Viking by Daniel Hardman Read Free Book Online Page B

we’re finished with your
husband. Could you wait upstairs?”
    Julie tasted the rudeness of the dismissal, resented it as she had that night, but
was glad she had the sense to take the girls to their room and get them occupied with
some coloring books and crayons. At least it had deferred their confusion and
heartache. When they were busy she went into the den and curled up in Rafa’s favorite
leather easy chair under an old quilt. The vent in the corner carried the sound of the
men’s voices from below with gratifying clarity.
    The younger agent—Tearle—was asking the questions. Did Rafa use any illegal drugs,
he wanted to know.
    “No. Nothing. Not even tanners.”
    “Joak? Vust?” Tearle didn’t sound satisfied with a flat denial.
    “No. You’re welcome to test me.”
    “Know anybody who does?”
    “Plenty. Doesn’t everyone these days?”
    “Close friends?”
    “Mostly students at the university.”
    “Do you have any sources of income other than your salary?”
    “No. Why?”
    “Ever been audited?”
    “No.”
    “Own any property other than your home?”
    “Just a skimmer, furniture, stuff like that.”
    “Do you hire someone to do your taxes?”
    “No. Julie’s a financial whiz.”
    “Do you have an investment broker?”
    “I have some mutual funds and a retirement plan through the university, but I don’t
remember who the guy is that the university hires to work with us.”
    “But you don’t have any private business of that sort independent of the
university?”
    “No.”
    “Do you have any private-key or ensure-anon bank accounts?”
    “Are you kidding? If I had that kind of money I wouldn’t be working fifty hours a
week as a cross country coach.”
    “Have you ever cheated on your wife?”
    “No, as a matter of fact. Have you?” Rafa’s tone was heavily laced with sarcasm, and
in her dream Julie stirred restlessly. Had her husband told the truth about anything
that night?
    “We’re here to ask questions, Mr. Orosco. We didn’t mean to offend you. But we have
to know what the facts are.”
    “Well, would you mind explaining how on earth my marriage is related to your
investigation?”
     “Where were you Thursday afternoon and evening?”
    “At a cross country meet.”
    “What time did the meet finish?”
    “Around 6 p.m.”
    “You left then?”
    “Well, no. After the meet I went on a cool-down run with the team, like I usually
do. Then I went to talk with our exercise physiologist about one of the runners who
seems to get shin splints all the time. And after that I had to grade some papers and
wade through a bunch of computer work to post mid-term progress reports. I probably
didn’t leave till around 9:30.”
    And on and on the questions went. What other faculty members had been working late
in their offices that evening? Had he ever visited such and such an address? Did he
often travel? Where did the team go on their cool-down run? Where did he meet with the
exercise physiologist? Which member of the team had shin splints? What time did he get
home? Did he stop anywhere on the way?
    It was a tense one-sided conversation that became more surreal with every passing
minute. The agents never explained who the victim was, what exactly had happened in the
crime, or, more importantly for Julie, why on earth they seemed to connect Rafa with
the affair. Their questions shifted from topic to topic without warning.
    “Have you ever been convicted of a felony?” Tearle asked.
    “No.”
    “Mind if we scan your fingerprints?”
    “No. Go ahead.”
    Julie heard a short sequence of beeps as the forensic computer recorded the patterns
on his fingertips and uplinked with a central database.
    “They’re a matter of public record for all university employees.” Rafa said. One of
the men grunted, probably reading the information on his computer screen.
    “Do you own a gun?” Agent Gregory wanted to know.
     “Yes.”
    “Plasma or