Page 53 of Dirty Looks

“But,” she said, holding up a finger, “one of the decanters of brandy that my team found in a cutout in the staff passageway held traces of promethazine. The decanter was only about a third full, and the tablets are dissolvable. There was enough in there to settle the stomach of a rhinoceros.”

“And put one to sleep?” Martinez asked, looking at me.

“Definitely,” I said.

“So a decanter that anyone in that house could have had access to,” he said. “Kitty Lidle’s drinking wasn’t a secret to those who know her. The respiratory failure is a side effect of the drug, but only to those who have a reaction. It’s a common prescription, so the killer probably didn’t expect her to have such an extreme reaction.”

“It would also depend on her medical history,” I said. “It sounds as if she’s been a functioning alcoholic for most of her adult life. This would do damage to and weaken her liver and pancreas. We know she smoked from time to time. On a healthy person it probably wouldn’t have had the effect it did.”

“As it is now,” Martinez said, “we might end up with two counts of murder. Unless there’s a miracle and she makes it through the night.”

“What about the third victim?” Jack asked. “The head of security guy. Any connection between his murder and the others?”

“That’s where we need to start digging,” Martinez said.

There was a knock at the door and someone brought in a stack of pizza boxes and left. I had the forethought to grab a roll of paper towels, but everyone dug in. It had been a long day, and I was starving. The smell of melted cheese and sauce had me close to a whimper.

“I need a full background check on Goble,” Martinez said, neatly tucking into his own slice. “See what you can pull up on him.”

Derby did the honors and Alan Goble’s picture presented itself on the wall.

“Degrees in psychology and cyber security,” Martinez read down. “Then went into the Naval Academy as an officer. Did eight years. Military records are sealed. Then did some specialized training at Quantico for the next eighteen months. But didn’t end up at the FBI.”

“Psych eval,” Jack said. “I bet he didn’t pass it. FBI wouldn’t touch a guy like that. They generally like people who will follow orders. He’s black ops. Probably a SEAL. Whatever training he was doing at Quantico wasn’t for the benefit of the FBI.”

“CIA?” Martinez asked.

“That would be my guess,” Jack said. “He would have fit in better there. They don’t care about the rules, and Goble would’ve found the assignments more challenging.”

“All of his files are sealed,” Derby said. “We’d be flagging all kinds of alphabet agencies if I tried to poke into it.”

“Probably doesn’t matter anyway,” Martinez said.

I saw Jack give Doug a pointed look and Doug nodded. Sometimes Doug’s skills were better utilized when everyone else didn’t have knowledge of his activities. Doug could be in and out of any agency files in a matter of moments with no one the wiser.

“Looks like his stint at the CIA, or wherever he was, was short lived,” Martinez continued. “Robert Lidle hired him to head upthe family’s security detail back when he was running for Senate. Robert would have had the connections and access to a guy like that. He must have met Goble’s price point.”

“That we do have access to,” Derby said. “Makes it much easier when people are dead and you don’t have to mess with warrants.”

“I’m in the wrong line of work,” Daniels said. “Guy’s pulling in a cool three hundred and fifty thousand a year.”

“Not too shabby,” Martinez said. “Owns a nice house in Bowling Green. Got some real estate investments and a diversified portfolio. He’s got a lot of cash stashed in different places.”

“You can do that when you’re making that much money,” Daniels said. “Seriously. I didn’t even know people could make that kind of money.”

“Shifty,” Doug said, reading the numbers on the screen like it was English. “That cyber security background came in handy.”

“What do you mean?” Martinez asked.

Doug ran his fingers over his keyboard and numbers started to separate themselves on the screen and realign.

“These are all electronic transfers,” Doug said. “Not from payroll or dividends from his different accounts. They’re all large sums. A hundred thousand here. Fifty thousand there. Another hundred thousand over here. It probably totals more than a million a year for the last decade or so.”

“Blackmail?” I asked.

“Not sure,” Doug said. “But I wouldn’t think so. Not that I have a great knowledge of blackmail procedures. The accounts transferring the money are all different, but when you dig a little deeper they’re essentially coming from the same account. There are several layers to each account, pinging all over the world to different banks. But when you strip it all down it’s all coming out of New York.”

“Who owns it?” Jack asked.

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