Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(50)

The art on the walls was stark and modern. A circle, a line, all in primary colors on white. The windows had privacy screens, and they were engaged. She wandered to the turnout that was the kitchen. Sleek and shiny there, too, she noted. White, black, red. What equipment there was looked glossy to her, and she was willing to bet it was trendy.

“Take the kitchen, Peabody. If he dabbles in poison, he might just be stupid or arrogant enough to keep it in there. I’ll take the bedroom.”

It was an eyeful. She imagined Williams thought of it as sexy. She found it just a little creepy. The bed was the focal point, a wide pool draped in a shimmering red spread that looked wet. Flanking it were two thick faux-fur rugs in black.

She considered the lighted mirror angling from the ceiling a cliché, and laughable. Art here ran to pencil drawings of stupendously endowed couples copulating in various positions.

She lifted the shimmering red spread, found black sheets, and beneath them a gel mattress that undulated under pressure.

Ick.

The drawers in the table beside the bed held a cornucopia of sex toys and enhancements, including a couple of illegal substances classified as date rape devices. She bagged them into evidence.

“You make this part easy,” she said aloud, and moved to the closet.

She noted his professional wardrobe on one side—a couple of suits, sports jackets, shirts, trousers. His leisure wear on the other was considerably less conservative.

She wondered who would actually enjoy seeing a grown man in a black skin-suit.

“Hey, Dallas, you’ve gotta see—” McNab stopped, whistled. “Wow. Sexcapades.” He studied one of the black-framed sketches. “These two have to be double-jointed.” He scratched his throat, then bent from the waist to study it from a different angle.

“What do I have to see?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, got sucked in. Sex is this guy’s religion. It’s kind of admirable in a sick way. He spends a lot of time on his comp: chat rooms, websites—all sex spots. Orders a lot of toys.”

“Yeah, he’s got a nice supply. Including a little Whore, a little Rabbit.”

McNab’s easy amusement vanished. “Not admirable, even in a sick way.”

“Any correspondence with the vic?”

“Not on that unit.”

“Research on poisons? Ricin or others?”

“Nothing. May be buried deeper, and I can take it in and look. His schoolwork is on there, too. Lesson plans, grade book, like that. Nothing that looks off on that end.” He cocked his head up. “Bet there’s a camera in there.”

“Camera.” She narrowed her eyes at the mirror. “Really.”

“Five gets you ten on it. Want me to have a look?”

“You do that.” She moved to search the bath. “Stay out of the toy drawer.”

“Aw. Lieutenant Spoilsport.”

10

THEY FOUND NO EVIDENCE LINKING WILLIAMS to the poison, or Craig Foster’s death, but they found plenty to tangle him up. Eve ordered in a team of sweepers, just to tie it off, then prepped for the interview.

“We’re going to start with the murder, standard routine questions,” Eve told Peabody. “He hasn’t lawyered up. Feels too cocky.”

“You ask me, this guy thinks with his c**k most of the time.”

“You got that right. So we use it. Just a couple of girls. From that quick preview of the discs McNab dug up, this one likes multiples. So we poke at him about the vic, then we jam him with the illegals we found in his place, then we work him on the murder again.”

Juggle it, Eve thought as she went into the interview room. Keep him off balance.

“It’s about damn time. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” Williams demanded. “Do you have any idea what it does to my professional reputation to have a couple of police goons pull me out of class?”

“We’ll get to that professional reputation in a minute. I need to log this interview in, give you your rights and obligations. Formalize it.”

“My rights?” His body twitched, as if he’d experienced a small electric shock. “Am I under arrest?”

“Absolutely not. But this is a formal interview, and there’s procedure designed to protect you. Do you want something to drink besides that water? Coffee—it sucks—a soft drink?”

“I want this done so I can get out of here.”

“We’ll try to keep it moving.” She logged in for the recorder, read him the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter, Mr. Williams?”

“Of course I do. That doesn’t make this any less annoying.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t. Now, let’s go over your movements on the day Craig Foster was murdered.”

“Christ! I’ve given you my statement already. I’ve cooperated.”

“Listen.” Eve sat, stretched out her legs. “This is a homicide, and one that took place in a school where minors have been involved and affected.”

She turned her hand over, palm up, in a gesture of what-can-I-do. “We have to dig for every detail. People often forget details, so we routinely repeat interviews.”

“We’re sorry for the inconvenience,” Peabody added with an understanding smile. “We’ve got to be thorough.”