by J. D. Robb
“I have a witness who is an expert on both. So there’s that. Your client also had a half million in cash, his passport, codes for numbered accounts, clothing, and other personal effects on him at the time of his arrest.”
“It’s hardly against the law to carry cash, a passport. As to the codes and accounts, we will submit that, perhaps, my client attempted to game the system—as many do. Such matters hover in a gray area, and we will cooperate fully with any levy of taxes and/or fines, should they be warranted.”
At that, Baxter grinned, looking directly at Iler. “Is your suit here telling you that you’re going to lose up to seventy percent of what you squirreled away—and likely do a little time in a white-collar cage?”
The smug look dropped away as Iler swung toward Singa.
“We’ll discuss that later,” Singa told Iler. “For now, we again insist these false and damages charges be dropped.”
“I’m not going to—”
“Later,” Singa snapped at Iler, and Eve chose her moment to drop her own bomb.
“Sergeant Oliver Silverman.” She waited a beat as color drained out of Iler’s face. “Aka Oliver Nordon. We’ve already paid a visit to the place you bought him. You’ve got to be good pals for you to let him have it for a couple hundred a month in rent.”
“How did you—I don’t—”
“Quiet.” Now Singa clamped a hand on Iler’s arm.
“Eighteen people, Iler. Eighteen. Because the only person you had the capacity to pretend to care about gave his life to save others. Because you chose to use his memory to make a profit, to have some fun, to get some sort of twisted payback. Whose idea was it to use loving fathers to get that payback, make that profit? Yours or Silverman’s? It could matter. Your lawyer will tell you it could matter to how hard this goes on you.”
“My client has invoked his right to remain silent, and his right to legal counsel.”
“Yeah. Who’s next, Iler? What family did you and Silverman plan to destroy next?”
“I don’t have to talk to you. I want this to stop,” he told Singa.
“Give me the name.” Eve pushed forward. “Right now we’ve got people combing through Silverman’s place, combing through yours. Believe me, we’ll find it. We’ll wrap you up and toss you into a concrete cage off-planet.”
Every ounce of color bled from his face, and his eyes went wide and glassy. “No, you won’t. You will not. You can’t prove any of this. We weren’t there.”
“Stop talking, Lucius. I need to consult with my client.”
“Consult all you want, it won’t change a damn thing. Off-planet, the rest of your life.”
“Look at him.” Baxter laughed as he and Eve rose. “He’s starting to think he can make a deal. Eighteen people dead, and he thinks he can deal it down because he’s got money.”
“Not as much as he thinks seeing as the IRS is going to take most. He’s damn near tapped out anyway. Did you know that, Singa? Better get your retainer up front.”
“And your client?” Baxter added. “He’d better pack some insulated johnnies. Those off-planet cages are cold, baby. They’re cold.”
“Interview paused. Record off.”
As they stepped out, Mira came out of Observation.
“Did you see his face when you said ‘off-planet,’ LT?”
“Yeah.”
“We can use that. We can hammer that.”
“I agree,” Mira said as she joined them. “He doesn’t believe he’ll be punished. He’s convinced nothing will happen, but even the thought of, the remote possibility of being locked up off-planet frightens him. It’s a lever.”
“Yeah, and we’ll use it. Singa’s going to keep him clamped down, clammed up. He didn’t know about Silverman, but he’s getting that out of Iler now.”
She paced away, paced back. “And you know what he’ll do? He’ll start rolling the line that Silverman coerced his client, lied to him, forced him, threatened him.”
“Fuck that.”
She nodded at Baxter as she paced. “Yeah, fuck that, but it’s what he’ll do. He’ll string it out, jockeying for a deal, and he’ll start with immunity—Yeah, fuck that sideways,” she said before Baxter could. “I’ve got another way, maybe. I’ve got another lever.
“Baxter, do you know anybody in the IRS with some punch who’s not an asshole?”
“I might know somebody.”
“Tag him.”
“Her.”
“Of course her. I want a jump on the slaps for those dark accounts. And given that he’s currently charged with conspiracy to murder, etc., etc., they might freeze everything. No access to funds until the IRS completes their investigation, blah, blah.”
“Could work.”
“I’ve got another button to push.”
* * *
* * *
While she pushed another button, Roarke worked with Feeney and Callendar.
“Fucker’s got enough electronics to open his own shop,” Feeney complained.
“That could make me like him, if he wasn’t a fucker.” Callendar jiggled while she worked.
“A fucker he is,” Roarke agreed, “but a smart enough one, or paranoid enough, to have filters and fail-safes on every bleeding thing. We’d do better with this in the lab, as even when we get through on something, the scanning and decoding from here will take hours—and that’s piece by piece.”
Feeney chugged out a breath. “You’re right on that. We’ll haul it down to Central.”
“My lab’s closer,” Roarke pointed out, which had Feeney rubbing his chin.
“You’re right on that, too. Still, we’ve got the portables he had with him to get through, and that shit pile from Silverman’s.”
“Split it up, Cap?”
Feeney grunted at Callendar. “Yeah, shit. I hate missing out on any of it, but that’s the way to do it. I’m going to have some boys head up, tag, and log all this and haul it to your lab. You take that, and my boy and I here will head to Central with the rest.”
“Girl, Feeney. I keep telling you, I’m a freaking girl.”
