Doc frowned, stared down into the cup. “I remember Deborah saying she lived close by, because her parents wanted her to be safe.” He laughed, shook his head. “A good area, a safe area. Well, that didn’t work. Who saved her?”
Cam said, “She saved herself. She had a gun. Did Deborah like her?”
“Yes, I guess so. I only met her a couple of times. We didn’t talk about all that much. She wasn’t really a part of our lives, you know? I’d say she and Deborah were like so many of the other young women out here trying to scratch their way into the movies or TV.”
“What would ‘scratch their way’ mean exactly?” Cam asked.
Doc shrugged. “Some of them would probably run their own mothers down to succeed in the business. Was she different? Sorry, I really don’t know.”
He broke off, became statue still.
“Is that how you thought about Deborah, Doc?” Daniel was lightly tapping his fingers on the table. “When all was said and done, did you believe Deborah was so determined to make it big she’d hurt anyone she believed was an obstacle? Even you?”
“Of course not! Deborah wanted to succeed badly, sure. And she wasn’t perfect, I mean, no one is, right? But”—he broke off, tears pooling in his eyes. He swallowed—“for me she glowed. She had this special light that shined on everyone she loved, including me.”
Arturo walked into the room with a guy built like a linebacker, massive chest, maybe six five. The lie detector machine looked like a toy in his big hand.
“Everyone, this is Buzz Quigley, our examiner. Buzz, this is Dr. Mark Richards.”
Buzz greeted everyone, found an electric outlet for his machine and started unpacking his kit. He asked all of them to witness Doc agreeing to taking the test voluntarily, without any undue pressure, and then he told everyone to leave the room, to watch and listen through the two-way mirror. When they next got a view of the room, Buzz had pulled out some sheets of paper, no doubt including the questions Arturo had prepared for him. As he hooked up the electrodes, Buzz began to tell Doc how everything would work, his voice matter-of-fact.
When Quigley was finished, he looked across the table and said in a calm deep voice, “Is your name Maxwell Mark Richards?”
“Yes.”
“Are you thirty-three years old?”
“I am.”
“Are you a pediatric surgeon at Children’s Hospital here in Santa Monica?”
“Yes, I am, but still a fellow.”
“You’ve been in the program for six years?”
“No, this is my fourth year.”
Cam watched the needle, it was steady.
Buzz asked him a series of obvious questions, interspersing truth with fiction, and the needle remained steady. Then he said in the same calm voice, “Did you kill Deborah Connelly?”
Doc reared back in his chair and the needle went crazy for a moment. Slowly, it returned to baseline.
“Did you kill Deborah Connelly?” Buzz asked again.
“No, I did not.” No movement at all.
Cam shot a look at Daniel and Arturo. He was telling the truth.
“Do you know who killed her?”
“No, I do not.”
“Were you out walking the night Deborah Connelly was murdered?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Were you walking on the beach near Santa Monica Pier?”
“Yes, I was.” The needle spiked.
Doc couldn’t see the spiking needle, but he cleared his throat. “I think I wanted to go down to the beach and sit and think, but looking back, I don’t think I made it all the way down there. Sorry, since Deborah’s death, I can’t seem to think clearly.”
The needle returned to baseline.
“Do you know Theodore Markham?”
“I’ve met him, but no, I don’t know him.”
The needle jumped, then fell back.
“Do you know why Markham believes you killed Deborah?”
“No, certainly not.” The needle jumped.
A lie, but why?
Buzz said, “Did you sleep with any of Deborah’s actress friends?”
“No. They did not interest me at all. I was faithful to Deborah.”
Needle steady.
“Did you admire Deborah’s actress friends?”
“Yes, some of them, but most of them—no.” Steady, steady. The truth.
“Have you ever killed anyone, Doctor Richards?”
“Damn it, no!” The machine went haywire. Doc ripped off the tethers, roared to his feet, planted his palms on the desk. “Yes, yes, I have—I’m a surgeon, of course I’ve lost patients, of course I was responsible, they died under my care—of course I’ve killed people.”
Buzz looked back at them through the mirror and nodded for them to come back into the room. The test was over.
When they filed back in, Doc’s face was leached of color. He was huddled in on himself, the picture of misery. “Listen, I can’t talk about this anymore, it’s—it’s too hard. I want to go home.”
They cut him loose. They had no grounds to hold him.
57
* * *
SAVICH HOUSE
GEORGETOWN
FRIDAY EVENING
Savich looked down at the tablet screen. Things didn’t look good for Sherlock. “I hate to say this, sweetheart, but I came a lot closer to beating Captain Isbad. It pains me to say you’re folding like a two-dollar suitcase. Aren’t you even going to put up a decent fight?”
Sherlock looked up, grinned. “Captain Isbad is sly, Dillon, and ruthless. You can’t believe a word he says.”
“A two-dollar suitcase,” Sean repeated. “Okay, I think I get it. Don’t fold, Mama. What does ruthless mean?”
“It means you’ll do almost anything to win,” Sherlock said. “Sean, you’re going to knock me over the head with that branch hanging down over the water up ahead, aren’t you? Keep an eye on me, boyo, I can still make a comeback.”
The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band sang out Fishin’ in the Dark. Savich punched his cell. “Savich here.”
He heard Veronica’s voice, controlled, but she couldn’t hide the worry. “Dillon, I was right about Venus. She complained of chest pain, said she felt awful, but she refused to go to the hospital. She asked Dr. Pruitt to come over, and I left her with him. She’s insisted on summoning the whole family, including Rob and Marsia. And she asked me to call her estate lawyer, Mr. Gilbert Sullivan, have him come over to the house, too. And you and Sherlock. Dillon, I think she’s worried she’s dying and that’s why she wants everyone here.”