by J. D. Robb
“I was sick, the whole time, just sick. Mother said for me to go to Marvinia and convince her to repair our marriage, and to agree to give Bolton another year or so. He’d come back, she’d see to it. So I did, and he did, and everything was fine again.
“Everything was fine again.”
“Was it?” Eve shot back again. “Was everything fine for Johara and her child? For your son?”
“He has a very good life, the right kind of life. He would never have had a good life with this girl. She used him, she threatened us.”
“Is that it?” Eve demanded.
“Yes, it’s the truth. None of this would have happened if Bolt hadn’t decided, without consulting us, to sell that property to Roarke. No one would have remembered her. Surely you must see I was given no choice. I didn’t kill that unfortunate girl.”
“At the very least, you were and are an accessory.”
“And the deal stands—as long as it’s proven out.” Reo looked at Cross. “Are we done here?”
Cross merely lifted her hands.
“Then let’s go to a conference room, make it official.”
“But—but—I told you everything. You can see I was coerced. I didn’t know. You have to have some pity.”
Eve rose. “Sorry, all my pity’s used up. It’s all for Johara Murr. Interview end.”
Eve took twenty minutes to recharge by sitting in her office, boots on her desk.
She turned her head into Roarke’s hand when he came in, laid it on her hair.
“One wonders,” he said, “the genetic miracle that makes a man like Bolton Singer with such a father, such a grandmother.”
“We’d know about that.”
“We would. You should take a blocker.”
“Not yet. This last round won’t take long. She’s either going to spew or clam up and go to court. Either way, we’ve got her.”
“You hope to make her spew.”
“I’m going to give it a damn good shot.” She sat up, rolled her shoulders when her communicator signaled.
“Tell me the good stuff.”
“I’ve got good stuff,” McNab told her. “I want to make out like it was hard, like I had to pull out super magic skills, but it’s all on her office comp. Yeah, passcoded, but not much more. It goes back decades. But I’ve scanned through, and I can give you a whole bunch that ties her up in this.”
“Gimme. Send it. I’m about to put her in the box.”
“Really? It’s almost midnight.”
“She wants it.”
“Okay then, I’m going to give you the cherry on top. Trueheart found a passport in the name of Johara Murr in Elinor Singer’s bedroom safe. Now, I did have to use some magic to open it. So credit there.”
“Sick, sociopathic bitch. I need a copy of everything. Listen, if you want to break for the night after that, you’re cleared for a hotel.”
“I think we’re into it, but we might want one after we’re done.”
“Good enough. Keep me informed. Good work, McNab. Good work all around.”
“She kept the passport,” Roarke said quietly. “So she could take it out, look at it, congratulate herself for seeing that the family line continues as she dictated.”
“Yeah. Why don’t you let Mira know about that? I need to— Busy around here,” she said when her computer signaled an incoming. “What goes on top of the cherry on top?”
“Those sprinkles things?” he suggested. “Those colorful little candies?”
“We just got sprinkles.”
Peabody stepped in. “She’s up.”
“So are we. Grab Reo. We need a few minutes before we take her.”
Roarke read the screen over Eve’s shoulder. “I’ll update Mira and Jack. Take her down hard, Lieutenant.”
“You bet your fine ass.”
The jumpsuit didn’t flatter Elinor any more than it did her son. She looked her age, at least around the eyes. Her very distinguished counsel sat in his very distinguished suit at her side as Eve started the record, read in the data.
“It’s late, so why not make this quick? You’re going to want to wait, Mr. Breathed,” Eve added as he started to speak. “Just hold on to all the objections, the my client this and that. First, Mrs. Singer, your son just rolled all over you and back again.”
“That’s absurd.”
“That’s fact. I have his statement, and his confession and his play-by-play on record, and we’ll get to that. Next, we have records accessed from your home office computer for a pallet of bricks to be delivered to the site and the building under construction where the remains of Johara Murr and her fetus were found. Your order, signed by you, for said bricks and for the mortar required to build the ten-by-eighteen-foot wall, dated September 8, 2024.”
“Really, Lieutenant, Mrs. Singer, without a doubt, ordered material for that site and many others. This is hardly evidence of murder.”
“She ordered the brick for a wall that was not on the blueprints, not in the plans, and was used to conceal the body of Johara Murr. Just wait, will you?” she snapped at Breathed. “Here, I have a copy of a passport found during the warranted search of your home. Found in your bedroom safe. A passport in the name of Johara Murr. Maybe you’d like to tell us how you came to be in possession of this item?”
“I know nothing about it.”
