Maverick sat back at the table. “He doesn’t know the guy’s name. We told him we couldn’t be sure who he meant. So he asked for the public defender. It’s Friday night, so a public defender won’t be in until tomorrow morning, which means we leave him alone until then.”

So much for watching an interrogation. “What about the scene?”

Greenwood smiled. “Hundred plants, various stages of harvest. Over two hundred pounds of packaged weed.”

“Half a million bucks,” Maverick said.

“And the coke?”

Maverick pulled out a tablet, showed Caitlin an image. The windowless room could have been a chemistry lab on campus except for the ingredients stacked in neat piles. She swiped through the images. Bags of Portland cement, a gas can, a jug of sulfuric acid, potassium.

Caitlin pointed to a beaker full of white powder. “Is that coke?”

“Sodium bicarbonate,” Greenwood said. “Technically, we didn’t find any cocaine. But there was a row of coca plants in the grow room, mostly dead or dying.”

Caitlin got the picture. “So the shipment was fresh seeds for later and enough leaves to crank out a batch for Little Five?”

“Looks like,” Maverick said. “How did you know they were playing Pablo Escobar?”

“Lakshmi told me Amireau had offered her green cocaine once. Only time I’d heard of something like that was back in LA. LAPD found three club kids, all dead. They settled on bad chemistry.”

Greenwood nodded. “The kind that comes from a self-taught cook. What else?”

“Adam Fodor’s reluctance to stay involved in a pot business he probably started. The Bahamas aren’t Colombia. Weed’s one thing, but they don’t mess around when it comes to cocaine trafficking.”

Greenwood looked smitten or at least horny. “Damned impressive, Caitlin.”

She tried not to blush. “What about Gooch?”

Maverick nearly spit her coffee. “Who now?”

“Big guy, beard, overalls?”

Greenwood laughed. “Randall Gutcherson. Got him too. Same thing, waiting on a lawyer.”

Caitlin reached for another piece of chicken. “So no one’s talking tonight?”

“Unless you’ve got an idea.”

She reached for her laptop. “Maybe Frodo doesn’t know how much he has to lose.”

*   *   *

Munching the remains of Greenwood’s salad, Caitlin watched the detectives play with Nate Fodor via the observation room’s video feed. Chief Renton and two detectives stood behind her.

Frodo tapped a photo printout on the interview room’s table. “So I met my brother at my parent’s house.”

“My bad,” Greenwood said, pulling out three more of Mike Roman’s shots from Florida. “I was supposed to show you all of these.”

The first, Nate and Adam loading a crate into the back of the delivery truck. The second, a wider shot of the boys at work and an older man, their father, twenty feet away. The third, the coca leaves found in the back of the Bro-duce truck.

“So what?”