Forgotten in Death

by J. D. Robb

  He smiled. “This should be interesting. Are you observing, Roarke?”

  “I am, yes, and it’ll be very nice to have your company, Jack, as well as Charlotte’s.”

  “I promised to keep Anna informed. She despises Elinor Singer. An incident twenty, maybe twenty-five years ago involving table decor at a gala.” He studied his coffee. “My wife holds a grudge.”

  Then he smiled broadly at Roarke. “But as she’s not here, we’ll get snacks. And enjoy them,” he added, scanning the women. “Because I have every confidence in my officers, our prosecutor, and the doctor to wrap these two up and serve them a very large, very unpleasant platter of justice.”

  He rose, turned to Roarke. “I want chips. There should be some salt and vinegar chips in Vending, which are now banned by Anna’s decree from our home and my office. I’m buying. We’ll get you a share, Dr. Mira.”

  “We should have fizzies with that.” Roarke shot Eve a wink as he left with Whitney. “Do it up right.”

  A little bemused, Eve watched them walk out. “Well, that was unusual.”

  “He’s angry,” Mira said to Eve. “He’s furiously angry. You were shot. He wants payment for that. He’s angry, but he also trusts we’ll get that payment. But trust aside, he needs to see it done.”

  “Peabody, have them bring J. Bolton Singer into Interview A. And let’s get it done for the commander.”

  Singer didn’t look so stylish in his orange jumpsuit. Beside him, his lawyer appeared very buttoned down, very ready to go. Indina Cross, a mixed-race female of forty-eight, wore a navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and tiny gold balls in her ears as her only jewelry.

  Currently, her wide, thin mouth pressed into disapproving lines as Eve ordered the record on, read off the names, case numbers, and charges.

  She pushed off first. “My client wishes to get this ridiculous interview over and done so he can return to his own home. The charges are without merit. There is no evidence supporting them or involving my client with the death of the woman purportedly identified as Johara Murr.”

  “First, she has not been purportedly identified, the victim’s identity is confirmed, and her relationship with your client’s son has been confirmed. The paternity of the fetus has been confirmed by the father—your client’s son. So don’t sit there and insult the victim, counselor.”

  “We will have our own forensic scientists examine the—”

  “Fine, you do that. When we go to court. Meanwhile, she is Johara Murr and your client is the grandfather of the fetus who died with her. You’re going to want to move off that one, Ms. Cross.” Eve’s warning filled the room with frost. “You’re going to want to move off that one real quick or your client’s going to be escorted back to his cell for the night, and this interview ends.”

  “Indina.”

  “The identity of the victim doesn’t change the lack of evidence as applies to my client.” As she spoke, she reached over to pat Singer’s hand.

  Indulgently, Eve noted.

  “She was murdered, shot three times, in early September of 2024 on a property owned by your client and his company. She was concealed by a hastily built brick wall in a building under construction on property owned by your client. She was in a serious, committed relationship with your client’s son, and carrying a child from that relationship.

  “These are facts.”

  “As it’s impossible to establish the exact date this unfortunate incident occurred—”

  “Between September seventh and September twelfth, according to the records of the building under construction. It’s the wall, J.B., it’s all about the wall. The bricks. When they were ordered, delivered, used.”

  “And you have job reports, invoices, and so on from this time?”

  “Your mother’s a sharp businesswoman, isn’t she? I bet she kept records. And I bet the search team, the very skilled e-man on it, will find those records in her files. They’re searching right now.”

  “They can’t go into our home!” Singer snatched at Cross’s arm. “They can’t just go into our home, go through our things. It’s insulting.”

  “Warrant.” Reo opened her file, slid it across the table.

  “I didn’t order any bricks. You won’t find anything about them.”

  “But you laid them. You built that wall.”

  He smiled, held out his soft, pampered hands. “My dear girl, do I look like a bricklayer?”

