A Conspiracy of Bones (Temperance Brennan #19)(94)

I was too appalled to speak.

Yuriev went silent. Maybe assessing the impact of what he was saying. Maybe enjoying the snus. Then, “It is my professional opinion that Felix was incapable of hurting a child.”

“Why reach out to strangers before killing himself?”

“Most people have regrets at the end of their lives.”

“Most talk to a rabbi or priest.”

“Felix was not an evil man. He wished to die with a clear conscience.” Yuriev drew a breath as if to add something, changed his mind, and closed his lips.

“Go on.”

He didn’t.

“Detective Slidell can compel you to talk,” I said.

“No. He cannot.”

He had me there. I didn’t like it.

“Who paid for Vodyanov’s stays at Sparkling Waters?”

“Mr. Body.”

“Did he come to visit his brother?”

“Never.”

“Did Vodyanov mention Hardin Symes? Jahaan Cole? Timothy Horshauser?”

“No.”

A tightening at the corners of the hard little eyes. There, then gone. I suspected Yuriev was lying.

“They are kids who were murdered or who vanished without a trace. Their parents have no idea what happened to them.”

“I’m very sorry—”

“Vodyanov supported his brother in exploiting those tragedies.”

Yuriev sat stiffly. His features were fast receding into shadow.

“Detective Slidell and I suspect Felix’s support went beyond mere exploitation.”

“Is that a question?”

“Here’s one. Ever hear of Holly Kimrey?”

“No.”

“Yates Timmer?”

“No.”

More lies?

“Another child disappeared yesterday.” No reason to bring that up, but the arrogant bastard was pissing me off. “Her name is April Siler. She’s eight. Know anything about her?”

Yuriev’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “Why are you badgering me in this way?”

“Because I think you’re a lying sack of shit.”

Deep sigh. Slight wag of the head. Then, “Felix was a very circumspect man. That he revealed anything about his childhood, even in counseling, was surprising to me. Normally, he spoke little of his personal affairs or acquaintances. But there was one name he mentioned occasionally. Another of his brother’s employees. Floy Unger.”

Not the answer I’d expected. “Unger was employed to do what?”

“As I understand it, he would receive the podcasts as audio files, encrypt them, decrypt them, whatever one does, then set them up for broadcast. Besides Felix, I believe he was one of the few people to interact face-to-face with Mr. Body.”

“And?” Sensing that Yuriev was again holding back.

“I have only Felix’s version. His personal view. I’ve never met Mr. Unger.”

“Go on.”

“From Felix’s comments, I must conclude that the man is odious.”

“Odious?”

“Dishonest and capable of violence.”

“Your point?”

“If anyone harmed children, it was Unger.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Any further comments would be pure speculation.” Another pause as Yuriev sat staring through the glass. Or at it. “Read Mr. Body’s blogs.”

“I’ve done that.”

“His most recent ones. Listen to his latest podcasts.”

I studied the side of Yuriev’s face. He was right, of course. As Vodyanov’s treating physician, he was bound by confidentiality. Still, I was pissed.

“One question,” I said. “In your professional opinion, what drives Body?”

A long moment, then, “I suspect Mr. Body applies his mother’s directive in a very different way.”

“Meaning?”

“He does whatever it takes to succeed and make money.”

“Do you know where I can find Floy Unger?” Unable to think of further questions to pose.

Yuriev slowly nodded.

Driving away, I wondered. Why so little emotion? Was Yuriev cold by nature? Or had years of dealing with the disturbed and depressed totally drained the man?



* * *



I phoned Slidell while waiting for my takeout order at Baoding. Of course, he didn’t answer.

Once home, while sharing cashew chicken and Hunan beef with my feline companion, I did as Yuriev suggested. The experience left me feeling like I’d swum through raw sewage.

Slidell called as I was stashing the little white cartons in the fridge. He listened as I briefed him on my conversation with Yuriev.

“A bad gene that makes a bad protein that makes you sick and wastes your brain cells.”

“Yes.” Way to go, Skinny. I’d never heard a more concise definition of Huntington’s.

“And you get it from a parent.”

“Usually.”

“And it kills you.”

“It does.”

“That sucks.”

“Very much.”

I described Body’s latest tantrums.

“So the world’s about to end.”