The Other Path
Chapter 73
Ryan and Esposito take a detour to Kate's desk on their way to the elevator. "We found Jolene Loesser-Timmons," Esposito announces. "She's at Pickwick Place. We're going to pick her up now. We'll leave a team to search her room."
"Great! I'll set up the interrogation for when you bring her in," Kate decides. "I don't want to lose any more time on this one."
As Ryan and Esposito leave, Kate pulls Rick's copy of Anna Zvich's novel from her desk drawer. Colored flags mark the passages corresponding to the ones Jolene submitted to George Robinson. Kate also has those carefully underlined on a printout. She slips the document into her black leather folder and the book into a paper bag.
After stowing the book in Interrogation, Kate takes a quick walk to the mercifully empty break room. Slipping a clip intended for swimmers on her nose, she prepares coffee in an attractive china cup. She's used similar ones to gather DNA and fingerprints before and knows it will do a good job. If Kate can pull a confession out of Jolene, she won't need the physical evidence of the suspect's presence in Robinson's apartment. But it's always great to have a backup. And the more evidence Kate has, the less inclined the DA will be to cut a deal.
Kate peeks down the hall. Ryan and Esposito are bringing Jolene to the box. With a quick stop at her desk to retrieve her folder, she tucks it under her arm and reluctantly pulls the clip off her nose. Esposito stays in the room, but Ryan comes out to greet Kate. "I'll go get them."
Carefully carrying the cup and saucer, Kate enters Interrogation. She sets the warm beverage in front of Jolene. I thought you might like this. Being questioned by the police can be a little disorienting. But if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to be afraid of."
The table vibrates slightly as Kate smacks her folder in front of her while taking the seat opposite Jolene. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I overstuff the thing. Questioning anyone involves a ton of paperwork." Kate watches Jolene take a nervous sip of her coffee. She zips open the leather case, laying her cell phone beside it. "Let's see what I have here. These are George Robinson's notes on editing a book for a JLT. Was that you?"
"Yes," Jolene answers cautiously.
Kate flicks through more pages. "Ah! And this is correspondence between you and Robinson. He wanted to discuss several passages from your books. Do you recall that?"
As Jolene takes another sip of her coffee, Kate notes a slight tremble in the suspect's hand. "I guess. George asked a lot of questions. He was very thorough."
"I imagine he was," Kate agrees. "Is that why you picked him as your editor? You weren't in New York when you contracted with him, were you?"
"No. I live in Montana."
"Beautiful state. Lots of room to breathe," Esposito comments.
"Yes," Jolene agrees, "it's a great place to live."
"So, what brought you to New York?" Kate asks. "Didn't you and Robinson conduct all your business by email?"
"We did. But I came here to do, uh, research. Writers are always doing research."
"I know," Kate acknowledges. "I'm married to one. He loves libraries and bookstores, especially the shops that sell used books. Did those draw you to our city?"
"I suppose so," Jolene allows.
"But my husband told me that Montana has more used bookstores per capita than any other state. So New York would be a long trip to browse dusty shelves. And even a lower-priced hotel like Pickwick Place must cost a fortune compared to prices in Montana."
"Used bookstores have more than dusty shelves, especially the ones in a city like New York," Jolene insists. "You never know when you'll find a book that makes everything click for your story."
Kate reaches into her paper bag to pull out Anna Zvich's masterpiece. "Like this one?" Jolene gasps, coffee sloshing over the rim of her cup. "I see you recognize it," Kate notes calmly. She opens the book to a marked page and lays a sheet of paper next to it. Kate points to the document. "This is from George Robinson's notes. He quotes from your manuscript, a quote that exactly matches what's in this book."
"That was an accident!" Jolene claims. "I loved that book. Some of it must have stuck in my head and come back subconsciously while I was writing."
Kate points to several other pages in the book and lays out more of her file. "You must have liked the book a lot. And your subconscious has quite a memory." Kate pulls out another document. "Unfortunately for you, George Robinson read the book too. He remembered seeing the words before, and he called you on it."
"He just said he wanted to discuss elements of my work."
Kate's phone lights up with the text she'd been hoping would come. "You agreed to meet him at his apartment."
Jolene sits up defiantly. "So I went to his apartment. We had coffee. We talked. I promised I'd do a rewrite, and I left. So what?"
"So what? George Robinson died after drinking coffee, coffee that was laced with rat poison, strychnine."
"I don't know anything about that," Jolene argues. "You have a lot of rats in New York. Maybe his apartment had a problem, and the poison got into his coffee accidentally. Or he could have committed suicide. People who work alone like that can have dark moods. He might have grabbed the poison on impulse."
Kate taps her phone. "No impulse. While we've been talking, I had people searching your room. And you know what they found?"
"They couldn't have found strychnine! I got…." Jolene slaps a hand against her mouth.
"Got rid of it?" Kate guesses. "No, Jolene, they didn't find any strychnine. But our crime lab didn't find any at Robinson's apartment either. You must have disposed of it."
"You can't prove that. You can't prove I did anything wrong. I admitted I was at his apartment for business reasons. That's all you have."
Kate taps her phone again. "No, Jolene, it isn't. Strychnine doesn't dissolve very well in water – or coffee. But you knew that. You're very good at research. You had to dissolve it in alcohol – the purer, the better. My team found a bottle of Spirytus vodka in your room, 192 proof, 96% alcohol. You should have gotten rid of that too. Or maybe you like screwdrivers with a heavy punch. So, here's what you did. You dissolved the strychnine in the Spirytus. Then you put it in a container, maybe a little bottle or a flask you could ditch later.
"You went to Robinson's apartment to meet him as arranged. Then you offered to make coffee. And when you saw Robinson's caramel creamer, you were sure your plan would work. So you poured your alcohol solution into his mug, and you sat with him until he started to look sick, and you knew the poison would do its job. Then you left, using the old trick of putting tape on the lock so you could get back in. The lab found residue of the adhesive. Maybe you offered the dog, Cronut, a walk or a treat to get him out with you. He headed for his usual route to the park, but you went back to Robinson's apartment.
"Maybe Robinson was seizing on the floor. Perhaps he was already dead. Either way, he wouldn't bother you. So you washed up the mugs and removed any signs that you'd been there, including the tape, or so you thought. Then you hit a snag in your plan. You needed a key to secure the apartment from the hall. And you couldn't get Robinson's without leaving signs of yourself on the body or in the apartment. So you left the door unlocked. Too bad for you, Cronut found his way back and led my husband to Robinson's body."
"A bottle of Spirytus in my hotel room still doesn't prove anything," Jolene insists. "It could have been left there by another guest. And you don't have a witness."
Kate smiles. "Oh, we have a witness."
Ryan ushers Rick and Cronut into the room. "A dog," Jolene smirks as Cronut barks his recognition. "You've got to be kidding."
Rick pulls a beat-up paperback from his pocket and begins to read a scenario in which the killer dissolves strychnine in high-proof vodka. "Once a plagiarist, always a plagiarist. You couldn't even come up with an original method for murder."
"I've never seen that book," Jolene claims.
Kate pulls another sheet from her folder. "This is a record of your purchase of a copy."
"It's out of print," Rick adds. "So what are the odds of someone else buying a copy and taking out the man you wanted to silence?"
Esposito grins at Jolene. "About the same as convincing a jury you didn't do it."
