by J. D. Robb
“My client and Mr. Randall Sloan were acquainted. He might have ridden in that car at any time.”
“Driven it,” Eve corrected. “Hair was on the driver’s seat. Your hair. Your DNA, just like your DNA was on Bick Byson’s knuckles. Popped you before you could use your stunner—you coward. Don’t know how to fight like a man, but then you’re not a man. Just a boy who sleeps with his mother. Still, it was easy to slap around some woman half your size, bind her up. Break her fingers, beat her face, burn her skin. You enjoyed it, just like you enjoyed watching her eyes when you strangled her. I bet it’s the only way you get it up when you’re not with your mother.”
“This interview is terminated,” the brunette began.
“I’d enjoy watching yours,” Chase said softly.
“You going to let the girl lawyer say what you do? Just like Mommy. Do this, Win, do that. Good dog.”
“Nobody tells me what to do. Shut up!” he shouted at his lawyer. “Stupid git. I’ve had enough of this. Enough of being questioned by this person, of being placated by you. I’ve done no more than what needed to be done. It was Randall Sloan who hired some thug to kill those people. He confessed before he hanged himself.”
“How do you know? Were you there?”
“You told us yourself.”
“No, I didn’t. I said Randall Sloan was found hanging, period. He didn’t self-terminate. You killed him, and staged it. Because you’re a spineless coward. You killed Sophia Belego, Rome, and Emily Jones, Middlesex, England. Pregnant women must be an offense to your eye.”
“’Cause he can’t get it up except with Mommy Dearest,” Baxter said.
“It has nothing to do with sex! They signed a contract!” He slammed his fist on the table. “They signed a legal document, and we gave our word to properly screened parents. They had no right!”
“Yeah, carting a fetus around for nine months doesn’t give you any rights to it. You snatched Sophia Belego, didn’t you? Took that kid, got rid of the incubator. Didn’t work so well with Emily Jones. Lost the product on that one. How many others, Chase?”
“We provide a service!” he shouted over his lawyers’ warnings. “We give our time, our expertise, our name to help these women in trouble, through their own doing, their own weaknesses, and give a gift to worthy couples.”
“For a nice, fat fee.”
“They’re paid, aren’t they? Given a chance to better themselves while the child is properly raised. How dare you question me?”
He literally shook off the lawyer to his left, and backhanded the one on his right. “I don’t need to justify my actions.” He surged to his feet.
The brunette wiped at her bloody lip and tried to stand. “This interview is—”
“Shut up! Didn’t I tell you to shut the hell up?”
“Natalie Copperfield,” Eve said flatly. “Bick Byson, Randall Sloan.”
“Sneaking around, sticking their noses into our business. Sloan’s fault for being sloppy. Lazy, incompetent.”
“So you had to kill them. All of them. It was a matter of pride,” Eve continued calmly. “Of business.”
“The Bullock Foundation needed to be protected. It’s bigger than any of those pathetic people. My mother is the heart of the foundation and has taken it beyond what it was. It was blackmail against us, all of them. What I did was self-defense, to preserve an important charitable institution.”
With a handkerchief still pressed to her bleeding lip, the brunette lifted a hand. “We need to consult with our client.”
“You’re fired.” Chase bared his teeth as he swung around violently enough to have both lawyers scrambling back. “Do you think I need you? Idiots. Panderers. Get out. I’ve had enough of both of you. Out of my sight.”
“Mr. Chase—”
“Now! I can and will speak for myself,” he said as the lawyers emptied out of the room.
Now, Eve thought, we’ll do this thing. She kept her face blank, her voice even. “Mr. Chase, for the record, you have dismissed your representatives?”
He curled his lip at Eve. “I speak for myself.”
“You’re waiving your right to counsel at this time?”
“How many times do I have to say it, you ignorant twit.”
“That’s probably enough. Let the record show Mr. Chase has dismissed his representatives and has agreed to continue this interview without the benefit of legal counsel.”