  Eve smiled back. “I’m not your dear girl. And no, you don’t. That’s why you did a sloppy job. Did it bother you at all as you laid those courses? Did it make you just a little sick seeing her lying there, knowing what was dying inside her? Part of you, dying inside her, did that trouble you at all?”

  “My client categorically denies knowing the victim, knowing of the victim, of having any knowledge of her death. All you have is innuendo and circumstantial.”

  “I’ve got the thirty-two-caliber handgun, the two bullets that hit me tonight from said weapon, and the three recovered from the remains of Johara Murr.”

  “And the ballistic reports?”

  “Waiting on that.”

  Cross let out a soft sound of dismissal, but Eve looked at Singer. “You know they’re going to match.”

  “I know no such thing.”

  She nodded as she heard the quiet tap of his foot on the floor. “You know they’re going to match, just as you knew, and feared, we were going to find out who the woman you and your mother murdered was, her connection to your son. The son who wept for her tonight.”

  “I don’t know anything about it.” Tap, tap, tap. “I imagine Bolton had relationships, as any young man might, with any number of women he met in college.”

  “I didn’t say they met in college.”

  “I assumed.”

  “You don’t care about him, either,” Peabody put in. “Your own son, his pain or grief. That’s just sad.”

  “You know nothing about it.”

  “You haven’t asked about him at all, or about your wife.” Peabody jabbed a finger at him. “You haven’t shown any concern for Johara or the baby. Nothing. Because you don’t feel anything for any of them. That’s why it was easy for you to kill her.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “You were running,” Eve reminded him. “When we arrived at your home tonight, you were packing to fly out, to run.”

  “My client planned to take a trip, a break from the stress of the last several days. It’s not a crime.”

  Eve ignored the lawyer. “You tried to run. Your mother tried to kill me, and you tried to run.”

  “You burst into our home. You frightened her. Obviously, she believed you were an intruder and put hands on me. She tried to defend me, and herself.”

  “Left your wife off that one, too. Your wife, who opened the door for me. My partner and I had been in your home only hours before. You and your mother knew who I was, a police officer. I announced same, informed you and your mother you were being arrested and why. And yet she fired on me.”

  “We were confused, obviously. It happened very quickly. In any event, I didn’t have a weapon. I didn’t fire a weapon.”

  Time to toss Mother aside, Eve decided.

  “You knew about Johara, about the baby, because your mother holds on tight. Johara came to you, didn’t she, desperate to have you accept her, the child, so she could have a hope of making a family with your son. She needed your blessing, your support. Maybe she couldn’t get that from her family—we’ll find out. But as she came closer to term, she wanted family for the child. She wanted a father for the child, so came to you for your blessing.”

  “Nonsense.”

  This time he couldn’t meet her eyes as he lied.

  “So you and your mother had her come to the site—a handy place to kill and conceal the body. No one would know. Everyone would forget her. Bolton wanted music, and he refused to take his place in the business. So you told her to come there. Look at what we do, what we build, what w
e want for Bolt. That would be a pretty good way to lure her there.

  “Then you shot her, watched her fall.”

  “I did not. I did not.”

  “And built the wall, poured the ceiling. Gone, forgotten, finished. But here’s the thing about the walls, J.B. You’re no bricklayer, you’re right about that. Sloppy work. I’m betting you were pretty shaken while you built it on top of being crap at it. How many times, I wonder, did you scrape your knuckles? Work gloves? But even with those, you banged your hands, maybe an elbow. You bled a little here and there.”

  He thought about that, Eve noted. Sweat started to pool as he tried to think, to remember. “We’re testing every brick, and we’re going to find your DNA. And when we do, what happens, APA Reo?”

  “What happens is Mr. Singer does two consecutive life sentences in a small, unpleasant cage in an off-planet facility. The fetus was healthy at the TOD, the fetus was viable outside the womb at TOD. Two life sentences and your attorney knows when we find that DNA, and we will, that’s a slam dunk.”

  “His attorney is very confident her client’s DNA will not be found, as Mr. Singer had no part in constructing the aforesaid wall.”

  “Did Mommy help you?” Peabody wondered. “Or did you do it all by yourself?”

