by J. D. Robb
No. No. My God, no.
You’re our only hope. God’s put this in your hands. You’re the only one. You are God’s hand now. Tomorrow. Tell me you’ll stop him tomorrow, or I don’t know if I can get through the night. Tell me, promise me you’ll end this, so he’ll finally know God’s punishment.
Yes. Yes. Tomorrow.
Promise me. Swear it on your son. On your murdered son.
I swear it. I swear it on my Quinto.
Destroy the ’link. Don’t forget. As soon as it’s done, destroy the ’link.
God bless you.
“Voice print match, sender Penny Soto, receiver Juanita Turner. Absolutely, positively,” McNab said. “Smells like conspiracy to murder to me.”
“Yeah, we’ll get that. And we’re going to pile it on from there.”
“My ass is now available for grabs,” McNab announced, and was ignored by both women.
“I guess Juanita forgot to toss the ’link,” Peabody commented.
“No. She didn’t forget. She needed it, needed to play it back before she did him, after she’d done him. She needed to hear what Penny fed her, to help ease her conscience. We’ll get Soto on this count, and we’ve got some weight toward the bombings. But we haven’t got a lock there.”
Need to turn the key a little more, Eve thought. Just a little more.
“Then there’s the accessory after the fact on Flores and Ortega, the fraud,” she continued. “The fraud’s going to help lock down the accessory. If we do this right, she’s never going to see the light of day again. So we’re damn well going to do it right.”
Her ’link beeped. A glance at the incoming display told her Roarke was tagging her back. “Get me a conference room. I want Baxter and Trueheart.”
“They’re on Penny.”
“Relieve them, bring them in. Briefing in thirty. Now,” she added, “and take your ass with you.” She answered the ’link. “Dallas.”
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“Have you got a property—commercial or residential—preferably on the Upper East Side that’s not tenanted?”
“I imagine I do. Why?”
“I need it for a few hours.”
“Are we having a party?”
“Sort of. In El Barrio or close would be the icing.”
“How about a nice four-story duplex on East 95th, currently being rehabbed?”
“Did you just pull that out of your ass?”
“No. I looked it up.” He sent her a quick, cocky smile. “Is that what you had in mind?”
“Pretty much nailed it. I need the exact address, a legal description, current market value, all that kind of crap. If I could get it, and the pass codes for the locks, by . . .” She checked the time. “. . . by sixteen hundred, it would hammer that nail.”
“I thought we were icing a cake. In any case, I’ll get back to you.”
Eve studied the map again. It could work. It would work. She contacted Feinburg again. “You’re going to need to come down to Central.”
“Lieutenant, as I tried to explain before, I have clients scheduled all day.”
“You’re going to have to reschedule anything you’ve got cooking for the rest of today. I need you here, Homicide Division, within the hour. You don’t want it getting out, to those clients, that you’ve been strung along on a major fraud scam, which included multiple murders, for the last six years. Right?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Damn right you will,” Eve mumbled after she’d cut transmission.
She gathered what she needed, checked to see which conference room Peabody had booked, then contacted the commander to update him while she was on the move.
“The voiceprints along with Turner’s statement are enough to bring her in on the St. Cristóbal’s case.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We want that closed down, Lieutenant. There’s going to be a lot of sympathy for Turner, a lot of media attention. Having Soto locked to it will defuse some of that.”
“I intend to lock her to it, and to a lot more. This op will do it. She’ll bite. It’s greed that had her set Juanita up to kill Lino. It’s greed that’ll have her walking right into this. She won’t be able to help herself. And once she does, she’s locked for the fraud, and the fraud locks her to Flores and Ortega, possibly Chávez. Three additional murders.”
“Suspected.”
“Yes, sir. I can use some of that, will use some of that to grease the rails and get the confession for the bombings.”
“You’ve got the day, you’ve got the op. Anything starts to slip or slide, you nail up the St. Cristóbal’s case. Nail it tight.”
“Yes, sir.” She clicked off, stepped into the conference room.
