by J. D. Robb
“Then you’re not arguing about a trip to the nearest health center.”
“Let’s just start with the on-scene medical. Okay?”
“We’ll start there.”
23
She suffered the exam, the treatment, the blockers, ice patches, healing wands. But drew the line at the pressure syringe and tranqs.
“I’ve got to finish this,” she argued. “I can’t finish it if I’m dopey.”
“You could do with the tranqs and sleep,” Roarke argued back. “You’ve got your men in cages. A few hours won’t change that.”
“I need to finish it while they’re on the ropes. If the father comes through—and he’s due to make contact within the hour—I need to push it, end it, close it. I don’t want them figuring out how to slither out of any of it.
“After,” she promised. “I won’t need a tranq to sleep. You drive, okay? You can fill me in on the way to Central. I’ve got cops taking statements from Chenowitz and his family. I can follow up there later.”
He studied her face, the mouth still raw and puffy, the eyes—both—with purpling bruises to match the marks on her jaw.
“I shouldn’t let you win this one.”
“I took everything but the tranq. That oughta count.”
“I suppose it does.” He slid an arm around her, took some of her weight as they walked to the car.
“When he pulled out the detonator, my heart stopped.” She eased carefully into the car. “My life stopped. I knew you’d have gone back for Chenowitz. No way you’d have left him in that vest.”
“She wouldn’t leave him,” Roarke replied. “Jolie, his wife. She’d have run out the moment I cut her loose—to get to her son. I convinced her she’d put the boy in more danger, that you’d protect him.”
“You had that right,” Eve agreed.
“But then she wouldn’t leave her husband. He begged her to, but she wouldn’t, so I had a choice. Knock her unconscious, carry her out, or deal with the explosives then and there. A bit tricky, but not as complicated as I’d feared,” Roarke explained.
“He never anticipated anyone attempting to diffuse. Especially this one. He was going to kill them all,” Eve stated as a fact.
“Now they’re safe. Salazar rushed in moments after I diffused, locked it in a bomb box, and that’s that,”Roarke concluded.
“Tuned them both up this time. Iler wasn’t there to cool him off. And he’d have sent Chenowitz out at dawn, down to the building Iler bought—in the Nordon name—where a crew of about six, maybe eight would be setting up for rehab. Five more charges set in there, Salazar said, for a chain reaction.”
“Buy a property, over insure it, destroy it, collect. Classic,” Roarke said. “Chenowitz—the successful builder devoted family man—blows up his own crew.”
“It didn’t matter he’d never be able to collect on this one. He’d have won, completed the mission, and that’s what counted. In his mind, the military let him down, betrayed him. His brothers, his family, all Blue Falcons.”
“Blue Falcons.”
“Military term,” she told him, closing her aching eyes for a moment. “Stands for buddy fuckers.”
“Ah. And in his mind, Silverman was the buddy who’d been fucked.”
“He and Iler fed off each other. Iler’s got the funds, the financial know-how, Silverman’s got the tactics, the explosives training. And they both used what they had to twist the memory of a hero, for fun and profit.”
She took a long breath. “I need to round up Reo, Mira, send an update to Whitney.”
“You should text Peabody, let her know you’ve got them both. It’s still shy of midnight on the coast.”
“I don’t want to hear about time zones.”
She made the tags, sent the update, wrote the text, then eased out of the car—as carefully as she’d eased in—when they reached Central.
“It’s going to take me a while,” she began. “I know you’ll want to observe when I have them in the box, but you should find a place to chill until then.”
“I’ll wander up to EDD.” He took her weight again as they crossed to the elevator and in. “I can let Feeney and Callendar know in more detail what I’ve pulled out of Iler’s e’s. I’d wager they’re back at it.”
“Good thinking.” She leaned against him. “You make a hell of a Peabody.”
“The highest of compliments.” He tipped her face up, kissed her bruises. “I should have punched him harder.”
“Just hard enough.” She stepped to the doors when they opened on her level. “Tell Feeney I still want whatever he can dig out.”
