Bones Never Lie (Temperance Brennan, #17)(68)

“The witness who saw Leal outside the convenience store?”

“Maybe saw her.”

“How did you narrow in on Ajax?”

“Jesus, I already told you. I cross-checked the names from the DMV against the hospital employee list.”

Easy, Brennan.

“So Ajax works at Mercy?”

“Since 2009.”

“Doing what?”

“Part-time ER doc.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I did.”

“And now?”

“I do some digging.”

“On Ajax.”

“No. On the guy served my steak too rare last night.”

Deep breath. “Let me know what you learn.”

It took me a long time to drift off after that, and I slept fitfully, floating in and out of dreams starring Mama. On waking, I retained nothing but a sense of her presence and a potpourri of disjointed images.

Hands braiding long blond hair. A delicate brass bell on a bedside table. A glossy white vase with shamrocks curling its rim. Tears. The word “Belleek” coming from trembling lips.

I got out of bed feeling anxious. Useless.

I was pouring my second coffee when the phone rang.

Reflex. Time check: 7:40.

Slidell sounded drained, I guessed from working all night. He wasted no time on sarcasm or his version of wit. “Ajax is a pedophile.”

The word drove an icicle straight into my heart.

“Did a nickel in Oklahoma for molesting a kid.”

“Now what?”

“Now I invite the slimeball in for a chat.”

“I want to observe.”

“ ’Course you do.”

The interview was supposed to take place at three that afternoon. Turned out Slidell hadn’t been able to wait. When I got to the LEC, he and Ajax were already in an interview room. I walked past it to the adjacent one.

Barrow and a handful of CMPD detectives stood watching a monitor to which Ajax’s image was being transmitted. They looked up when I entered, expressions empty, expecting little, or unimpressed with what they were seeing. Barrow nodded and stepped to his left. The others shifted right. I moved into the space created for me.

Ajax took up most of the screen. He was a tall bony man in a suit made for a tall muscular man. His hair was black, his skin surprisingly pale. Tortoiseshell glasses magnified eyes already too large in a face overcommitted to nose. I thought he might be Middle Eastern, perhaps Indian or Pakistani.

He sat at a metal table, hands motionless on the simulated wood top. Behind him, the wall was mauve above waist level, white cinder block below. The floor-bolted cuffs had not been clamped on his ankles.

Slidell was opposite, one shoulder and a bit of greasy scalp visible on-screen. An unopened folder lay on his side of the table.

“Anything so far?” I asked.

Barrow shook his head.

“I worked last night as well as today.” Ajax’s tone was serene, his English subtly accented. “I’m quite weary now.”

“That what you used to tell the missus so you could bang that kid?”

No reaction from Ajax.

“Good scam. Claim to be at the hospital, go cruising instead.”

“I’ve told you. It wasn’t like that.”

“Right. The kid was your family’s babysitter. That made it okay.”

“I’m not saying my conduct was appropriate. I’m saying I never sought children out.”

“Easier to hit on the ones who already trusted you.” Slidell’s tone dripped with disgust.

“There were no others.”

“Bullshit.”

“I made a mistake. The circumstances were … unusual.”

“How’s that?”

“The girl in question was mature for her age. Her behavior was provocative.”

I felt my whole body cringe with repugnance.

“You perverted piece of scum.” On-screen.

“Gives scum a bad name.” The detective behind me.

“I served my time,” Ajax said, unruffled. “I underwent therapy.”

“Last I checked, the sex registry ain’t optional for mutants like you.”

“I submitted my name in Oklahoma.”

“This ain’t Oklahoma.”

“My offense was fifteen years ago. I was required to register for ten.”

“You do that back when you landed here?”

Ajax pulled a wry grin. “I am a changed man.”

“A real humanitarian.”

“I cure the sick.”

“Let’s go back over that. You stitched up a sixteen-year-old name of Colleen Donovan. Street kid brought in by the cops. Head wound.”

“I repeat. I treat hundreds of patients each year.”

“How about Shelly Leal. Came in last summer complaining of cramps.”

“Without access to charts, I can’t possibly know.”

“Yeah? Well, we know.” Slidell’s hand came into view. Flipped open the folder and removed a printout.

I looked at Barrow. He shook his head, indicating it was a ruse.

“Perhaps I treated this patient.” Unruffled. “What of it?”

Slidell’s hand took a second paper from the folder and winged it across the table. “That your car?”