She paused, put a concerned, respectful look on her face. “Blackmail, you said? That puts a different face on it. Why don’t you tell us how this started? You were informed by Randall Sloan that Natalie Copperfield was asking questions,” Eve began.
And he gave them every last detail.
21
PEABODY HAD A TUBE OF PEPSI WAITING WHEN Eve came out. “You usually like your caffeine cold after a hot interrogation.” She held one out to Baxter. “Wasn’t sure about you.”
“I’ll take it any way I can get it.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that from several women,” Eve said before she took a deep drink.
For the first time in hours, Baxter laughed. “Thanks for letting me take that scum down with you, Dallas. I’m going to contact Palma, let her know we’ve got him.”
“Dallas, Jacob Sloan came in while you were in Interview. They put him in the lounge.”
“Okay, I’ll take him. You can have Bullock brought up.”
“Sure you don’t want a break before her? You’ve been at this for nearly six hours, pretty much straight.”
“I’m tying it up, wrapping it up, writing it up.” She rubbed at the stiffness in her neck. “Then I’m going home, and so are you.”
“Yay. I’ll have her brought up.”
Eve carried her drink into the lounge, scrubbed her hands over her face, then walked over to sit at the table across from Jacob Sloan.
He looked older, more frail, and exhausted.
“Mr. Sloan, you should go home, be with your family.”
“Did Winfield Chase kill my son? I have sources,” he said when Eve lifted her eyebrows. “I know he was arrested, along with his mother. I can’t see Madeline doing more than pulling strings, so I’m asking you, did Winfield Chase kill my son?”
“Yes. He’s just confessed. He staged the suicide to implicate your son in the murders of Natalie Copperfield and Bick Byson, who he also has confessed to killing.”
When he folded his lips tight, nodded, Eve rose. She broke her boycott on Vending and programmed a bottle of water. She sat back down, put it in front of him.
“Thank you.” His hand shook a little as he lifted the bottle and drank. “My son was a disappointment to me, in many ways. He was selfish and lazy and gambled away his youth, his marriage, his reputation. But he was my son.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
He drank more, slowly, then breathed out. “Natalie and Bick, they were bright and they were clean. Their lives together were just beginning. I’ll regret…” Once again he pressed his lips together. “Have their families been told?”
“It’s being done now.”
“Then I’ll wait until tomorrow before I contact them. Why did he kill them? Can you tell me?”
“I can tell you that Natalie was doing her job, and she found something she tried to fix, tried to make right.”
“My son. He was not doing his job.” He shook his head when Eve said nothing. “This will be hard, very hard, on my grandson, on my wife.”
“Then you should be with them, Mr. Sloan.”
“Yes, I should be with them.” He got to his feet. “Anything you need from me, my family, my firm to make certain Winfield Chase spends every last second of his life in prison, you have only to ask.” He held out his hand. “Thank you.”
Eve sat another moment after he’d gone, finished off her drink. Then she went into the washroom, scrubbed cold water over her face.
She went to face down Madeline Bullock.
Word had gone out, Eve imagined, as there
were only two lawyers with her.
“Record on,” Eve said and started the routine.
“Your son’s confessed to five counts of murder,” she began, watching Madeline’s eyes. “I see you’ve got wind of that. He’s also detailed your involvement in each of these murders, and in the abduction of Tandy Willowby.”
“Ms. Bullock is prepared to make a statement,” one of the lawyers said.
“Not dictating this load of crap, Madeline? Okay, let’s hear it.”
“I don’t expect you to understand my terror, my grief, my guilt.” Madeline pressed a lace-trimmed handkerchief to her lips. “My son…how can I not blame myself? He came from me. But something…twisted in him. Such violence, such rage. I’ve lived in fear of him for so long.”
“Please. You’re not afraid of anything but losing your grip on the foundation—its money and prestige and the operation you’ve been running through it almost since your husband died.”
“You can’t possibly understand. He’s forced me to…it’s unspeakable.”
