But the four men were oblivious to their resort like surroundings.
Arguments raged. Accusations were hurled. Fingers were pointed. And in the end nothing was resolved. Through it all, one man had not raised his voice. One man had not engaged in the bitter debate. One man — a normally very verbose man — had not said a word.
But the man had listened. And the man had made a decision.
As the meeting broke up, the man pulled Dr. John Lowell to the side and said five words: “We have to talk alone.”
To which Dr. Lowell nodded and replied, “Let’s get back to New York first.”
Max closed the lab door. “So how were the fish biting?”
“Pretty good,” Winston drawled. “I caught one of the biggest bass ya ever did see. She must have weighed a good—”
“Great. Congratulations. Now, why don’t we stop playing games?”
“Playing games? I don’t getcha, Lieutenant.”
Max renewed his pacing with surprising vigor. “Would you mind telling me why you were in Washington three days ago?”
“How do you know—”
“Don’t worry about how. Just tell me why.”
Winston’s expression remained cool, his tone impatient. “While I don’t reckon it’s any of your goddamn business, I stopped in Washington to visit some friends on my way home. Happy?”
“Your home in Alabama?”
“That’s right.”
“The cabin by the lake and all that.”
“Yep.”
“Tell me something else, Winston — what parts of Washington did you visit?”
“I don’t see why that’s important.”
“It’s not really. I just want to know why you went to the National Institutes of Health.”
Winston tried to glare at his interrogator, but Max had his back turned. “You had me followed?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, Lieutenant, but there is nothing very sinister in that. I was visiting a couple of former coworkers. I used to work there.”
“Interesting,” Max replied. “Then how come there is no mention of it in your resume?” Max reached into his coat pocket, withdrew his hand, reached into his front pants pocket, withdrew again. “Damn, I had it here someplace.”
“Lieutenant…”
“Here it is.” Max took out the crumbled piece of paper and unfolded it with quick fingers. “Now, this resume covers your work history from your undergraduate studies to the present day. When exactly did you work for the NIH?”
Again the silence. Then: “I have a friend who works for the NIH, okay? Is that such a crime? I didn’t want to say anything because I knew he would jump—”
“Now, there are two ways we can play it,” Max said, ignoring Winston’s shifting explanations. “One, you can tell me what I want to know. Two, you can continue your little charade and I can arrest you.”
“On what charge?”
“Murder in the first degree. Breaking and entering. Assault.”
“You’re out of your cotton-pickin’ mind. Who am I supposed to have murdered?”
“Riccardo Martino.”
“Who?”
Max smiled. “The patient who was murdered in the clinic.”
“I don’t know the name of any patients. Harv must have told you that.”
“Riccardo Martino was mentioned in the story on
“I don’t recall the name,” Winston said with a dismissing wave of his hand. “And anyway, you got nothing on me.”
Max leaned forward. O’Connor’s expression was relaxed, but Max had seen the familiar scared shadow cross his face briefly. “Sure about that, Winston?”
“Whadda ya mean?”
“We have a witness who will swear under oath you were in the hospital at the time of Martino’s death, even though you claimed to be home.”
“Get lost.”
“The same witness saw you hit Dr. Riker over the head. We also know you were in the lab breaking into Dr. Riker’s files.”
“You’re bluffing,” he said.
True, Max thought, but now he noticed that O’Connor’s voice was not as confident as it had been. Max decided to give him another little push.
“And one other thing.” Max turned his head so that his back was to Winston. “Drop the Southern drawl. It’s insulting.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Max turned around, his eyes toward the floor, pencil between his teeth. Something close to a smile passed his lips. “No one who has lived in New York for the past twenty years has a Southern accent that thick. You sound like somebody on
Again, silence.
“We know you work for the NIH,” Max continued. “We assume you’re CIA-trained. And we know what you’ve been up to.”
“You don’t know shit.” The Southern accent was weaker now, less pronounced. Winston’s Adam’s apple bopped up and down continuously as he swallowed.
Max took the pencil out of his mouth and examined it. “I know I have the authority to drag your ass down to headquarters, book you for murder, and seal you in a cage. If you think your CIA or your NIH buddies are going to rescue you, you are very much mistaken. This case is too hot. They’ll let you rot before admitting you’re one of them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Winston said, but there was now a clear waver in his voice.
“Then just humor me by listening to your other option,” Max continued. “You might find it interesting.”
“I told you I don’t know—”
“Option two: you can tell me what you know,” Max interrupted. “In return, I will promise to keep our conversation confidential — it’ll just be between you and me. Washington will never know anything about it. Think about it. The choice is yours.”
There was a stony silence that Max interrupted by taking out his handcuffs and a plastic card from which he read: “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you—”
“Hold on a minute.”
Max looked up from his card. “Something you wanted to say?”
Winston rubbed his face. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t. But if you don’t cooperate, I’ll pin Martino’s murder on you. That’s a promise.”
For a brief moment Max and Winston locked eyes. It was Winston who looked away. “What do you want to know?”
“Who are you working for?”
“All confidential, right?”
“Right. Who are you working for?”
Winston took a deep breath and released it. “I don’t know. I’m a CIA operative, but I report to the Department of Health and Human Services.”
“To whom?”
