Chapter 49: Tasty Little Birds

Reynolds didn’t immediately respond to Helen’s question. He was too busy studying her. He’d spared me a brief glance, but I guess whatever reaction he expected from me was underwhelming.

“Well,” he said at last, “The way I see it, I’ve got two bodies.”

He held up a finger. “One dies of a heart attack. Makes sense. He’s old. Even people in decent shape develop heart problems. Case closed.”

A second finger went up. “Then I get another found hung in his hotel room. Rajesh Desai. He’s young ... good looking. Beloved philanthropist. This guy has a lot going on and not much reason to kill himself.”

He watched us, letting that thought hang in the air.

Then he shrugged. “Still, can’t argue with the facts. No signs of struggle. Toxicology report comes back negative. Seems clear cut.”

He rubbed his chin, slipping into a lazy Columbo impression. “But then something just doesn’t sit right with me. Something here.”

He tapped his gut. Then he gave Helen a sardonic little smile.

“And I have to hand it to the NYPD ... some of the people I work with are top-notch! The coroner who examined Desai also thought it was a little off. Do either of you know what Livor Mortis is?”

“Yes,” Helen said at the same moment I said, “No.”

“It’s the placement of blood in the body at the time of death,” Helen said.

Reynolds jabbed a finger at her. “Bingo.

“Our coroner found something a little off with the lividity in Desai’s body, so he did a little more digging. One of the things he noticed was myocardial cell damage around the left ventricle. He got some samples under a microscope, and sure enough ... early-stage necrosis.”

“Meaning?” I asked. I hated biology.

“Meaning,” Reynolds responded, turning to me, “That Rajesh Desai didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered.”

Yeah ... I knew where he was going with this.

“That got me wondering ... what did your grandpa’s heart look like before he died?”

A clever little smile played across his lips. He was enjoying the hell out of this. He and Henry Psalter would’ve loved each other.

“So I pulled his medical records. Turns out that the man had no record of heart problems. No family history either.” He glanced at me. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Uh ... thanks?”

“Can you get to the point?” Helen asked, her jaw set.

“I accidentally picked up something interesting while I was in your house the other day. A small glass tube with a clear liquid inside. I thought I’d do you a favor and have it analyzed.”

He shrugged. “They haven’t gotten back to me yet, but I’d be willing to bet a small fortune that there might be something in that little vial that isn’t great for the heart.”

He glanced between us, unable to hide his smug expression.

“And that,” he said, “is why I’m asking where Mr. Upton was the night his grandfather may have been poisoned, Mrs. VanCamp.”

Fuck.

Even I might’ve been tempted to convict me on the spot.

My brain scrambled, trying to remember exactly what I’d been doing on July ninth. What day was that?

I did a bit of quick math in my head—Tuesday, maybe?

Had that been the evening I went grocery shopping, prepping for Jessica’s visit?

“So,” Helen said, cutting through my spiraling thoughts, “to summarize ... you have a hunch, an incomplete toxicology report, possible evidence that exists outside a legitimate chain of custody, and two deaths with no confirmed connection to my client other than vague proximity?”

She looked completely unfazed.

And that was why I wasn’t a judge ... or a lawyer.

“Your client’s already been in several questionable circumstances,” Reynolds pointed out.

“Such as?”

“There are all kinds of rumors about what happened to him in Vegas. Some kind of shootout on a rooftop? Then he vanishes for a week before finally resurfacing?”

Reynolds tsked. “Seems suspicious.”

“That’s all you have,” Helen confirmed. “Suspicion and speculation, and for some strange reason, instead of going to the DA with this information, you decided to have some kind of Holmesian revelation on a private rooftop without any kind of warrant or formal request?”

Reynolds didn’t even blink. “Where’s Roger VanCamp?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“As far as anyone can tell, your husband has been missing since mid-August,” he said. “You’re his wife. Do you know where he is?”

In his underwear, about four floors below you, in desperate need of dental work, I thought.

Fuck, this guy was good.

“Detective Reynolds, if you have something concrete, submit it, but if you’re only here to pressure my client without charges, you’re toeing a very dangerous, career-ending line.”

He ignored her and looked at me; his cool gray eyes felt like they were piercing my soul.

