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“So while you weren’t sleeping, did you think anymore about our ‘nightcap’ with Donovan Carter?” asked Knox.
“Carter gave us an excuse to go back and talk to Reynolds again.”
“The visit your brother made to Reynolds?”
“Exactly.”
“She’ll be at work now most likely.”
“She works for DoD. I’m a duly assigned military investigator. Nothing prohibits us from interviewing her while she’s at work.”
“What are you going to ask her?”
“I want her take on the encounter with Bobby. And I want to watch her while she answers the questions.”
“Body language cues?”
“They often tell more than what the person actually says.”
Puller had called ahead and Susan Reynolds met them in her office, a modest space that looked, oddly enough, both cluttered and organized. Her security lanyard was around her neck, her features were placid, and she greeted them politely and indicated chairs for them to take.
She sat down and waited.
As Puller lowered himself into the chair he let his gaze sweep her office. He saw no items that were not work-related. The woman didn’t even have any plants.
As his gaze came back to her, he found that she was staring at him. And Puller could tell she knew exactly what he had been doing.
“I like to keep things streamlined and separate,” she said. “Professional and personal.”
“I can understand that.” He pointed at one photo showing a younger Reynolds in a line of all men on what appeared to be an airstrip. “That looks interesting.”
She turned to look at it. “Back in the 1990s I was part of a START verification team when the U.S. and the Soviets were whittling down their nuclear stockpiles. As you can see from the photo, I was the only woman on either team, and the youngest by far. Quite a feather in my cap. But I had worked hard for the opportunity.”
“Interesting work?” asked Knox.
“Yes. Although by seven o’clock each night the Russians had drunk enough vodka to float an aircraft carrier. So I’m not sure how accurate their verification was. But I never touched a drop and I crossed every t and dotted every i,” she added emphatically.
“I’m sure you did,” said Puller. “Now, we’ve been told that Robert Puller—”
Reynolds cut in. “Your brother, you mean. I knew it the first time we met.”
Puller continued, “We were told that Robert Puller came to see you?”
“Came to kill me, more likely.”
“But he didn’t kill you.”
“I was able to get away, found a gun, and he ran like the coward he obviously is.”
“So he tied you up?”
“No, he put a gun to my head and then injected me with what he said was poison. I couldn’t believe the bastard had done that. Maybe prison made him crazy.”
“So you were able to overpower him and get to your gun?”
“I didn’t say I overpowered him. He’s a man and, as you know, he’s far larger than I am. But I’m not exactly a weakling. I managed to hit him in the face with a lamp. Before he could recover I got to the bookcase. I keep a forty-five pistol there. I drew it. When he realized I was armed and ready to shoot, he turned and ran. I tried to stop him, but he was too fast. I called the police but they couldn’t find him.”
“You hit him in the face with a lamp?”
“I did.”
“That must have hurt.”
“I hope it hurt like hell,” she said. “He deserved to be hurt a lot.”
“Bruised and bloody probably.”
“Yes. He was. And surprised, I’m sure.”
“And what did he want?” asked Puller.
“He threatened me. He wanted me to confess that I had done something wrong.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Knox.
Reynolds peered at her as though just that minute realizing she was there.
“How am I supposed to think like a nutcase? He’s desperate. He’s escaped from prison. He’s killed a man. Maybe two men.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Puller sharply.
“I heard about Niles Robinson. We’ve all heard about him. Gunned down at the train station.”
“Why would you think Robert Puller would be involved in that?” asked Knox.
Reynolds gave her a patronizing stare. “Oh, I don’t know, let’s think about it. He breaks into my house at gunpoint and threatens me because I testified against him. Then soon thereafter Niles Robinson, who also testified against him, is shot and killed at Union Station. What are the odds of that having been done by two different people when Robert Puller was absolutely in the area? Don’t insult my intelligence!”
“So what did you tell Puller?” asked Knox.
“I told him lots of things. To get out. To leave me alone. To never darken my door again. And then when he stuck me in the neck with what he said was poison I of course told him whatever he wanted to hear.”
“And why would you do that?” asked Puller.
Now it was his turn to receive a condescending look. “Because I felt sorry for him and wanted him never to go back to prison. And I very much wanted to confess to treason and take his place.” She suddenly snapped, “Why the hell do you think? Because he told me that was the only way I was getting the damn antidote to the poison he injected me with.”
“But he didn’t actually poison you,” pointed out Puller.
“Right, I know that now. He told me he’d injected me with an organophosphate. Nasty stuff, let me tell you. I was scared out of my wits. I would have said anything to get the antidote.”
“So when you hit him with the lamp and got to a gun, what did you expect would happen?”
“That I would force him to give me the antidote.”
“And when he got away?”
“I called the police and the paramedics. I literally thought I had minutes to live. I was out of my mind with fright, thanks to that bastard.”
“And I guess you were relieved when that turned out not to be the case?” noted Knox.
Reynolds didn’t even dignify that with an answer.
They asked Reynolds a few more questions and then left. As Puller turned back around at the doorway he saw Reynolds staring right at him. She wasn’t smiling or looking triumphant. She was just watching him. And then she turned and went back to her work.
As they walked down the corridor Knox said, “Every time I see that woman I want to strangle her.”
“Not me, I’d just shoot her,” said Puller.
She looked up at him. “So did you get any good body cues from the witch?”
“Ironically enough, this time it really was more what she said than how she said it.”
“What do you mean?”
Puller knew she hadn’t hit his brother with a lamp. He was neither bruised nor bloody. But he couldn’t tell Knox that without revealing that he and his brother had met. Yet there was something else.
“I checked the toxicology report that they did on Reynolds after my brother supposedly injected her with poison. Remember that Carter said they had done one? Well, I got a copy emailed to me this morning.”
“But it didn’t find poison.”
