Golden in Death(105)

“How? You tell me how.”

“He was exposed to the same nerve agent that killed two other individuals,” Eve told him. “Do you want to hear the rest in the doorway?”

Lowell simply turned away, walked through the entrance foyer into a living area done in quiet colors and quiet patterns. He sat heavily in a chair where soft sage merged in tiny diamonds with soft cream.

“He was murdered, like the others. You tried to say he was part of the killing. You—”

“Mr. Cosner, he was.” Eve decided not to wait for an invitation and sat directly across from him. “Were you aware your son owned a building on Pitt Street downtown, one he set up through a shell company?”

“No, that’s ridiculous. Marshall wouldn’t begin to know how to create a shell company.”

“I imagine he had help,” Eve said simply. “He purchased the building, set it up as a residence and workspace for Lucas Sanchez. You know that name,” she said as she saw the knowledge on Lowell’s face.

“Yes. My son has an … addictive personality. He has a weakness for certain chemical enhancements. Sanchez exploited that weakness. Marshall assured me, his mother, his family that he had cut ties with Sanchez. After Marshall’s accident, after he recovered from his injuries, he assured us…”

You didn’t believe him, Eve realized. But you hoped. You had to hope.

“I’m sorry, he didn’t. Moreover, evidence indicates, strongly, Sanchez was paid to create the nerve agent.”

“You expect me to believe my son was some sort of terrorist?”

“Your son was part of a conspiracy to murder certain individuals over a long-held grudge. Sanchez and the nerve agent were tools, and when Sanchez had created the agent, he was killed. Mr. Cosner, your son was packing the agent in its receptacle for shipment when he was exposed.”

Lowell shook his head, just kept shaking it. “He wouldn’t know how. He wouldn’t know.”

“Lowell,” Roarke interrupted. “Let me get you a drink.”

His eyes glittered with tears as he turned to Roarke. “I have…” He gestured vaguely. “I was reading, having some bourbon, unwinding when…”

“I’ll find it,” Roarke told him, and left Eve to continue.

“You took your son out of Theresa A. Gold Academy after Headmaster Rufty took over for Headmaster Grange.”

“That was years ago.”

“Why did you take him out?”

Lowell dropped his head in his hands, sat like that for several moments. “We came to understand Marshall was using, that he was drinking, that his grades had been … inflated. We came to understand his friends weren’t … appropriate. We believed the best solution was to send him to boarding school, to have my wife’s parents help supervise him, to remove him from the situation. We did what we thought best. We tried rehab. He’s my son. I did what I thought best.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Roarke came back, put a glass in Lowell’s hand.

“His mother—she was so upset about the accusation, the police, the interview, she finally took a tranq and went to bed. How will I tell her our boy’s gone? Why didn’t we find the way to save him?”

“Did he give any indication he was angry with Dr. Rufty, any of his teachers?”

“At the time, of course. He was mad at the world. At us, at the school, but he was so young. He seemed to do a little better. Off and on he did better, but … He was always good at hiding things, at pretense. It was often easier just to believe him rather than deal with the drama and disappointment. But I can’t believe, won’t believe he’d do the things you’re saying.”

“And as I said, he had help.”

Lowell took a slow pull on the bourbon. “Stephen.”

“Are you referring to Stephen Whitt, Mr. Cosner?”

“I am. After it became clear what Marshall had been a part of at TAG, we did what we could to separate him from those influences. Against my better judgment Marshall and Stephen remained friends. Oh, he’s another who’s good at hiding things, at pretense. I don’t believe Marshall lied when he finally broke down and told us Stephen had devised most of the schemes, had served as ringleader. Marshall looked up to him, always had. My wife never liked the boy, always said there was something missing in him. I dismissed that, but agreed we should do what we could to cut the bond.”

He looked down into his drink, set it aside. “We didn’t, even though they went to different schools in different states, then different colleges, we never broke that bond. Marshall’s a grown man. We can’t forbid him his friendships, even when they’re destructive.”

Lowell swiped at his eyes.

“If Marshall had any part in this, you can be sure Stephen was behind it. Marshall would have followed him into hell.” He picked his glass up again. “And now he has.”

“You know the Whitts,” Eve prompted.

“We were friendly when the boys were in school together. Now we’re polite. My wife dislikes Brent—Stephen’s father—and has for some time.”

“Because?”

“Primarily because he lied to and cheated on his wife, whom my wife was fond of. And more, I suppose, since she learned he carried on an affair with the headmaster of our son’s school.”