Chương 3
Brooks lifted a hand.
“Mr. Reed.”
He stopped.
Emily continued more slowly now.
“He carried it toward the service door.”
“Did you see where it went?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“Mr. Adrian drank.”
The room seemed to contract.
Emily’s voice became smaller.
“He talked for a while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s fine.”
“He coughed. Then he dropped his fork.”
Rachel had been in the room for that part.
The memory arrived not as a picture but as sound.
A fork striking a plate.
Adrian pressing two fingers to the knot of his tie.
One of his dinner companions asking whether he was choking.
Vincent standing so quickly his chair went backward.
Adrian trying to say something and producing only air.
Rachel had called emergency services while Vincent’s security guard lowered Adrian to the floor.
She had seen cardiac arrests before.
Her father had died from one.
This had looked close enough that she had not questioned it.
“After the ambulance left,” Emily said, “Mr. Marcus brought a bottle here.”
Brooks looked at the decanter beside Vincent’s glass.
“He poured the drink?”
“No. The bartender did.”
The bartender, Javier, raised a hand from behind the bar.
Brooks turned.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“From that decanter?”
“Yes.”
“Who gave it to you?”
Javier’s face changed.
He looked at Marcus.
Marcus’s shoulders went still.
Javier said, “Mr. Reed.”
The quiet that followed was different from the first.
It had weight now.
Brooks stood.
“Everybody who was in this private dining area from six o’clock onward is staying until my team has names and contact information. Restaurant staff, secure the service exits. Nobody cleans anything. Nobody dumps water, ice, garbage, dish bins, nothing.”
Thomas nodded rapidly.
Marcus said, “Am I free to go?”
Brooks turned toward him.
“For the moment, yes.”
Vincent’s head lifted.
Brooks kept her eyes on Marcus.
“But if you walk out that door before I’ve taken your statement, that choice will be written down. So will the fact that you asked.”
Marcus smiled faintly.
“Then I’ll stay.”
“Good.”
He looked at Vincent.
“This will embarrass you.”
Vincent’s expression remained still.
“My brother may be dying.”
“I know.”
“No,” Vincent said. “I don’t think you do.”
That was the first time emotion reached his voice.
Barely.
But Rachel saw Marcus hear it.
Marcus looked away.
Brooks summoned a forensic technician from the entry hall. The decanter, glass, photograph, and receipt became evidence one item at a time. Emily watched each disappear into a bag.
When the technician reached for the pink camera, Emily pulled it against her chest.
“No.”
Rachel crouched beside her.
“Em.”
“It was Grandpa’s last birthday present.”
The technician paused.
Brooks came over.
“We may need the camera.”
Emily’s chin trembled.
“You’ll give it back?”
“If we can. I can’t promise when.”
Emily hugged it tighter.
Rachel looked at Brooks.
“Does the camera itself matter?”
“It might. We need to establish that the photograph came from that device and see whether there are any other pictures from tonight.”
“It’s instant film.”
“I know.”
Emily said, “There are four pictures left.”
Brooks looked at the camera.
“Four unexposed?”
“Yes.”
“You can keep those.”
“How?”
“We won’t open the film compartment.”
Emily considered this.
At eight, the difference between surrendering an object and trusting an adult to protect it could be enormous.
Rachel waited.
Finally Emily held out the camera.
Brooks accepted it with both hands.
“I’ll write Grandpa’s gift on the property note.”
Emily stared at her.
“You can do that?”
“I can.”
“That makes it safer?”
“No,” Brooks said. “But it makes it harder for somebody to forget that it matters.”
Emily nodded.
Rachel liked her for that answer.
A phone buzzed on the table.
Vincent looked at the screen.
His face did not visibly change, but he sat down.
Rachel knew before he spoke.
The hospital.
He answered.
“This is Vincent.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
Another silence.
“How long?”
Emily watched him.
Rachel tried to pull her daughter’s attention away, but Emily would not move.
Vincent listened for nearly a minute.
Then he said, “I’m coming.”
He ended the call.
“Your brother?” Brooks asked.
“He has a pulse. He’s intubated. They don’t know what caused it.”
Vincent stood.
Brooks said, “I need a statement.”
“You can take it at the hospital.”
“I can’t conduct this investigation around your schedule.”
“My brother is unconscious.”
“And if he was poisoned, the first hour matters.”
Their eyes met.
Rachel expected Vincent to push.
Men with his kind of money often pushed because most doors had eventually opened for them.
Instead he looked toward Emily.
“Take hers first.”
Brooks said, “I was going to.”
“I’ll stay until she’s done.”
Rachel frowned.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes,” Vincent said.
“No. You need to go to your brother.”
He looked at her.
Rachel had served enough wealthy men to know when a sentence had crossed an invisible line.
She also had a daughter who had just accused one of those men’s closest employees of attempted murder.
Fear made etiquette seem pointless.
“If Adrian wakes up,” she said, “he’ll ask whether you were there.”
Vincent looked toward the dark service corridor through which the paramedics had taken his brother.
Something in his jaw tightened.
Brooks said, “I can have an officer follow you to the hospital and take a preliminary statement there. Don’t contact Mr. Reed. Don’t tell anyone what the child said unless necessary.”
Marcus laughed softly from across the room.
“Everyone heard her.”
Brooks looked at him.
“Then you especially don’t need a recap.”
Vincent left three minutes later.
Before he did, he stopped beside Emily.
She looked up.
He seemed to search for words and dislike all of them.
Finally he said, “Thank you for making me listen.”
Emily nodded.
Then, because she was eight and because adults had spent the last half hour acting as if every sentence she spoke carried legal consequences, she asked the thing that actually worried her.
May you like
“Are you mad I hit the table?”
Vincent stared at her.