  Singer leaned over, whispered in Cross’s ear.

  “Of course. I need a few moments with my client.”

  “No problem. Dallas, Peabody, and Reo exiting Interview to accommodate counsel. Record off. Anybody want a snack?” Eve said, deliberately carefree as they left. “Peabody, use my code and get us some chips.”

  “Really?” Peabody said when the door closed.

  “Actually, yeah. And something to wash them down. This isn’t going to take as long as I thought.”

  Mira came out of Observation, hurried toward them. “He’s lying, of course, but even in the relatively short time of the interview his skill for lying is eroding.”

  “The DNA on the bricks did it,” Reo concluded. “Good call there, Dallas.”

  “It might even be true. He’s worried it’s true. He’s afraid of prison.”

  “He should be. And he’s sure as hell going there.”

  “But you’ll make the deal.”

  Reo spared Eve a glance before she put her hands together for Peabody and her armload of chips and sodas. “Yes! I want!”

  “I started to get veggie chips for me, then I thought, screw that. I’ve earned these calories today.”

  “You’ll make the deal,” Eve repeated as she opened her bag of chips.

  “Twenty to twenty-five, minimum, on-planet. We discussed this, Dallas.”

  “I’m not giving you grief over it. We both know it’s the mother pulling the strings. He rolls, he lays it all out, he can have the deal. He’ll probably die in prison anyway.” She crunched into a chip. “I’m not sorry about that. I don’t know if he pulled the trigger—I lean, especially after tonight, toward her on that. But he’s just as responsible.”

  “You should take a blocker,” Mira told her.

  “No. Feeling the hits keeps me mean. How’s it going in Observation?”

  “Jack—the commander—is enjoying himself—and the chips. He liked your sad outrage, Peabody.”

  Peabody lit right up. “Really?”

  “I wonder what this grudge is Anna Whitney has on Elinor Singer?” Eve turned as the interview door opened.

  And saw, immediately, Cross’s mouth had gone thin again.

  “My client has certain information he’s willing to share, on record, for a dismissal of charges against him.”

  “That’s a no. Cross, don’t waste my time.”

  Cross stared hard at Reo. “I believe my client has information valuable to your investigation. In consideration of same—”

  “You want to talk deal, we can talk deal. Depending on the information, the value thereof, and your client’s full disclosure of his part and participation in the murder of Johara Murr and the viable fetus. We both know he’s guilty. Again, it’s late. Don’t waste our time.”

  Eve handed what was left of her bag of chips to Mira. “Add this to the pile. If you’re ready to get going again, counselor, we’ll get going. Otherwise, your client goes back to his cell, and we bring up his mother. She may be more forthcoming.”

  She added a shrug. “First come, first dealt.”

  “We resume the interview.”

  Eve took the tube of Pepsi with her. “Record on. Resuming Interview with Singer, J. Bolton, and counsel. Dallas, Peabody, Reo entering Interview. Okay, J.B., spill it.”

  “Immunity—”

  “Is off the table.” Reo let out a sigh. “If your counsel is worth her fee, she explained to you we wouldn’t make that deal.”

  “Five to ten,” Cross said briskly, “in a low-security facility on-planet.”

  This time Reo just laughed. “You want us to give him a ride in a country club rehabilitation center? He murdered a woman and her thirty-two-week-old fetus.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone! She did!”

  “J.B.” Cross gripped his arm. “You need to be quiet. My client has information regarding the death of Johara Murr. He is over eighty years old. Even a ten-year sentence is prohibitive and extreme. I believe any court would agree—”

  “Then let’s take it to court.” Eyes glittering, Reo leaned forward. “You want to risk that, you’d risk that, knowing what he told you? What his wife told us?”

  “You spoke with Marvinia! She can’t say anything about it. We’re married.”

  “Shut up, J.B. Fifteen years, on-planet, low security.”

