Twisted Prey (Lucas Davenport #28)(84)



She guided him out of line, and Bunch asked, “What’s going on?”

Chase said, “We’ve arrested your client John McCoy. We’re holding him around the corner in a car. We are serving you with an NSL, a National Security Letter.” The young agent handed him the envelope.

“I know what an NSL is,” Bunch said, as he took the envelope. “But why?”

“Because your client is being held on a national security issue. We’d appreciate it if you could walk around the corner with us and advise your client of his rights and consult with him about what he should do this evening. We are taking him in for questioning.”

“How did you know we’d be meeting? Have you wiretapped me?”

“We have a warrant to cover Mr. McCoy’s phone calls. One of his calls went to you. But we were not monitoring you specifically.”

“Better not have been,” Bunch said. Then, “Where’s John?”

“Right around the corner,” Chase said, “like I said. Would you like to get a cup of coffee before you talk to him?”

Bunch looked down at his shoes, thinking, eventually nodding. “All right. I better get the coffee.”





23


McCoy and the other three Heracles employees arrested that evening were interrogated in four separate oversized FBI interview rooms by four separate interrogation teams, with Jane Chase moving among them.

Lucas, Bob, and Rae were not invited to the interrogations themselves, but each of the rooms was equipped with a discreet video camera, and they watched McCoy’s interview on a high-resolution screen in a separate observation room.

McCoy had been checked by a doctor for physical injuries after being decked by Bob, but the doc found only a few developing bruises, and McCoy agreed that he wasn’t badly injured. The interviews were two-part, with the interrogation teams first asking a series of questions, then Bunch and McCoy adjourning to a secure conference room to talk privately.

McCoy was willing to confirm some of the information in the documents hidden by Ritter but volunteered no further information, denying knowing anything about the attack on Smalls and Weather or the related murders of Whitehead and Last. When asked about Ritter’s death, he said, “Everybody knows that the marshal did it—Davenport. Jim was waterboarded and executed because Davenport thought Jim attacked his wife.”

The FBI interrogator said, “Mr. Ritter wasn’t interrogated. He wasn’t waterboarded. He was shot twice, in the heart, a few minutes after talking with Mr. Parrish.”

McCoy: “I’ve seen the autopsy report.”

“So have I. It doesn’t say anything about waterboarding because it didn’t happen,” the fed said. “I don’t suppose those documents were given to you by either Mr. Claxson or Mr. Parrish, the very people who’d have the most to gain from Mr. Ritter’s death?”

McCoy sat back, his tongue trailed across his lips, and he asked, “Parrish? What does Parrish have to do with it?”

The interrogator said, “Give me a minute.” He disappeared out the door, leaving McCoy and Bunch in the interview room. A few minutes later, Chase stuck her head in the door of the room where Lucas was watching with Bob and Rae, and said, “Lucas, we think we could use you in the room with McCoy. We want you to give him your theory of Ritter’s death.”

Lucas nodded. “Sure.”



* * *





LUCAS WALKED DOWN the hall to the interview room, where the interrogator was waiting. The interrogator asked, “You get the idea?”

“Yeah. Give him a reason to turn.”

Lucas followed the interrogator into the room, and McCoy looked up, frowned, and said, “Hey!”

Lucas said, “Nice to see you again, John.”

McCoy said, “What?”

“The way you reacted to the FBI guys, I thought maybe you’d taken a lesson from me, outside that tailor shop.”

McCoy shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You killed Jim.”

Lucas took a chair across the table across from McCoy, and said, “Couple of things. First, you knew who I was. You’ve never seen me before except outside that tailor shop unless you’ve seen some photograph or have been doing surveillance on me. How’d you know who I was when I came through the door?”

McCoy said, “Fuck you.”

Lucas said, “Second, I didn’t kill Jim Ritter. The most likely candidate for that is Jack Parrish. The next most likely candidates are you and Moore, because we know you’re willing to murder people, and Ritter might have looked like the weak link. We were about to pick him up on the assassination attempt on Senator Smalls and the murder of Cecily Whitehead. He knew that, and he was probably looking to Claxson or Parrish for help. One or both of them decided to get rid of him altogether.”

“That’s bullshit. They wouldn’t—”

“Sure they would,” Lucas said. “They’re not soldiers like you guys. They’re weasels. Suits. Bullshit artists. I have a cop friend back in Minnesota who’d call them douchenozzles. They not only would kill Ritter, they’d kill you. I’ll tell you, John, if Mr. Bunch manages to get you bail, I’d stay far, far away from those guys. They’ll kill you in a minute.”

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