“It just, what, popped in there by magic? It has a stamp on her entry to New York. It’s dated September 8, 2024. The same day you ordered the brick—rush delivery, I’ll add. Cost you extra.” She pushed the copy across the table.
“I’ll need a moment with my client.”
“Fine, fine, but can you just wait until I’m finished piling on the evidence, so we can get the hell out of here sometime tonight? I have here the ballistic report—I can rush things, too—on the weapon you used to fire two shots at me, a police officer, this evening.”
“My client was confused, and believed you were an intruder attacking her son.”
“That’s bullshit, as the record, which I’ll play, clearly shows. You thought about trying that third shot, but you knew I’d stun you. I didn’t stun you because you’re really old and it could’ve killed you, even on low. But you really wanted to fire again, try for the head shot. Even better than the—on-record—attempted murder of a police officer, which will get you twenty-five to life, is the fact that the bullets fired from that gun tonight and the bullets fired thirty-seven years ago into Johara Murr match. Same weapon used. You should’ve gotten rid of it. Shouldn’t have kept her passport, should’ve destroyed those invoices, but you didn’t want to. They were like medals of honor for you.”
“You won’t put me in prison.”
“Elinor, we need to talk.”
She shoved Breathed’s hand away. “She will not put me in prison. Do you know who I am?”
“Oh, yes, I do. You bet I do.”
“You broke into my home, you planted all those things. I will be believed over you. You’re nothing. You’re married to a competitor, a criminal. Everyone knows he’s no more than a vicious Irish thug. You’re trying to destroy what my family has built over generations for him, for some nouveau riche foreigner. People will believe me.”
“Not a chance. Your own lawyer doesn’t believe that line of bullshit. Science, you murdering bitch. Science, evidence, statements. A recording that shows you holding the weapon, firing it at me, just like you fired on the pregnant woman your grandson loved.”
“Love means nothing. She was some tramp, some whore trying to worm her way into my family, our status, our money, our heritage with the bastard growing inside her.”
“Your great-grandchild,” Peabody mumbled.
“Nothing but a nit.”
“Elinor, stop. My client has nothing more to say at this time.”
“She thinks she can bully me.” Elinor pushed his hand away again. “That whore thought the same. She found out differently, and so will you.”
“So you shot her, killed her,
had your son help you wall her in because you considered her a whore and the child inside her a nit that had to be killed so as not to infect your family.”
“She was a threat. I eliminated the threat. That is my right as head of the family. You will not put me in prison for protecting my family from infestation.”
“You’ll never know another day of freedom,” Eve promised.
“No, she won’t,” Reo agreed. “There will be no deal, Mr. Breathed, so let’s not waste time on that. Your client has confessed. We have evidence on top of evidence. She will serve her two life sentences for murder and her twenty-five for attempted murder of a police officer, consecutively.”
“Ms. Reo, consider my client’s age and life expectancy.”
“She’ll live that expectancy out in prison. One concession I’ll give, considering that age and the physical strain of transporting her off-planet, is she’ll live what’s left of her life in an on-planet maximum-security prison.
“Take me to court on it,” Reo invited. “And that concession is deleted.” She rose. “Speak with your client, but that’s it, and that’s all.”
She sailed out.
“Reo exiting Interview.” Eve rose, gathered the files. “We actually have more, but you get the gist. When you’ve finished with your client, she’ll be taken back to her cell.”
“I will not spend another minute in that hellhole.”
“You’re going to spend a lot more than a minute in hellholes. I only wish you had more years left to spend in them. Interview end.”
Epilogue
Eve stepped out, rubbed her fingers on her gritty eyes, then over her face, then back into her hair.
She needed a shower, she thought, needed to wash off the sludge that excuse for a human had left behind.
“You sure called it, going for the son first.” Peabody scrubbed at her own face. “Not only the way he rolled, but getting the time to get the ballistics, to have the search come around. Her lawyer barely got to play lawyer.”
“He might try to push a little more, but I’m not budging.” Reo bared her teeth at the closed door of Interview A. “Neither is the boss. I’ll take a conference room if he wants to play with it awhile. She may overrule him. She may insist on going to trial.”
“She may,” Mira agreed as she walked to them. “She’s a malignant narcissist, classic, and is certain she will never face consequences.”
“She will, and there’ll be more of them if she takes it to court. Either way.” Reo rolled her shoulders. “Long day.”
“He’s going to push for bail, or house arrest.”
Reo nodded at Eve. “He will, and he’ll do so knowing he won’t get either. The passport? That’s gold. But the diamonds and rubies on the gold? She used the same gun she used to kill a twenty-two-year-old woman pregnant with her own great-grandchild to shoot a cop.”