“Have sex with him? See, it’s speakable. And that’s more crap. You’ve been abusing your son sexually most of his life.”
“What a horrible thing to say.” Madeline seemed to break down, and for a moment buried her face in the handkerchief. “Win is sick, and nothing I could do—”
“He came from you,” Eve said, feeling the rage rise up, seeing herself trapped in a cold room with the man she’d come from, the man who’d raped her repeatedly. “And you exploited and abused him. You made him exactly what he is.”
“You can’t possibly know the horrors I’ve lived through.”
“You don’t want to talk to me about horrors. I’ve got statements from your son, from Walter Cavendish, from Ellyn Bruberry, all naming you as the one in control, the one who made the decisions and gave the orders. You think because you didn’t get your hands dirty with murder, you’re walking away clean?”
“I did whatever Win told me. He might have killed me otherwise.”
Madeline reached across the table to grip Eve’s hands, and Eve allowed it though her skin felt tainted. You’re good, she thought, you’re damn good at this, Madeline.
“I appeal to you, woman to woman. I beg you to protect me. There’s a monster inside my son. I’m so afraid.”
“Ms. Bullock has been virtually a prisoner of her son’s sickness,” one of the lawyers began. “A victim of physical and emotional abuse. He used her—”
“He used you?” Eve interrupted, wrenching her hands free as she looked into Madeline’s face, and saw her father’s. “That’s just crap, Madeline. No one uses you. And I can’t think of anything more weak, more pitiful, than a mother who’d roll on her own son to try to save her ass. You’re done, you get that? You’ve got no way out.”
I want you to sweat, Eve thought. I want you to tremble, and suffer and fucking wail. “We’ve got the playback from the medical droid’s memory. You’re on there. The British authorities have picked up your Doctor Brownburn—who has already confessed, already stated that she took her orders straight from you. Nobody’s going to buy the weak, frightened little mother act, Madeline. You’re the power. More, you’re a fucking spider, a bloodsucker, and it shows.”
“I have nothing more to say to this person,” Madeline snapped. “I want to speak with the British consulate. I’ll be speaking to your President, who is a personal friend, and the Prime Minister.”
“Toss in the King of England, it’s fine with me.” Eve leaned forward. “They’re going to scramble back from you so fast they’ll get whiplash. And just wait until Global starts talking to the women whose babies you bought, the people who bought them. We’ve got the list, Madeline. We’ve got the names, the locations, and the international media’s going to do a tango when this hits.”
“That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it?” Madeline sucked air through her nose. “Media attention. My name, the reputation of the Bullock Foundation, will stand against anything you manufacture against me. You’ll be crushed.”
“You think so?” Eve looked Madeline dead in the eyes, and she smiled. She kept smiling until she saw the first true glitter of fear. “They’ll crucify you while thousands cheer. And when I’m done with you here, you’ll have to answer to the Italian authorities for Sophia Belego—Chase told us where they’ll find her remains. You were with him, in Rome, when she went missing. You’ve got a home there, too, and they’ll find evidence she was held there.”
“My son is mentally ill. He needs professional help.”
“If he is, you made him that way, twisting his view of sex, of women, of himself so you could get your jollies.”
“Lieutenant.” The lawyer spoke up while Madeline simply stared at Eve with those arctic eyes. “Ms. Bullock has already stated that Mr. Chase was the aggressor.”
“Ms. Bullock is a liar and a pervert and a coward. You shouldn’t discuss plans for murder and kidnapping in front of the servants, Madeline. Even droids, especially droids, as they keep records.”
Eve flipped open a file. “Got a voice-print match right here, with you telling Win to kill Natalie Copperfield.”
“That’s impossible. We were alone when I—”
“When you gave him the orders,” Eve finished when Madeline cut herself off. “You know, people like you are oblivious to servants. You probably thought you were alone.” She closed the file.
