Page 79 of Sharp Force
“I couldn’t get it to turn on,” is Marino’s answer. “Didn’t see a switch anywhere. I tried the remotes lying around but no dice.”
“As I’ve mentioned, I’ve seen the robot before,” Benton replies. “Zain often has it at the White House and other places.”
“What I’m trying to say is we don’t know what he’s capable of,” Marino goes on. “Give me an hour alone with him in his freakin’ private hospital room, and I’ll get the truth out of him.”
“Not happening,” Benton tells him.
“That’s not what we do.” I remind Marino that he’s not a police detective anymore.
Now that he carries his gun on the job, he’s been lulled into believing we’ve time traveled back to a better life. He’s never stopped missing who he once was.
CHAPTER 26
Ipeer through a magnifying lens at blackish-red fingerprints and smears on the front door handle and jamb. The deadbolt lock’s interior latch is bloody, and I point it out.
“Most likely Zain’s blood,” Benton says.
“That’s how it’s looking, and it shows that the front door was closed when he was leaving the house.” Marino has put on a surgical mask, and it moves as he talks.
“It looks like Zain thought he needed to unlock it.”
He indicates the bloody latch.
“You swabbed all this when you first got here?” I hope.
“Everything by the book, Doc. And I’m thinking that maybe nobody broke in because the killer was already inside. Maybe nobody left the house until Zain cut himself and fled to find a phone signal. Pretending to be a victim.”
“Not impossible,” Benton considers. “But we don’t know what Zain was thinking, as panicked as he must have been. Whether he was attacked or injured himself to create an alibi? Either way he was badly hurt and about to die.”
“I don’t trust him,” Marino says.
“Speaking of not trusting people.” I return the magnifying lensto his scene case. “The hospital director passed us in his Mercedes a few minutes ago. Was he coming from here?”
“The piece of shit wasted no time showing up and trying to butt in.” Marino opens a box of PPE coveralls.
“It looked like he was heading back to the security gate for some reason,” Benton adds.
“That’s because Dana Diletti’s producer called Graden Crowley’s cell phone while I was standing on the porch not letting him inside the house,” Marino says, anger sparking. “When Lucy shot the drones out of the air, for some reason the producer called him about it.”
“I’m sure Graden wasted no time giving Dana Diletti his contact information the instant her crew rolled up,” I reply. “He’s probably the one who gave the FBI the remote gate opener. Inserting himself, manipulating, his predictable M.O.”
“I overheard him on the phone promising to have a word with the FBI about shooting down the drones,” Marino informs us. “And that the FBI should pay for any damage caused.”
“As if the FBI or any of us give a damn what Graden Crowley says,” I reply. “And I hope it won’t be all over the internet that Lucy was shooting down anything.”
“Well, she did,” Marino says. “Just not with a gun.”
“The director was trying to enter the house?” Benton frowns.
“Sticking his nose in everything just like he always does,” Marino replies.
“A clever way to make sure there’s an explanation if his DNA’s found in the house,” Benton says, his attention everywhere.
“As usual, Crowley claimed he has a right to know what’s going on,” Marino elaborates. “He seems to have this idea that the policeneed permission to work a homicide on private property. And in the first place, this house doesn’t belong to him. None of the private residences do, but he acts like he’s in charge of everything and everyone.”
“I’m not surprised.” I envision his smug smile and arrogant eyes. “And he may not own this place, but he probably feels he owned Georgine Duvall. He was her boss.”
“I wonder what secrets she took to the grave.” Marino hands us pairs of Tyvek shoe covers.
