Dead Sleep by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-10-28T19:15:41+00:00

“And now they’re tearing his house apart and informing him he’s going to have to supply skin and blood for DNA testing to compare to the skin we took from under the Dorignac’s victim’s fingernails.”

“The call actually makes Wheaton look less suspicious,” Kaiser says. “He’s not stupid. He knows he’s a suspect, which probably means a wiretap, but he made the warning call anyway. That’s what somebody does when they’re innocent and pissed off.”

“Unless they do it to look innocent,” says Lenz.

“Why didn’t he warn Gaines?” I ask.

“Maybe he doesn’t like Gaines,” Kaiser says with a laugh. “That’s not hard to imagine.”

“Did he warn Thalia Laveau?” asks Lenz.

“Not yet,” Baxter replies. “Only Smith.”

“I’m very fond of Frank,”‘ says Kaiser. “Those were Wheaton’s words in the interview.”

“I wonder if there could be a homosexual link,” Lenz says.

“Wheaton has never married,” says Baxter. “Why didn’t you ask him if he’s gay? He’s never married.”

“He may be in the closet,” says Lenz. “I didn’t want to burn my bridges with him entirely. We can find that out elsewhere.”

Kaiser moves to the rear door. “Frank Smith is openly gay. Maybe he’ll tell us.” He looks at me. “See you in a few minutes.”

He and Lenz leave the van and slam the door.

Baxter presses his face to the van’s tinted porthole window. “The house doesn’t look as fancy as I pictured it.”

“You’re looking at the back,” I tell him. “Most of these houses face inward. Some onto courtyards, others onto fantastic gardens of tropical plants.”

“John told me about your natural light theory. This house does have a courtyard. Smith’s the only suspect who has one. Wheaton has an outdoor garden, but no walls. Hey, look at this.”

I put my cheek to his, and my eyes to the darkened porthole.

Frank Smith stands waiting for Kaiser and Lenz on his porch. He’s sleek and handsome, his dark tan set off by white tropical clothing, linen or silk. He has large vivid eyes and an ironic smile on his lips.

“Look at this guy,” says Kaiser over the monitor speaker. “A smart-ass, I can tell already.”

“I’ll be primary,” Lenz says.

Through the speakers, Frank Smith’s voice has the festive tone of a man greeting party guests. “Hello! Are you the gentlemen from the FBI? When do the storm troopers arrive?”

“Jesus,” mutters Kaiser. “There aren’t any storm troopers, Mr. Smith. Because of certain evidence, you’ve become a suspect in some very serious crimes. There’s no way to sugarcoat that. We’re here to ask you some questions.”

“You’re not here for a blood sample? Urine perhaps?”

“No. We’re here to talk.”

“Well, I don’t have an alibi for the night the woman was taken from Dorignac’s. I was here, alone, listening to music.” Through the window, I see Smith hold out his hands as if for handcuffs. “Let’s get it over with.”

“We’re just here to talk,” Kaiser insists.

“Foreplay for the police?” Smith asks in a taunting voice.

“We don’t control the police in this town.”

“I thought after all the corruption scandals here, you did.”

Beside me, Baxter says, “He’s pretty well-informed for a recent transplant.

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