“Understood.”
She glanced in both directions, saw the all clear as the doors started to close. “I love you.”
He stopped the doors with a hand. “Come in here and say that.”
“Later.”
Since there was no one to see, she limped toward Homicide, and into her office. She got coffee, sat at her desk. Then laid her head on it, said, “Son of a bitch!”
She let herself have a couple of good moans, maybe a quiet whimper, then pushed herself up to drink the coffee, write up the report.
When her desk ’link signaled, she smiled at the readout. Reginald Iler. And here we go, she thought.
“Lieutenant Dallas. Thank you for contacting me, sir.”
He had a hard, handsome face, shrewd, dark eyes. “You look as if you’ve been in a brawl.”
“I have been. With Sergeant Oliver Silverman. He’s now being treated in our secure infirmary and booked as your son’s coconspirator on eighteen counts of murder, and related charges.”
“I’ve never heard of this man. This is—”
“Your surviving son has heard of him, and, in fact, knows him very well. As I explained through your attorney, Sergeant Silverman served under your younger son, Captain Terrance Iler. Mr. Iler, your son and Silverman will do eighteen life sentences, consecutive. I’m going to make absolutely sure of it. I no longer need your cooperation in this matter.”
“Now just a damn minute.”
Gave you too many minutes already, she thought.
“I don’t need it because I have the evidence, and very shortly I’ll have full confessions. However, if your cooperation, as I outlined through your attorney, saves the families of the victims more grief, saves the State of New York time and trouble, I’ll take your cooperation into consideration as regards where your son serves those eighteen consecutive life sentences. Your choice, sir. You’ll have to make it here and now, as I’m about to bring your son back into interview.”
* * *
Later, she sat in the conference room working out strategy with Baxter, Trueheart, Mira, Reo. She came a little painfully to attention when Whitney walked in. And—ah, Jesus—Anna Whitney beside him.
“We won’t get in your way,” Whitney said. “How much longer do you need?”
“We’ve just finished, Commander. I’m having both suspects brought up into separate interview rooms. Baxter and I will work Iler, as we teamed on him earlier. Trueheart and I will work Silverman.”
“You can wait in the lounge, Anna. I’ll have someone come for you. My wife,” he explained, “would appreciate observing the start of each interview, if you have no objections, Lieutenant.”
“No, sir.”
“You’re wondering,” Anna said to Eve, “how I’ll handle the sort of language, the descriptions of violence that go into an interview. I’m a cop’s wife,” she said simply. “Seeing them in the box will give me some peace. Being able to tell Rozilyn I saw them will, eventually, give her and her family some peace.”
She touched a hand to her husband’s arm. “I’ll be in the lounge.”
Eve remained standing when Anna walked out.
“Everybody clear?” she asked. “Any more questions? No? Then let’s get this party started.”
She and Baxter started with Iler, and his attorney led off with a bite.
“I will file a formal compl
aint against both of you,” Singa began. “Demanding my client submit to interview before five in the morning is absurd.”
“He had his eight, Singa.”
“Clearly, this timing violates the spirit of that law.”
“Clearly, you should have thought about the timing before you demanded the eight at twenty hundred hours. File all the complaints you want. We have business to get to. Mr. Iler—”
“You will address me,” Singa reminded her. “My client has invoked his rights.”
“Oh yeah, slipped my mind. I also meant to mention that fee of yours again. You got that up front, right? A good chunk? How much do you charge an hour?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“You’re right. It’s yours. You might be somewhat concerned to learn your client’s broke. No money, no access to same. All accounts have been frozen—by the IRS pending further investigation.”
“They’re pretty excited,” Baxter added. “Even more since we broke through your filters and coding. You’ve been a very bad boy, Lucius. There are IRS agents having wet dreams right now, and you’re the star.”
“That freeze also pertains to any funds Mr. Iler may have advanced you, Singa, on his behalf, as all his moneys, properties, possessions are now in that freeze. The IRS will be in touch with you.”