“Relief is heading uptown, Lieutenant,” Peabody began. “Baxter and Trueheart will head back as soon. It’s going to be more than thirty.”
“Okay. Contact Detective Stuben at the Four-six, ask if he and his former partner want any piece of this.”
“Can I tell him piece of what?”
“Of closing their cases. Are you still here?” she asked McNab.
“You said briefing, and didn’t tell me to go away.”
“Actually, I can use you. I’ve got the lawyer this skank’s been using coming in. I need you to set him up at a D&C so it transmits like it’s from his own. She may know how to check that, Lino could have shown her how to verify transmissions. And I want it right here. I want any incomings traced and copied—and whatever you e-geeks do to ID them to a specific unit and location and account.”
“Can do.”
“Then do.” Eve slapped a photo of Penny Soto to the center of a board. “Because she goes down today.”
Within the hour she had the room set, with McNab refining the details of an e-station. On the board, surrounding Penny’s photo were photos of every victim who could be associated with her.
When Feeney came in, she glanced over in surprise. “Hey.”
“Hey. When you steal one of my boys for an op, I like knowing why.”
“Sorry.” She scooped her hair back. “I should’ve tagged you. I got caught.”
“I’m hearing.” He wandered to the e-station, examined McNab’s work. His hands stayed in the baggy pockets of his baggy pants. “So I figured I’d sit in.”
“I’d appreciate it. Baxter, Trueheart,” she said when they walked in. “We have a couple of detectives coming in from the Four-six. I’ll wait for them before I start the briefing. We’ll need to—” She broke off, frowned as Roarke strolled into the room. She moved to intercept him.
“I just needed the data.”
“My data, my property.” He smiled at her. “I want to play.” He handed her a disc, then wandered over to examine the e-work with Feeney.
With the arrival of Stuben and his partner, Kohn, she made brief introductions, followed with a short overview of Penny Soto.
“We’re keeping the arrest of Juanita Turner quiet for the moment. I’d like to surprise Penny with that, once we pull her in. I’ve got the lawyer on tap. If McNab’s done his job, we’ll be able to track the transmission from here to her location and unit, and track the transmission back from her. Another lock in. We lure her here.”
She brought up the info on Roarke’s disc, scrolled through to an image of the building. “Untenanted residential unit—no civilian factor. The lawyer contacts her, relays that this property—alludes that her partner knew of it—is now added to the inheritance due to the recent death of old Mr. Ortega’s cousin. Just need some lawyer bullshit, she’s not going to question it too deep. As José Ortega is named heir, and so on, so on, she’ll be counting the profits. He’ll do his legal dance about escrow, trusts, market values, taxes, whatever. And he’ll say he’s hesitant to transmit the passcodes.
“She’ll want them, she’ll demand them. And she’ll go there as soon as she can to take a look. She’ll use them. And when she does, we’ve got her. We keep the tail on h
er.” She brought up the map, called for zoom and enhancement of 95th Street. “Baxter and Trueheart, stationed here and here. Soft-clothes. Detectives Stuben, Kohn, will you take this half of the duplex?”
“Happy to.”
“Peabody and I here. E-team and vehicle, here. Lure her in, scoop her up. Keep it tight in case she gets frisky. Bring her in, and lock it up all the way back to 2043. Questions?”
It took another twenty before she brought the lawyer in.
“This is what you’re going to say.” Eve handed him a printout. “You can use your own words, legal it up, but this is what gets across. Understand?”
“Not entirely. If there had been property in probate, I certainly would have informed Mr. Aldo—or, well, the person I believed to be Mr. Aldo.”
“How does she know you didn’t? Be as vague about that as you want. Lawyers are good at being vague and incomprehensible. I want her to believe she’s going to be getting this property. This duplex at this address, with a fair market value of eight point three mil. I want her to be compelled to respond, to demand more info. That’s all you have to do.”
“Well, yes, but . . .”
“I could go around you, Feinburg, but I don’t want her smelling even a whiff of the game. She’ll believe it’s from you, because it is from you. And she’ll believe the contents because, hey, eight point three mil. Get it done.”
