Bloody Genius (Virgil Flowers, #12)(57)

“She didn’t do that,” Miles said. “She’d never heard, or heard of, the recording before Trane played it for her.”

Quill continued. “Second, if this recording referred to an actual event, and if that actual event took place—an unethical operation with a poor or even bad result—the whole estate could be in jeopardy and might not be settled for years and years. If the patient’s family sued the estate . . . You see what I mean.”

“I do,” Virgil said. “All of this occurred to you in a few seconds that Officer Trane was interviewing you?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “If Officer Trane were here, I would tell her I absolutely did not lie to her, although I might have been somewhat equivocal in my answers to her questions. I did not kill my husband. I have no idea who did it or why. I was astounded when I heard, and even more astonished when I learned of the circumstances: beaten to death in the library. I mean, if he’d been walking down the street and somebody had tried to rob him or something, that can happen to anyone. But these circumstances . . .”

They all sat and looked at one another for a few seconds.

Virgil believed her. It was exactly the kind of unhelpful outcome he’d feared: a dead end.

He continued to stare at Quill for a couple of beats, then asked, “You told Margaret that you’re not involved in a personal relationship at this time—or any time—since you and Mr. Quill started talking divorce.”

Quill’s eyes flicked toward Miles and then back, the round-trip taking only a microsecond. “That’s correct. I was quite clear with her. I understood what she was asking—whether a friend might have killed Barth, hoping to benefit himself. There was no one.”

Virgil asked about the other voices on the recording, but those, she said, she absolutely did not recognize.

“It’s obvious where they come from, though—they must be other doctors. Barth only worked out of the university hospitals, so it must be somebody over there. If it actually was Barth, I’m still not sure of that. I’m not equivocating, I’m just not positive. There’s something not right about the recording.”

“What’s not right?” Virgil asked.

“All those voices. They all sound different, but then they all sound the same.” After a bit more thought, she added, “Of course, they’re all doctors, all working in the same place. Maybe it’s a cultural similarity.”

After a few more unproductive questions, Virgil was stuck. Miles said, “Are we done?”

“At least for the time being,” Virgil said.

“All of this will be held in strictest confidence?”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Virgil said. “I’ll talk to Margaret, who’s leading the investigation. We will have to see if we can find the other people on the recording. What happens then?” He shrugged.

“Oh, God, it’s going to get out,” Quill said to Miles.

“Not if the police handle it with even a little bit of restraint,” Miles said. He smiled at Virgil. “I’m sure they will—for legal reasons, if nothing else.”

Virgil smiled back. There was a threat in that comment, but it was nicely put. “Of course we will,” he said.

“Something else,” Miles said. “I can’t tell you how to do your job, but isn’t it obvious that the attack on Dr. Quill had nothing to do with this recording?”

“Explain how it’s obvious,” Virgil said.

Miles threw his hands up. “Think about it. Officer Trane described to Nancy what Dr. Quill was doing the night before he was killed. Apparently, he drove over to a commercial neighborhood and left his car and then wandered around aimlessly, going to the library maybe once, maybe twice. If these people who were talking to him on the recording actually agreed to this unethical operation—they must have been doctors—why would they link up with Dr. Quill at the library in the middle of the night? Why not in one of their offices during the day? Why not at one of their homes, if they wanted more privacy? I don’t see it, Virgil. What happened in the library happened because of something Dr. Quill was doing in the library. Not because of something that happened in a surgical suite. If it happened at all.”

“You have a point,” Virgil said. “But doesn’t it still come back to his professional life? Maybe there was something on that computer that would have caused somebody a large problem. Maybe that person knew about the computer, went there to steal it, and was surprised by Dr. Quill. What could it be? Could it be related to the recording? We know the recording was actually in Dr. Quill’s CD player, so he must have been listening to it recently.”

“That’s a pretty thin connection,” Miles said.

“No, it’s not thin. The CD one day, the murder the next. There must be a connection. If I could figure out what it is, I could catch the killer.”

Miles shook his head. “Good luck with that. I still don’t see it.”



* * *



—

When Virgil left Miles’s office, he called Trane, who didn’t answer the phone. Could be in court, Virgil thought. Disturbed by what Miles said, he decided to attempt to track down the other people on the recording. The best shot, he figured, was Carl Anderson, Quill’s lab director. He called ahead to make sure Anderson was in the office. He was, and he said he would be there for a while. Virgil drove back across the river and went up to the lab.