“I’ve got Randall Sloan’s records—your boy messed up there and didn’t find the second safe. I’ve got multiple corroborating statements, and Tandy’s firsthand account. I’ve got ’link transmissions you didn’t have time to delete before your arrest that add further weight to the mountain of evidence. Give it up, Madeline. At least your son had enough pride to take credit for what he considered his work. Work you assigned him.”
“I have nothing more to say.”
“Okay.” Eve rose. “I’ve got you for conspiracy to murder, multiple counts. That’s going to put you in an off-planet facility, several life terms. And that’s before the Feds, Global, the Brits, the Italians weigh in. How long do you think she’ll keep those classy looks in an off-planet cage, Peabody?”
“Six months, outside.”
“I’ll go with that. You won’t be getting bail, and your lawyers will tell you the same—no matter how they try to sweet-talk the judge. You’re a prime flight risk. You’re going to want to deal after another day or two in The Tombs, but when I walk out of this room, there will be no deal.”
She headed for the door.
“Lieutenant.” It was one of the lawyers who called out, then leaned in to murmur in Madeline’s ear.
“I certainly will not consider it.” She tossed her head. “She’s bluffing. She doesn’t have half what she claims. She’s bluffing.”
Eve smiled as she opened the door, then spared one last look back. “No, I’m not.”
“You didn’t want her to deal,” Peabody said when they walked away.
“No, I didn’t. She’s worse than her son could ever be. She created him, she corrupted him and used him. She’s worse and I want to imagine her living the next fifty years or so in a concrete cage. Go home, Peabody. You did good.”
“I go when you go.”
Eve sighed. “Then let’s get this damn thing written up, and get the hell out of here.”
She might have been walking in the door by six, but Eve was ready to admit she was dragging her ass to do it. She wanted a long soak in the jet tub, and an entire bottle of wine followed by lazy sex with her husband before sleeping for ten hours straight.
She wanted the image of Madeline Bullock stroking the body of her son out of her head.
Because she heard the music coming out of the parlor, and Mavis’s voice piping through it, Eve knew she might have to wait just a little longer before soaking, sex, and sleep.
Mavis was sitting back in a chair, her feet on a hassock while Summerset passed her a cup of tea—which explained why he hadn’t been looming in
the foyer. Leonardo sat beaming at her, while Roarke sipped at wine with an indulgent look in his eye.
“I feel so pampered. Not that you don’t take mag care of me, sugar lips,” she said to Leonardo. “But today’s been like a little vacation or something. Summerset, you should come live with us.”
“Take him, he’s yours,” Eve said as she walked in.
“Dallas! Dallas!”
“Don’t get up.” Eve waved her back. “It’ll take you too long and I’m going to sit anyway.” She did, on the arm of Roarke’s chair so she could cop his wine.
“Tandy’s resting. She’s been up and around today, and Summerset said she’s doing just fine.” Mavis sent him an adoring look. “He treated us both like pregnant princesses.”
“You’ve had a trying few days, both of you. Have one of these canapés.” He held out the tray. “They’re your favorite.”
“I’m not really hungry, but maybe one. Or two. We’re taking Tandy home with us when she wakes up, get out of your hair. She’s not ready to go home alone yet. Though that may not be the situation for long.”
“Hmm?” It was the best Eve could do as her mind was already starting to float.
“Aaron’s tagged her here a half-dozen times today. Her boyfriend? He’s so sweet, so groveling. They’ve talked and talked. She cried a lot, but she laughed, too. He wanted—begged, actually—to come over to see her today, but she just wasn’t ready. But she said he could come by our place tonight. He asked her to marry him.”
“Nice.”
“She didn’t say yes yet, but she will. She told me it was all she ever wanted, and that maybe all this happened so they can be a stronger family. I knew you’d find her, Dallas.”
“So you said.”
“I can’t say it enough. I can’t tell you what it all means, what you did. You and Roarke, and Peabody, McNab, Baxter, that cutie Trueheart. I hope those terrible people sit in a cell in their own body waste until their faces rot off.”