Nothing could have satisfied Eve more. “Now I’ll take a blocker. Who has one?”
Peabody reached in her pocket, Reo in her briefcase, Mira in her purse. “Jesus, really? You all carry them?”
She plucked one from Peabody, knocked the tiny blue pill back.
“Ice those bruises,” Mira told her.
“I appreciate you coming in for this. I know it all ran late.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it. Breathed will most certainly try to convince her to submit to a psychiatric evaluation, but she’ll dismiss that. Nothing wrong with her. I’m going to rewatch those recordings, both of them, the first chance I have. Fascinating. I may do a paper on them. But for now, I’m going home. Dennis probably waited up, and, if so, we’re going to have some midnight ice cream and talk this through.”
“Midnight ice cream?”
“A family tradition. It’s been a pleasure, in our way, to work with all of you on this. Get some rest.”
“I’ll wait this out,” Reo said as Mira walked away. “No need for you to stay.”
“I need to write it up.”
“Write it up in the morning, which it already is. This was good work,” Reo added. “Better than good work, but I’m getting a little punchy, and that’s the best I can do.”
“Don’t let him string you out too long.”
“Oh, believe me, Dallas, he knows she’s cooked. See you next time.”
“I’m just going to write up the broad strokes,” Eve told Peabody as they headed back. “We can fill it in in the morning. Take an hour personal time there. Sleep in a little.”
“Whole bed to myself.”
“Right. We’ll give you a lift home.”
“I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
Broad strokes, she told herself as she sat at her desk. And God, even she’d had enough coffee. She got water and laid down those broad strokes.
“Haven’t you had enough for tonight?” Roarke walked in.
“Yeah, I have. I’m going to finish in the morning. I figured you were still playing with the commander, so I’d get started.”
“He said to tell you very fine work, and he’d like to see you in his office tomorrow. Late morning. He was talking to Anna when he left. I believe she’s very pleased.”
“Well, that was the whole goal, pleasing the commander’s wife.”
She rose, looked at him, then moved into him.
“There now, my darling Eve.”
She held on, and tight. “There are horrible people in the world. Ugly people, vicious people, but there aren’t, under all that, so many genuinely evil people. Elinor Singer is one of them.”
“She is, yes. She tried to take you from me. My heart stopped, just an instant. Even as I was moving, there was no breath in me.”
“She tried, she failed. You gave me magic. You’re not an Irish thug, but even if you were, I’d love you anyway.”
Such was her fatigue she didn’t hear Peabody clomping to her office until she heard her partner’s: “Awww!”
“Shut up, Peabody.”
But she kept holding on.
Titles by J. D. Robb
Naked in Death
Glory in Death
Immortal in Death
Rapture in Death
Ceremony in Death
Vengeance in Death
Holiday in Death
Conspiracy in Death
Loyalty in Death
Witness in Death
Judgment in Death
Betrayal in Death
Seduction in Death
Reunion in Death
Purity in Death
Portrait in Death
Imitation in Death
Divided in Death
Visions in Death
Survivor in Death
Origin in Death
Memory in Death
Born in Death
Innocent in Death
Creation in Death
Strangers in Death
Salvation in Death
Promises in Death
Kindred in Death
Fantasy in Death
Indulgence in Death
Treachery in Death
New York to Dallas
Celebrity in Death
Delusion in Death
Calculated in Death
Thankless in Death
Concealed in Death
Festive in Death
Obsession in Death
Devoted in Death
Brotherhood in Death
Apprentice in Death
Echoes in Death
Secrets in Death
Dark in Death
Leverage in Death
Connections in Death
Vendetta in Death
Golden in Death
Shadows in Death
Faithless in Death
Forgotten in Death
Anthologies
Silent Night
(with Susan Plunkett, Dee Holmes, and Claire Cross)
Out of This World
(with Laurell K. Hamilton, Susan Krinard, and Maggie Shayne)
Remember When
(with Nora Roberts)
Bump in the Night
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Dead of Night
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Three in Death
Suite 606
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
In Death
The Lost
(with Patricia Gaffney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
The Other Side
(with Mary Blayney, Patricia Gaffney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Time of Death
The Unquiet
(with Mary Blayney, Patricia Gaffney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Mirror, Mirror
(with Mary Blayney, Elaine Fox, Mary Kay McComas, and R. C. Ryan)
Down the Rabbit Hole
(with Mary Blayney, Elaine Fox, Mary Kay McComas, and R. C. Ryan)
About the Author
J. D. Robb is the pseudonym for the New York Times bestselling author of more than 230 novels, including the futuristic suspense In Death series. There are more than 500 million copies of the author’s books in print. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Epigraphs
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