“And you know, once they ‘get in touch,’ they just love to poke around.”
“Yeah, they do,” Eve added with a broad, toothy smile. “And in case either of you are thinking of a rich daddy? You can forget it. Reginald Iler and I had a long conversation.”
“You had no right.” Iler tried to push to his feet, rattling his restraints. “No right to involve my father.”
“You had no right to murder eighteen people, to destroy eighteen families. Which one of us do you think is going to pay?”
“You’re cut off, sonny boy,” Baxter added. “Daddy’s closed the family bank—and that includes any interests you may hold in various arms of the family business. You got zilch.”
“I want to talk to my father. Now.”
“Sorry, you don’t get it. You’re under arrest. Your wants aren’t of concern. Your attorney is, of course, free to contact the senior Mr. Iler. Though I believe senior Mr. Iler will be disinclined, at this time to communicate. At all. At least until I speak with him again.”
As she spoke to Singa, she hardened her look, her tone. “When I do, if I tell him your client has given a clear and full confession on all charges, given us clear information on all details of his crimes, and the crimes of Sergeant Oliver Silverman, Mr. Iler may be inclined to pay the legal fees and expenses incurred by his son to date. Though it sounded to me as if he’d negotiate same, and hard.”
She shifted to Iler. “You think Singa’s going to work pro bono on a case he has to know by now is locked? Eighteen consecutive sentences, off-planet.”
“I’m not going off-planet. I can’t go off-planet. I have a condition. Richard, you said—”
“Did he tell you he could work it? Have that part off the table? Not happening, you fuck. The PA’s holding firm there. If the psych exam finds you have a ‘condition,’ you’ll be properly sedated for the trip to Omega. You’ve got one shot, and one shot only. Full confession, every detail, and you serve your time on-planet. Hedge, bullshit, lie, evade, we’re done.”
She leaned closer. “You make me sick—and your lawyer just adds to it. But he’s doing his job, so I can swallow that down. You did what you did to make money, to gamble, to pay back your own father because your fucking inner child’s so needy. So lie to me, you piece of shit, and I’ll personally watch them strap your unconscious ass in the shuttle to Omega.”
“This isn’t right.” Iler’s eyes went damp as he turned to Singa. “You said you’d fix this. You said—”
“Quiet, Lucius. Lieutenant, I need to consult with my client.”
“I bet you do.” Eve rose, gestured to Baxter. “Oh, just one more thing, as it may play into your consult. We’ve got Silverman. We took him down after he broke into the home of the next target on your list. Like Baxter said, we cut through your filters. The Chenowitz family is fine. Silverman?”
She ran a hand over her own bruised face. “We had a little altercation. He looks a lot worse than I do. You take your time. I need to chat with him anyway.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Baxter exiting interview. Record paused.”
When the door closed, Baxter gave Eve a light punch on the arm. She hissed in a breath.
“Shit, sorry. It’s just—that was righteous. I think I liked the look on Singa’s face even more than Iler’s. You could just see him watching all those juicy billable hours drain away.”
“Iler will fold. Singa will advise him to because billable hours and the fact we’ve got Silverman. He’ll use the on-planet deal as leverage. He’ll do part of our job for us on this.
“Take a break,” she told him as Trueheart came out of Observation. “Grab some coffee, stay close. Okay, Trueheart, let’s go kick some ass.”
“I checked on the kid, well the whole family, but I wanted to make sure August was doing okay. He got on the ’link to thank me for taking him to his mom. And he said—I thought you’d like to know—a ninja woman saved him.”
“Ninja woman.” Eve let out a snorting laugh. It hurt her bruised chest a little, but it was worth it.
She opened the door to Interview B. “Record on,” she said and recited the salient information into the record.
Silverman sat, arms crossed, face a mass of bruises.
“I’ve got nothing to say. I’m waiting for my attorney, so you can kiss my ass.”
“Your court-appointed?” Eve responded, then smiled. “Oh, I bet you mean that high-priced criminal attorney you contacted after booking, the one shuttling in about now from Philadelphia. Too bad we’re going to have to inform him you have no available funds.”
