Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(98)

He found the old journal, its cover cracked and faded, paged through it. Crouched again, he opened the lid of a storage box, nudged through photos, more journals, clippings, a tattered Bible, and what he recognized as a manifesto—handwritten, and signed by Menzini.

He stepped out, walked across the hall. “I think I’ve found what you’re looking for.”

He got out of their way, went back into the living area.

“Nothing on this unit,” Feeney said. “Bastard barely used it.”

“This area’s for show. There’s a small laboratory behind a false wall in the office closet.”

As Roarke spoke, Feeney’s head came up like a wolf scenting a bloodied sheep. “If I remember the formula correctly, all the necessaries are there, as well as journals, the formula itself clearly written in one, and what appear to be more recent, handmade notes. There are photographs, and Menzini’s personal manifesto. And a computer which will likely prove more interesting than that one.”

“Got the f**ker.”

“It seems so. I’ll call the lieutenant, let her know.”

“Tell her we’ll bring everything in. She can start wrapping him up.” He started toward the office. “When we close this down, I’ll buy you a beer.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Roarke took out his ’link, waited for Eve to come on screen.

“Give me something good.”

“Would a small, secret lab with the ingredients contained in the substance, the formula for said substance, Menzini’s journal, and a computer that likely holds pertinent data be something good?”

“Jesus. Jesus, you’re going to get so much sex.”

“Jenkinson says: ‘Hoo-haw!’”

“For Christ’s—”

“I’m winding you up, darling. I’m quite alone at the moment, and will happily take you up on so much sex. Do you have him in the house?”

“In restraints. He slipped up enough I’ve charged him, and I’m about to head in to work a confession out of him, with details. You just nailed it shut.”

“Feeney said we’ll bring everything in.”

“Give me some details so I can use them to cook him some.”

“The lab’s behind a false wall, lined with shelves, in his office. The journal with the formula has a leather binding—it’s faded brown leather and cracked with age, and there are notes that appear more recent and in another handwriting with the formula. There’s a storage box holding more journals, an old Bible, and a manifesto hand-written by Menzini. It’s titled End of Days.”

“That’ll do it. Mira’s messing with him now. I’ll fill in Teasdale and Peabody, and we’ll tie it up.”

“I’ll see you soon then.”

“Yeah. What’s wrong? There’s a thing.”

“Nothing, really. This place. It’s depressing. It’s a good building, has character. It’s a nice space, really, but it’s lifeless and cold. The only place I think he’s ever felt happy, perhaps ever felt normal—that is, felt himself—was that office, and that lab.”

“He had every chance, every choice. Don’t feel sorry for him.”

“Not at all. But I can see him here, finding himself at last in the blood and death. It’s depressing.”

“Get the goods, get out. We can get a little drunk before the so much sex.”

“Well now, that sounds promising. Soon, Lieutenant.” He clicked off, grinned at Reineke as the detective cleared his throat.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to catch that.”

“No problem. Now you know I’m not a sick f**k.”

Reineke snorted out a laugh. “Never figured it. So, Feeney thought you’d want to take a look at the comp. Says the data’s encrypted.”

“Excellent. That should liven things up.”

“Ah, maybe you don’t have to mention to the LT I happened to hear her say that business. The sex business.”

“I think we’ll all be happier that way.”

19

Moving fast, Eve headed for Observation, contacting Whitney on the fly. “Put me through to the commander,” she snapped when she reached his admin. “Priority.”

“One moment, Lieutenant.”

She pushed through the doors where Peabody and Teasdale watched Mira work Callaway. “We got him.” She held up a finger as Peabody started to speak. “Commander, Callaway is currently in Interview with Mira, charged with the murders. The search team found his hole. They’re bringing in his electronics, and journals, and chemicals. They got it all.”

“Wrap it up,” Whitney ordered. “I’m on my way.”

“Interview A, sir,” she told him as Peabody punched her fists into the air, and Teasdale yanked out her own ’link. “I’m about to go in, finish it. I’ll contact the PA, get someone in here.”

“Hold until I get there. Coming now.”

“Yes, sir.” She clicked off, shot a finger up in the air again, then contacted Reo.

“Cher Reo.”

“We’ve got Callaway, Interview A, and enough evidence to bury him on its way in.”

She watched the petite blonde scramble for her suit jacket. “The boss is in court. I’ll tag him now, head to you. Give me some details.”