I don't. Christ, between you, Dylan, and Susan, I have three damned mothers."
Listening to this exchange, Sabrina's lips twitched in spite of herself. "Are you always this obnoxious?" she asked Carson.
