was busy playing bad cop, she could nose around a bit.
Arsenault waved toward the hall. “Second door on your left.”
Heading down the corridor, she heard Finn continue with his questions. “So is that how these sites work, then? People donate money thinking they’re aiding some asshole’s defense …”
Kay slowed at the partially open first door. In the shadows she discerned the outline of several computers and steel shelves of electronic equipment. She heard the hiss of computer fans and the squelch of a police scanner, then an electronic chirp as though e-mail had come through. Or possibly posts on the Eales message boards.
Back at the office, while Finn nailed down Arsenault’s address, she’d started reading the hundreds of archivedposts. Several from the designer himself. Often his appearance on the board was to correct someone on the Bill of Rights or to direct members to links regarding police procedures or other “wrongfully convicted” felons.
“I said the second door.” Arsenault’s voice came from behind her. She jumped. Standing squarely at the head of the hall, backlit by the windows of the living area, she couldn’t read his face.
“Sorry.”
“The money, Scotty, where does it go?” she heard Finn ask.
“The fund goes to Bernard’s attorney. You can talk to Mr. Grogan yourself.”
Kay could feel Arsenault’s eyes still on her as she passed two more closed doors to her right and finally groped for the light switch inside the bathroom.
The room was as sterile as the rest of the place. Pristine white and crimson tiles, gleaming brass fixtures, and plush towels hanging squarely on their racks. And in one corner, an enormous Jacuzzi tub in red marble.
Arsenault had a maid, Kay guessed as she closed the door.
She gave a cursory exploration of the cupboards and drawers, finally sliding open the medicine chest over the sink. Studying the prescriptions that lined the middle shelf, Kay recognized half of them as OCD and anxiety meds from varying dates. Enough to start a small pharmacy. But nothing screamed out as suspicious.
Flushing the toilet and running the faucet for effect, she left the room and found Finn still hammering Arsenault about the money.
“Come on, Scotty, we’re not the fucking IRS here. I don’t give a donkey’s ass if you take people’s money and don’t claim it. Who’s behind Eales’s goddamned website?”Only two feet of tension-filled air separated the two men. “Who hired you?”
“I don’t believe I have to divulge that, Detective.”
“No, you’re right. But why the hell wouldn’t you unless you’re hiding something?”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“No?” This time when Finn closed in, Arsenault took a step back. “Oh, come on, Scotty. You don’t feel threatened by me, do you? Cuz that sure as hell isn’t my intention. Trust me, you’d know if I was threatening you.”
“Right. I’d end up looking like Bernard Eales did after you guys arrested him.”
Finn ignored the comment. “Where are you getting your information?” he asked again.
“I already told you. The media.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And you already told us that everything on your website is public domain. But that’s where you’re wrong, Scotty. See, the thing is, you got shit posted on your site that no one knows about. Well, no one except us and Eales. But wait, how can Eales know about it, since your site says he didn’t kill those women?”
Finn was on a roll. He stopped Arsenault before he could interject.
“Man, Scotty, do you see where I’m confused here? If Eales didn’t kill those women, like your bullshit site implies, then he couldn’t know some of the details that you’ve got on your site about those murders. Which means …well, you see where I’m going with this? I just gotta wonder where you’re getting your information.”
Arsenault looked to Kay then, a kind of pleading in his eyes, as though they were suddenly
Arsenault waved toward the hall. “Second door on your left.”
Heading down the corridor, she heard Finn continue with his questions. “So is that how these sites work, then? People donate money thinking they’re aiding some asshole’s defense …”
Kay slowed at the partially open first door. In the shadows she discerned the outline of several computers and steel shelves of electronic equipment. She heard the hiss of computer fans and the squelch of a police scanner, then an electronic chirp as though e-mail had come through. Or possibly posts on the Eales message boards.
Back at the office, while Finn nailed down Arsenault’s address, she’d started reading the hundreds of archivedposts. Several from the designer himself. Often his appearance on the board was to correct someone on the Bill of Rights or to direct members to links regarding police procedures or other “wrongfully convicted” felons.
“I said the second door.” Arsenault’s voice came from behind her. She jumped. Standing squarely at the head of the hall, backlit by the windows of the living area, she couldn’t read his face.
“Sorry.”
“The money, Scotty, where does it go?” she heard Finn ask.
“The fund goes to Bernard’s attorney. You can talk to Mr. Grogan yourself.”
Kay could feel Arsenault’s eyes still on her as she passed two more closed doors to her right and finally groped for the light switch inside the bathroom.
The room was as sterile as the rest of the place. Pristine white and crimson tiles, gleaming brass fixtures, and plush towels hanging squarely on their racks. And in one corner, an enormous Jacuzzi tub in red marble.
Arsenault had a maid, Kay guessed as she closed the door.
She gave a cursory exploration of the cupboards and drawers, finally sliding open the medicine chest over the sink. Studying the prescriptions that lined the middle shelf, Kay recognized half of them as OCD and anxiety meds from varying dates. Enough to start a small pharmacy. But nothing screamed out as suspicious.
Flushing the toilet and running the faucet for effect, she left the room and found Finn still hammering Arsenault about the money.
“Come on, Scotty, we’re not the fucking IRS here. I don’t give a donkey’s ass if you take people’s money and don’t claim it. Who’s behind Eales’s goddamned website?”Only two feet of tension-filled air separated the two men. “Who hired you?”
“I don’t believe I have to divulge that, Detective.”
“No, you’re right. But why the hell wouldn’t you unless you’re hiding something?”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“No?” This time when Finn closed in, Arsenault took a step back. “Oh, come on, Scotty. You don’t feel threatened by me, do you? Cuz that sure as hell isn’t my intention. Trust me, you’d know if I was threatening you.”
“Right. I’d end up looking like Bernard Eales did after you guys arrested him.”
Finn ignored the comment. “Where are you getting your information?” he asked again.
“I already told you. The media.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And you already told us that everything on your website is public domain. But that’s where you’re wrong, Scotty. See, the thing is, you got shit posted on your site that no one knows about. Well, no one except us and Eales. But wait, how can Eales know about it, since your site says he didn’t kill those women?”
Finn was on a roll. He stopped Arsenault before he could interject.
“Man, Scotty, do you see where I’m confused here? If Eales didn’t kill those women, like your bullshit site implies, then he couldn’t know some of the details that you’ve got on your site about those murders. Which means …well, you see where I’m going with this? I just gotta wonder where you’re getting your information.”
Arsenault looked to Kay then, a kind of pleading in his eyes, as though they were suddenly
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