Savich said, “I’ve checked through your finances, Rob, also part of my job, and it appears you’ve been near the bitter edge until this past year. Unlike the other family members, you aren’t loaded, but you are finally in the black. Congratulations. But you’re going to be wanting to expand, and to do that, you’ll need a healthy amount of capital. Did you and Venus discuss money at all? A loan, a gift, an investment?”

“No, I wouldn’t have done that. I’ve stayed away from approaching her for years, exactly because I wanted to make it on my own.”

“Did she discuss her will or trusts with you? Do you know if you’re named?”

“I know Grandmother set a trust up for me, but I don’t know how much. The principal comes to me when I turn thirty-five. I’m thirty-one and I’m doing fine, just fine. I don’t need her money, or the trust, not that I won’t enjoy it when it hits my bank account.”

“This is important, Rob. Did anyone else in the family, or on the staff—Isabel or Veronica—know you and Venus had been communicating, that the two of you had met, were continuing to meet?”

“She said she wanted to keep it a secret until she felt the time was right. She didn’t even tell Veronica. But the attempts on her life have forced her hand, she told me. Her driver, MacPherson, knew. He drove her to our meets, of course, but I never met him, she just mentioned him a few times.”

“Okay, we need to go through the three nights Venus got sick, Rob. Three weeks ago, Wednesday night, she was having dinner with Alexander and your father at the Ambassador Club. The 4th of June. Do you remember what you were doing?”

Rob Rasmussen didn’t change expression. He pulled a small black notebook out of his shirt pocket, thumbed through the pages. “Grandmother told me you’d have to know about my alibis, so I wrote them all down. The first time, June 4th, I was with my girlfriend—Marsia—at a restaurant. I have the receipt, and it’s dated. The second time, I was on a job. I have all the particulars for you. Last night, I was watching the Nationals get trounced, burying my pain with bean dip and beer. Lots of witnesses.” He paused. “I’m not the guy you want here.” He handed Savich his black book.

Sherlock asked, “What made you first decide to email Venus after all this time, Rob?”

He grinned big, showing fine white teeth. “Because I finally had something to show her. My business. I’m proud of that. And I missed my family, well, Grandmother, mainly. I realized she was getting up there in age and I didn’t want her to die without knowing how grateful I am she saved me from going to jail ten years ago. I wanted to see her, tell her how much she means to me. I gotta say, though, I was scared. I mean, she could have told me to stay out of her life. I finally got up the nerve, but only after I’d proved that I’m not a loser, that I could make money myself—not through Rasmussen Industries like the rest of them. My accountant shouted last quarter’s numbers to me on the phone he was so pleased.” Again, that big white smile. “Not bad for a loser.”

He sat forward. “Look, it’s not as if I turned my back on the lot of them over the years. I’ve kept track of Grandmother especially, running this, sponsoring that, making those deals with the government bigwigs, throwing benefits for some of her charities. She is amazing, always has been. I thought it was finally time. Marsia agreed with me, maybe even pushed me a little to do it. I tried the same email address Grandmother used ten years ago, having no clue if she’d even answer me, but she did.”

Rob paused. “When I heard back from her, she told me she’d been about to call me. Can you imagine that? We had lunch and talked and caught up. She was really pleased to see me. She hasn’t changed.

“Do I have expansion plans? Sure, I’d like to push onward, but that will come. I have lots of time to take over the world. And my plans for the business had nothing to do with my contacting Grandmother—she can tell you that herself.”

Savich pulled out his cell, pressed a couple of buttons, brought up a photo, and handed it to Rob. “Do you know this man?”

21

* * *

Rob studied the photo of Vincent Willig, his eyes drugged and vague, fresh out of surgery. He frowned, cocked his head to the side, a mannerism Savich had seen Venus do when she was curious or worrying a problem. “Is this the guy who tried to kill Grandmother yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“I think he looks familiar.” Rob tapped his forefinger on the phone. “But I can’t remember from where.”

Savich said, “His name is Vincent Carl Willig and he has an impressive rap sheet—spent ten years in Attica. He got out six months ago. Think about where you could have seen him, Rob. It’s important.”

Rob nodded. “I’m not sure I have, but I’ll think about it. What about employees? Would Veronica have any reason to want to poison Grandmother?”

Sherlock said, “Veronica has been with Venus fifteen years. Her finances are sound, since Venus invests most of her pretty substantial income for her. And she has free room and board in a mansion. She’s dependent on Venus for her livelihood. I can’t see a reason for her to want to do away with her meal ticket.”

“She must be nearly forty now, isn’t she?”

“She’s thirty-six,” Savich said. “Only five years older than you.”

“Grandmother speaks highly of her, says Veronica makes her laugh. And she’s always been completely loyal to her.”

“Were you in love with her when you were a teenager?” Sherlock asked.

“Sure, she was a young guy’s wet dream, blond, beautiful, a superb body. Is Alexander sleeping with her?”

Savich said, “Evidently not.”

Rob laughed, shook his head. “I doubt it, too—Alexander wouldn’t ever dip his quill in company ink. He always used to preach to me to keep away from the Help, always said it with a capital letter. He actually used those words—the Help. Veronica never liked him anyway.”

Savich said as he rose, “That would sure make things neat, now wouldn’t it? Not a Rasmussen behind this. Only the Help.” He added more formally, “Sherlock and I will see you this evening, Rob. Thank you for coming in. I’ll call if we have more questions.”

Rob splayed his palms on the table, leaned toward them. “I’m not only angry, Savich, I’m scared. I just found Grandmother again and I don’t want to lose her. That shooting yesterday, if you guys hadn’t been there, if MacPherson hadn’t been there—she’d be dead. Please find out who’s doing this.”