“You all think you can just do whatever you want ... that there won’t be consequences.”

There was no heat to his words. He might as well have been talking about the weather.

“I didn’t—”

“Sir!” Helen snapped, cutting me off.

“Yeah,” Reynolds said. “You did, and proving it isn’t an ‘if’. It’s a ‘when.’”

His gaze flicked to the bottle beside me.

“Macallan Rare Cask?” he asked. “Nice. Enjoy it while you can.”

Movement near the gardens caught my eye, and I saw Emiko emerge from the greenery, Bobbi trailing behind her.

“Oh good,” Helen said. “Miss Nanford is here. Please perform your wellness check and then leave. This was incredibly unprofessional, and I promise you that we will be speaking to your superiors.”

Reynolds shrugged, seemingly unaffected.

He watched the two ladies approach.

“Miss Nanfor,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”

Bobbi’s eyes flicked from him to Helen, then to me—clearly alarmed.

“Yeah,” she said, staring him down, “Well, go zip-tie your scroat ‘til it turns blue and your balls fall off for all I care.”

“Always a delight,” Reynolds said, his expression tightening. “Are they treating you well?”

Bobbi glanced around, made deliberate eye contact with both Helen and me, then turned back to the detective with the most obnoxious smile I’d ever seen.

“I’m like a fucking princess here. I bathe in wagyu milk, have my own movie theater, and eat those really tiny tasty birds by the truckload.”

“Aren’t those illegal?” Reynolds asked.

“Fucking arrest me for not being a tree-hugging fucktard like you,” she said, holding her wrists up as if inviting him to handcuff her.

Reynolds stared at them as if he was considering it. Then he shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, ma’am, but I’ll pass.”

“Will there be anything else, officer?” Helen asked, her tone clearly telling him to fuck off.

Instead of answering, he looked at me. “Well? Is there anything else?”

It was less a question and more a challenge ... like he was daring me to confess on the spot.

I simply shook my head and took a sip of my whiskey.

And he just stared at me.

“Next time I visit,” he finally said, “It’ll be with a warrant for your arrest.”

“John,” Helen said. “Would you please escort Detective Reynolds back to the first-floor lobby?”

“Yes, ma’am,” John replied.

Reynolds gave each of us a parting nod, then turned and followed him toward the elevators.

The four of us stood in silence, watching the doors slide shut behind them.

I glanced at Bobbi. “Wagyu milk?”

Bobbi blinked up at me and rolled one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. She seemed meeker now than she had a few moments ago.

“That’s the beef, right? There’s gotta be milk, right?”

I looked at Emiko.

“Wagyu milk is real,” she confirmed. “It’s very expensive. If that was what the girl was trying to imply, she did well.”

That Emiko used ‘the girl’ instead of Bobbi’s name didn’t go unnoticed. I’d not seen the two of them interact much, and it was interesting to pick up on the little things in their dynamic.

Bobbi actually looked down at the ground and smiled as a light blush touched her cheeks.

How did Helen and Emiko both do it?

Then I noticed the black cord dangling from Emiko’s fingers. It was something that hadn’t been there during Reynolds’s visit.

“May I?” I asked, holding out my hand.

Without a word, Emiko passed it to me. A length of cord—strange in texture—with a flat magnetic end like a refrigerator magnet.

I tossed that end at Bobbi, and it all but snapped to the collar around her throat, turning the cord into a leash.

“Come on,” I said, tugging gently.

Bobbi stepped away from Emiko and fell in behind me as I turned toward the far side of the rooftop, the open space beyond the pool.

“We should talk about what just happened,” Helen called out.

“Yeah,” I said, not breaking stride. “Just give me a few minutes. Meet me by the couch.”

I gestured toward the same spot where Chloe and I had talked that night before I decided what to do with the Tanakas. Recalling our easy conversation, in which she confided that Charity was the most bangable in my entourage, brought a small smile to my lips.

A steady breeze blew across the rooftop—it wasn’t strong, but it was ever-present. I slid the sleeves of my hoodie over my palms and gripped them, then zipped my jacket a little more. It was one of those weird days when it was too warm for a coat, and too cool without one.