“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 résumé?” 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 résumé 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 NewsFlash a few nights back.”
“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 Hee-Haw.”
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?”
Winston shook his head. “No names.”
“Raymond Markey?”
“I said no names.”
“What is your function?”
“Gathering information on the clinic.”
“What kind of information?”
“Any and all.”
“And how do you go about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you gather your information?”
Winston shrugged. “Simple. I snoop around. I break into the confidential files. Whatever it takes.”
“Is that what you were doing the night Harvey stumbled across you?”
Winston paused. He took a cigarette out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. “You gotta light?”
Max shook his head. “I don’t smoke. It’s bad for you.”
“Yeah, sure, and chewing pencils is healthy, right?”
“Were you in the clinic the night Martino was killed?”
“I’d rather not answer that.”