“I’ve got funds. I’ve got resources. Fuck you.”
“You’ve got nothing. Accounts frozen. Iler’s got nothing. And his daddy won’t pay. Not one thin dime. If you’re thinking of trying to find a way to turn those Richie paintings into quick cash, you can forget that. They’ve been confiscated from the garage Iler rented.”
She dropped into a chair. “EDD’s putting your comps and devices back together in the lab. Of course, it’s more out of a sense of pride at this point as we have all we need. For you? Well’s dry. You have a right to an attorney, and since you can’t afford one, one will be appointed for you. You can wait in your cage while we get that going.”
His eyes, surrounded by bruises, stayed dark and sharp on hers. “Fuck the lawyers, fuck the courts, fuck you.”
“I think he’s a little upset he got taken down by a woman, Lieutenant.”
She shot Trueheart an easy smile. “You think? He got most of his dick and one of his balls blown off. He can pump the chemical testosterone and steroids all he wants. They don’t make him a man.”
“You shut your dick trap.”
She pushed her face into his. “Make me.”
“Now, Lieutenant, come on. Ease back.” Trueheart patted her arm. “He was wounded serving his country.”
She shrugged, sat back. “Do you want the lawyer, Silverman?”
“Didn’t I say fuck the lawyers? Did I bust your eardrums when I punched that bitch face?”
“I can hear you fine. You’re waiving your right to an attorney? You need to say it for the record.”
“I don’t need or want a goddamn shit-ass lawyer. I’m a soldier. I can take care of myself.”
“You were a soldier,” Eve corrected. “Now you’re a murderer. Is that why you went to Iler? I bet his brother talked about him—the big bro who read him stories, looked after him when they were kids. Did you figure you’d find a brother in Iler?”
“Captain Terrance Iler was the best man I know. And those sons of bitches killed him. He dragged me out. I told him to leave me, but he dragged me out, and he went back in
, and they killed him.”
“Is this how you honor his sacrifice?” Trueheart asked, his voice church quiet.
“Fuck sacrifice. Fuck the Army. Those sons of bitches blew themselves up to kill us, but there’s always more. I was ready to go back, take some bastards out. They say I’m not fit to serve? They say the bombing scrambled up my brains? I ended up on the street thanks to them.”
“You used your compensation, your pension, to buy drugs, and what you had left, you gambled away,” Eve reminded him. “You refused to continue treatment at any VA facility, or utilize the assistance offered to veterans.”
“Fuck all of that.” His mouth twisted so violently into a snarl, the healing bottom lip slit open again. “Do you think I’d take their pity?”
“It’s gratitude for service,” Eve corrected. “But rather than take it, you targeted innocent people, and took lives.”
“Innocent is bullshit. Nobody’s innocent.”
“What made Paul Rogan guilty?”
“Which one is that?”
Eve’s gut clenched at the careless question. All the dead were the same to him. “The first. The man whose wife and daughter you tormented until he blew himself up, as well as others at Quantum HQ.”
“Fucking pussy is what he was. Cried. Begged, pleaded. It’s called tactics, moron. It’s called putting the pieces in play.”
“So Rogan and Denby were pieces to be put in play?”
“Worked, didn’t it?” He lifted his hands, spread them, made a boom sound. “The rest, collateral damage. You think I give a shit about any of those rich bastards in their big houses? They’re no better than me.”
A vein beat at his temple—snaking, pulsing toward his shaved skull.
“I put my life on the line for them, and it got me squat. So I took what I was owed.”
“You built the bombs, the vests that you forced Rogan and Denby to wear.”
“Nobody held a bang stick to their heads.”
“You just beat their wives, threatened to kill their children. You built the bombs, the vests,” Eve repeated.
“I got the training. Didn’t make the cut, and that was a pisser. I knew what I was doing. I trained myself more after they booted me back to the world. I could’ve taken out more than I did, but Lucius wanted to keep the casualties down. He’s got soft spots.”
