“Disability pimps,” said Drummond. “State grants, private foundations. Your name gets on a list and you become a potential customer. Go on, make yourselves comfortable.”
Petra and Stahl each took a chair, and Drummond lowered himself to the bed. Keeping that smile pasted on during what looked like a painful ordeal. “Now who got homicided and why would I know anything about it?”
Petra said, “Have you heard of Yuri Drummond?”
“Sounds Russian. Who is he?”
“What about a magazine called GrooveRat?”
Drummond’s chunky knuckles whitened.
“You know it,” said Petra.
“What interest do you have in it?”
“Mr. Drummond, it would be better if we asked the questions.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it.”
“Are you the publisher?”
“Me?” Drummond laughed. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Who is?”
Drummond inched his bulk toward the bed cushions, took a long time to get comfortable. “I’m happy to cooperate with the police, but you really need to let me know what’s going on.”
“We really don’t,” said Stahl.
Stahl’s voice seemed to spook Drummond. Drummond paled and licked his lips. Then his eyes brightened with anger. “I put myself here. In this situation.” Tapping the crutches. “Little drinking-and-driving problem. But you probably know that.”
No answer from the detectives. Petra glanced at her partner. Stahl looked furious.
“Inscrutable public servants,” said Drummond. “I got caught—thank God. Served time in a hospital ward, did AA.” Another tap. “I’m telling you this because I’ve been trained to confess. But also so you’ll understand: I’m a fool but not an idiot. My head’s been clear for ten years, and I know that nothing I’ve done abrogates my rights. So don’t try to intimidate me.”
“Abrogate,” said Stahl, reaching out and touching the spine of a law book. “You like legal terminology.”
“No,” said Drummond. “On the contrary. I despise it. But I used to be an attorney.”
“Is Yuri Drummond your son?” said Petra.
“Not hardly. I told you I’ve never heard that name.”
“But you have heard of GrooveRat. The magazine Yuri Drummond edits.”
Drummond didn’t reply.
“Mr. Drummond,” said Petra. “We found you, we’ll find him. Why add to your roster of poor decisions?”
“Ouch,” said Drummond, stroking his beard.
“Sir?”
Drummond chewed his cheek. “I didn’t know he was calling himself ‘Yuri.’ But, yes, I have heard of the so-called magazine. He’s my brother’s kid. Kevin Drummond. So now he’s Yuri? What’s he done?”
“Maybe nothing. We want to talk to him about GrooveRat.”
“Well, you’ve come to the wrong place,” said Drummond.
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t see Kevin,” said Drummond. “Let’s just say it’s not a close-knit family.”
“Any idea why he took on the name Yuri?”
“Hell if I know—maybe he fancies himself subversive.”
“When’s the last time you spoke to your nephew?”
“I never speak to him.” Drummond’s smile was sour. “His father—my brother—and I used to be law partners, and my indiscretions cost Frank quite a bit of business. After I was paroled and discharged from rehab, he fulfilled his brotherly obligation by finding me this place—ten units set aside for state-funded cripples—then proceeded to shut me out completely.”
“How do you know about GrooveRat?”
“Kevin sent me a copy.”
“How long ago?”
“Years—couple of years ago. He’d just graduated college, announced he was a publisher.”
“Why would he send it to you?” said Petra.
“Back then, he liked me. Probably because no one else in the family did—wild, alkie uncle and all that. Brother Frank’s a bit stuffy. Growing up with him couldn’t have been fun for Kevin.”
“So you were Kevin’s mentor.”
Drummond chuckled. “Not remotely. He sent me the rag, I wrote him a note and told him it was dreadful, he should study accounting. Mean old uncle. I never liked the kid.”
“Why not?” said Petra.
“Not a charming lad,” said Drummond. “Mumbly, ninety-eight-pound-weakling type, kept to himself, always going off on some project.”
“Publishing projects?”
“The fancy of the moment. Tropical fish, lizards, rabbits, trading cards, God knows what. Those little Japanese robots—of course he had to have every single one. He was always collecting crap—toy cars, computer games, cheap watches, you name it. Frank and his mother indulged him. Frank and I grew up with no money. Sports was our thing, we both lettered in football in high school and college. Frank’s other boys—Greg and Brian—are super athletes. Greg’s got a scholarship to Arizona State and Brian’s playing varsity in Florida.”