“Do you do mail by keyboard or voice?” McNab asked him.
“Ah, voice.”
“Okay. Just do what you do, but don’t authorize the send. I’ll take care of it. Anytime,” McNab added.
“All right.” Feinburg sat, blew out a breath. He recited the recipient’s name, account name, then began the text.
Eve nodded as he spoke. Yeah, he lawyered it up, she thought, used ten words when one would do. She knew exactly what he was saying and still barely understood half of it.
She signaled McNab to send.
“What now?” Feinburg asked.
“We move the station to portable. She doesn’t have the address or the codes. She’ll want them. We’ll be in place when she gets them. Let’s move it out, set it up, take it down.”
At the duplex, Roarke let Eve and Peabody in the westernmost door. He glanced over as the two detectives entered the second. “You’re banking on her coming to this side first.”
“I want to give them a shot at taking her. But yeah, I figure she’ll come to this one first. Aren’t you assigned to the e-machine?”
“I’d sooner hang with you and Peabody.” He glanced around the short foyer, down the hall, into the room on the left. “It needs a bit of polish yet, but should be quite nice.”
“The trim’s original, isn’t it? And wow. My brother would pee his pants.”
“Gee, Peabody,” Eve began, “if you’d like a tour, why—” She broke off, pulled out her communicator. “Dallas.”
“She bit,” Feeney told her. “McNab’s ready to work the lawyer through the response.”
“Wait twenty. Let her sweat. Then give it to her. Give it all.” She contacted the other members of the team. “Now we wait,” she said. “And it won’t be long.”
The streetlights blinked on. Eve could see their glow against the dim when Baxter beeped her an hour later. “Suspect is approaching from the west, on 95th. On foot. Red shirt, black pants, black handbag. Moving fast. Your location within one minute.”
“Copy that. Maintain position. Nobody moves in until she’s inside the building. Come on in,” Eve coaxed. “Come on in.”
“Dallas, she’s at the door. You’re a go.”
“Hold positions.” Come on, bitch, she thought. She saw, from her position, the security light blink from red to green as the locks opened. She waited, holding, as Penny came in, closed the door quickly behind her.
Penny looked toward the stairs as a wild grin spread on her face. And Eve hit the lights.
“Surprise.”
“What the fuck is this?” Penny edged back toward the door.
“It’s a little party I call You’re Under Arrest—for fraud, for falsifying official documents, for utilizing forged identification, and practicing said fraud over the Internet. For accessory to murder. Multiple charges on that. And we’re just getting started.”
“This is bullshit. You’re bullshit.”
“If you try to go out that door, you’d be resisting.”
“You tried that shit before, didn’t you? Got squat.” Penny turned, whipped open the door. As Eve moved forward, she whirled back, hacked out with a knife.
It caught Eve’s sleeve, and the tip broke skin. She hacked again, and Eve merely stepped back to evade. “You tried that shit before,” Eve reminded Penny.
Behind her, Roarke put a hand on Peabody’s shoulder. “No,” he told her when Peabody reached for her weapon. “She’ll want this one on her own.”
“Jesus, you really are that stupid.” Eve drew her own weapon. “Knife. Full-power stunner. You be the judge. Drop it, or I drop you. And I’d love to.”
“I don’t need a goddamn knife to take you down, bitch.” Penny tossed it aside where it skidded across the floor. “Bitch like you needs a stunner.”
“Is that a challenge? I love a challenge. And what the hell. Roarke.” Barely glancing over, Eve tossed him her weapon. “Try me,” she invited.
Hate and excitement merged on her face as Penny charged. Eve felt the blood rush to her heart, her head. The sting of the wound in her arm focused her. She deflected Penny’s fist, but gave the woman credit for what had been behind it. She took a kick—a glancing blow on the hip—and felt the quick heat of fingernails as they swiped at her jaw.
Eve maneuvered, evaded, took a blow here, another there. And saw the violent light of pleasure in Penny’s eyes.