  “Listen up. Twenty to twenty-five, on-planet, max security. And this is contingent on whether the information your client has is viable, valuable, and truthful. There will be no negotiation on those terms. If I take this to court, he will serve two life sentences, off-planet. Take the deal or don’t, because he’s just the type of defendant I like to prosecute.”

  “Indina. Twenty years!”

  After a study of Reo’s face, Cross turned to Singer. “I’m advising you to take this deal. On-planet, J.B. You’ll have a chance to serve this time and get out, and live.”

  “But my God, my God.” He held out his hands to Eve. “You have to understand, have some pity. I was coerced, I was in shock. I was afraid.”

  “Are you, on advice of counsel, taking the deal currently on the table?” Eve asked him.

  “Yes, yes, I’ll take it, if you promise you’ll consider what I tell you, and my state of mind. If you promise to consider all of that and have some pity, perhaps renegotiate.”

  “We’ll consider everything. Tell us about the murder of Johara Murr.”

  “It all goes back, you see. We were all worried about Bolt. He had this delusion he could make a living with his music. His mother went against us on this and indulged him. An obvious mistake, as he had a legacy, a duty here, and to the company his great-grandfather had started.”

  Duty, Eve thought. Legacy. Elinor Singer’s words, no question.

  “You kept tabs on him.”

  “My mother, thinking of his best interest, hired an agency to watch out for him.”

  “So she knew, you knew, when he became involved with Johara Murr.”

  “Yes, of course. Mother was upset, as you can imagine. She wasn’t even an American, but I convinced Mother to let it go. Boys will be boys, after all. Even when it seemed to be more serious, we felt we should let it run its course. He was so stubborn, you see. If we forbade him from seeing her, living with her, it would only cement the connection. But then they were careless. She got pregnant.”

  “That must’ve been a blow,” Peabody commented.

  “It was impossible, of course. He was far too young and foolish. She was completely inappropriate. I expected her to terminate the pregnancy, then began to see, as Mother had, that she used it to trap him. That’s why Mother went to London to speak to her parents.”

  Of course she had, Eve thought. “Elinor wen
t to Johara’s parents?”

  “They were very unhappy to hear of the relationship and the pregnancy and, on Mother’s advice, put on a bit of pressure to convince the girl to come home, to visit.”

  “Without telling her why.”

  “She was, as I understand, a very obedient young woman. When she went to them, they convinced her, as they should have, the relationship had to end, that she was far too young to raise a child, that she had disgraced the family. She agreed to go to her aunt, and to put the child up for adoption. A good home, of course. A stable home.”

  “But she changed her mind.”

  “We believe the aunt eventually told her about my mother’s visit to her parents, and irresponsibly supported her change of mind, and her coming to New York. She was upset we’d interfered, and tried to convince my mother—whom she rightfully saw as the head of the family—that she and Bolton loved each other and the child.”

  He cleared his throat. “You have to understand, I had no idea what Mother planned when she insisted the girl meet us at the site. I believed it was to show her the scope of what the family stood for, what Bolton was part of. How misguided it was to push him off this path.

  “And then we were there. It was a beautiful night, I remember, a beautiful night, the girl said how passionate Bolt was about his music. How he needed a chance to reach his potential. If we loved him, as she did, we’d support him. She—she said she was going to him, going to beg him to forgive her for leaving, and she would tell him everything we’d done.

  “And Mother shot her.”

  He paused, covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t know. I didn’t. I was so shocked! She fell, and Mother said, ‘Push her in. Push the tramp and her bastard in.’”

  “And did you?” Eve asked.

  “Yes. God forgive me. Yes. I didn’t know what else to do. One of her shoes, and her purse, they didn’t go in like she did. Mother picked them up. She said to go down and build the brick wall. She would mix the mortar.”

  “So you built the wall together.”

  “I didn’t have a choice!” J.B. stretched his hands out, looked at Eve with a face full of fear and sorrow. “It was already done. It was too late, and we had to protect the family. She shouldn’t have come back, she shouldn’t have threatened us. Mother even offered her a hundred thousand dollars to go back, but she refused.