City of Sins. Daniel Blake

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      ‘Did you ever sleep with her?’

      Varden wasn’t offended, Patrese saw; if anything, he was flattered. ‘I refer you to the answer I gave to your previous question, Detective. Good heavens, no.’

      ‘She was very attractive.’

      ‘She was indeed.’

      ‘And you weren’t tempted? Rich, powerful man; young, beautiful secretary. It would hardly have been the first time.’

      ‘You asked me, I told you.’

      ‘Are you upset? That she’s been killed?’

      ‘What an imbecilic question. Of course I’m upset. I liked her very much.’

      ‘When did you last see her?’

      ‘Tuesday evening, about eight o’clock. We’d been out of town that day …’

      ‘Whereabouts?’

      ‘Denton, Texas.’

      ‘Business?’

      ‘I’ve found little reason to visit Denton for recreation, put it that way.’

      ‘And you last saw her where?’

      ‘The airport.’

      ‘Louis Armstrong?’

      ‘That’s correct. We landed back there around seven forty-five. What with deplaning and so on, it was around eight before we went our separate ways. Yes: we’d left at eight that morning, and I remember thinking we’d been gone for twelve hours on the dot.’

      ‘What did you think when she didn’t turn up for work yesterday?’

      ‘I didn’t think anything. I knew she was sick. She’d rung in to tell me.’

      ‘What time was this?’

      ‘Just after eight, I think.’

      ‘Were you angry?’

      ‘No. Why should I have been?’

      ‘You said you needed her on call round the clock. She’s not there for a whole day, that could mess up your plans.’

      ‘I have other staff, Detective, who are also very good. We can do without anyone for a day. Even me.’

      ‘And now?’

      ‘Now what?’

      ‘Have you replaced her?’

      ‘Her responsibilities are being covered by her colleagues. I haven’t yet considered a permanent replacement, no.’

      ‘Did you monitor her communications?’

      ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘Record phone calls, keep copies of e-mails; that kind of thing.’

      ‘All phone calls into and out of this building are recorded as a matter of course. All e-mails written on Varden computers are company property.’

      ‘Did you ever find anything which led you to question her loyalty?’

      ‘Never.’

      ‘She must have been privy to some sensitive information.’

      ‘Much more than “some”, I can assure you.’

      ‘Did she ever report approaches from other organizations? Attempts at corporate espionage? Bribery. Corruption? Anything like that?’

      ‘Again, never.’

      ‘I find that hard to believe.’

      ‘Why so?’

      ‘This is New Orleans, after all.’ Selma looked at Patrese, and then back to Varden. ‘How many computers did Cindy use?’

      ‘Two. A desktop, and a laptop.’

      ‘Are they both here?’

      ‘As far as I know.’

      ‘She didn’t have her laptop with her on Tuesday? When you went to Denton?’

      ‘Yes, she did.’

      ‘Then surely she’d have taken it home with her?’

      Varden shook his head. ‘She gave it to me at the airport.’

      ‘Why so?’

      ‘I never let her take it home. Security. It always came with me.’

      Selma shrugged; it made sense. ‘We’d like to impound those computers.’

      ‘You have a warrant?’

      ‘Not yet. But we can get one.’

      ‘Then you get one, and you come back, and you can have it. But not till then.’

      ‘I thought you said you had nothing to hide.’

      ‘About her murder, I don’t. But as you yourself pointed out, Cindy was privy to commercially sensitive information. Much of that is bound to be on her computer.’

      ‘And you’re going to delete that information before we get a warrant?’

      ‘I built this company up from nothing, young lady. I am the reason it is what it is today. Nothing is going to jeopardize that. You understand?’

      Varden Tower to police HQ was straight up Poydras, about twenty blocks. Patrese drove while Selma called the pathologist. She crooked the cell phone between her right ear and shoulder, and scribbled notes on a pad.

      The Superdome slid by on their left, squat and bulbous. Patrese remembered a drunk cornering him in a bar a few months back, not long after he’d arrived in New Orleans, and telling him in all seriousness that the Superdome was a flying saucer, landed right in the middle of the city, and all the expressways and flyovers which coiled around it were hiding power lines and waste pipes for the aliens living inside.

      Funny thing was, that guy hadn’t even been the craziest person there that night.

      Selma ended the call and turned to Patrese. ‘OK. Autopsy, prelim results. Far as they can tell, Cindy died from a combination of neurotoxins and blood loss. Either would have killed her on its own. Together, no chance.’

      ‘Neurotoxins. As in snake bite?’

      ‘Perhaps; they can’t be certain until they’ve done some more tests. But it seems pretty clear, what with the puncture marks on her right calf. And get this. You wonder why she didn’t fight back? Because the venom had paralyzed her, that’s why. Neurotoxic venom blocks nerve impulses to muscles, including the ones in the diaphragm СКАЧАТЬ