“You can’t fight worth shit,” Penny yelled out. “Pussy cop.”
“Oh. We were fighting? I didn’t realize we’d started. Okay then.”
And she moved in. A shorthand jab knocked Penny’s head back like a ball on a string. A roundhouse kick doubled her over when it plowed into her gut. An uppercut brought her up again. And a right cross took her down.
“That last one?” Eve bent over her as Penny lay unconscious at her feet. “That was for Quinto Turner. Get a wagon,” Eve ordered, then gave Roarke the come-ahead sign for her weapon.
“Your nose is bleeding, Lieutenant.”
“Yeah. Peabody, do you take note that my nose is bleeding?”
“Yes, sir, and your arm.”
“And these injuries were incurred as the suspect attempted to escape arrest and resisted same, thereby assaulting an officer, assaulting said officer with a deadly with intent?”
“All the above.”
“Good. Thanks,” she added when Roarke handed her a handkerchief.
He reached over, covered her lapel recorder with his hand. “You wanted her to go for you. You played with her, let her get a few in so you’ll have the cuts and bruises to prove it. So you could whale in.”
“Maybe.” She grinned as she stanched her bloody nose. “But that’s going to be really hard to prove. I’ve got to take her in, get her in the box.”
“I’ll be coming with you. Might as well see it through. And see that arm’s tended to.”
Penny called in the same lawyer, screamed police brutality, false imprisonment. Montoya made lawyer noises about suing, even when Eve came in with the wound on her arm raw and fresh, her face bruised, and claw marks at her jaw.
“Let’s have a look at this first, just to get it out of the way. Record playback.” While the scene inside the duplex ran, with Penny spinning at the door, striking with a knife, Eve spoke. “As we expected to make an arrest, record was on throughout, and record clearly shows the subject attacking me with a knife concealed on her person. Which, in fact, she had done on a previous occasion.”
Which, Eve thought, was why I counted on her repeating the performance.
She shut the recording off. “The charges there are a
ssault with a deadly and with intent to kill a police officer. That’s fifty years.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Oh, tired tune, Penny. Got it on record, got witnesses, got MTS report, got it all. Also, got you cold on the fraud. Our e-trace—duly authorized—nailed your pocket PCC for the receiving of Feinburg’s transmission, and the sending to same.”
“That’s nothing.”
“Penny,” the lawyer began.
“Nothing!” She elbowed Montoya aside. “That was Lino’s deal. He set that up. I just followed it through. Why the hell not? I just went to the damn house to see it. No crime in walking into a house when a freaking lawyer gave me the pass codes.”
“You’d be wrong. You perpetuated fraud. But I might be willing to deal on that, and on the charges stemming from your attack on me, if you can tell me the whereabouts of Miguel Flores, José Ortega, and Steven Chávez. We want to close it up.”
Eve rose, and made sure Penny saw the irritation cross her face. “My bosses want to close it up, so there’s a deal on the big hit for coming at me with a knife, and a deal on the fraud.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Let the fraud go down to falsifying documents. Deal the intent to kill a police officer down to simple resisting. Couple of years against oh, maybe seventy.”
“That’s on record.”
“Yeah, that’s a deal on record. I hope you don’t take it. I hope you don’t.”
“One moment.” Montoya leaned in close, whispered in Penny’s ear. She jerked that bony shoulder.
“Maybe Lino told me some shit.”
Eve dropped back down in the chair as if annoyed, and disappointed. “You’ve got the goddamn deal of a lifetime, thanks to my superiors, Penny. But some shit has to lead to results, or no deal.”
“Okay. I’ve got plenty, so eat this.” She sneered across the table. “Lino and Steve hooked up with Ortega, figured they’d skin him for some of what the old man left him. Played him awhile, scammed him for a couple hundred thousand. Chávez got him hooked again, so they played him some more. Lino said how he figured they’d just about tapped it, and he’s working on getting the deed for our old headquarters out of Ortega. That’s the prize—or was—then the idiot ODs. They got a dead guy on their hands, and Lino is pissed.”