“Boy, girl, what’s the diff?
“Boy, penis. Girl, vagina.”
The tips of Feeney’s ears pinked. “Don’t start that. An e-man’s an e-man, whatever their works.”
Feeney pulled out his comm, walking away with his pink-tipped ears to start it rolling.
“I don’t mind being one of his boys,” Callendar told Roarke. “I just like to rag him, watch him get all hunchy.” She looked around the living area where they’d pulled out and set up all the electronics. “It’s a lot.”
“Less fun if it’s easy.”
“Straight up.” She offered her fist to bump. “Wonder if Dallas is having fun yet.”
Eve gulped coffee as she waited for the results from her button pushing. Losing time, she thought as she stared out her window, watched evening rolling toward night. All because some pricey lawyer with a sociopath for a client would play every trick in the hat, use every evasion on the field to get some sort of win.
Baxter came in, pointed at her AC, got her nod. “Good news first. My friend at the IRS is very, very interested in Iler, and is pushing the paperwork through the system, the legal areas to do just what you want. Freeze it all.”
“What’s the bad?”
“Singa just pulled the plug for the night. His client’s exhausted, requires his full eight hours of rest before resuming interview.”
“Goddamn it. I knew that was coming, but goddamn it.”
“The maybe good news in the bad? Singa didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked pretty seriously pissed off.”
“Not good enough.” Frustrated, she gave her desk a quick kick. “Right now, he’s pulling in his own investigators, and they’ll be all over trying to get data on Silverman. He’ll use, or try to use, everything he gets to deal down Iler. Silverman could be on his way to Argen-fucking-tina.”
“But you don’t think so.”
�
�No, I don’t think so. I think it’s a hell of a lot worse.”
She stared at her desk ’link, willing it to signal.
“Maybe, maybe I can break through. But if he’s got Iler locked for the night, I can’t break until morning. Eight hours. Fine. Not a second more. Go get Trueheart, go get something to eat or whatever. Go home. Keep in touch with the IRS skirt, let me know if that moves any. Be back here at four hundred. We’ll put him back in the box at oh-four-thirty.”
Baxter grinned. “That’s just nasty. I like it. Are you heading out, too?”
“Waiting for a tag back. If this works, we’ll break Iler by five hundred.” She looked back out at the dark. “I hope to Christ it’s soon enough.”
* * *
At least she didn’t have to deal with Summerset by the time she finally made it home. As Roarke had texted he’d tackle Iler’s electronics in his lab, she tossed her coat over the newel post, headed straight up.
There he was, full work mode. He’d changed into a black sweater, had the sleeves shoved up above his elbows. A strip of thin leather secured his hair back in a short tail.
She assumed there was logic and order in the line up of Iler’s many e-toys, just as she assumed the same about the codes, images, symbols rolling over Roarke’s multiple wall screens.
The cat found it all fascinating, or so it seemed, as he squatted on a stool and watched. He gave Eve a glance with his bicolored eyes when she walked in, then went back to his evening’s entertainment.
“Anything?” she asked.
“A considerable lot, actually.” Roarke continued to work, swiping screens, tapping keys and controls. “You’ll have him on tax evasion. I pushed through some files, got enough to see that, then moved on as it’s not your priority right now.”
“It’s not, but still.”
“Insider trading as well—and you might find it interesting he paired up with Hugo Markin there.”
“I do, but.”
“Not priority, understood. Which is why those files are earmarked for another time.” He paused the work, rolled his shoulders. “If he’d applied himself, he might have had a very successful career in cyber security. He’s buried data deep, encoded it well. It’s a job of work getting down to it.”
“You’re better than he is.”
“I am.” Now he put his hands on her shoulders. “We are. I can see by the look in your eyes you didn’t get what you need from Iler. You will.”
“I will. I’m working an angle.” She picked up the water on his workstation, drank deep. “He’s lawyered up, which is no surprise. Sharp, high-priced lawyer, also no surprise. He’s not talking. I could get a few rises out of him, but the lawyer shut him down. But he’s scared of being locked away off-planet. Got annoyed at the idea of a white-collar cage, but scared, shaky at the threat of off-planet. Off-planet’s the key,” she said as she wandered the room.
She drank again. “He hadn’t told the lawyer about Silverman, I got that, too. So the lawyer shuts it all down—consult with client, client needs his eight hours down. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“The rules are often infuriating.”
“Maybe, maybe if I can keep shoving the off-planet up his ass, dangling Silverman, maybe he starts to crack even with the lawyer running interference. But now we wait—until we toss him back in at oh-four-thirty.”
With a laugh, Roarke ordered up another water. “That won’t sit well with Iler or his lawyer.”
“One thing, it gives me time to work an angle. The father. I get the father to understand his son’s going down, one way or the other—and Silverman’s going to benefit from Iler’s loyalty. And funds. I’m working on blocking those funds, but the father has plenty I can’t block.”
“So you convince the father to block that stream.”
“Yeah, no money for you if you continue to protect Silverman, if you don’t reveal the name of other targets. If he flips, talks, I deal. On-planet incarceration.”
“A cage is still a cage,” Roarke said, but Eve shook her head.
“You didn’t see his face. Mira agrees, says he might be spacephobic. Have you found anything about him going off-planet—business or pleasure?”
“I haven’t, now that you mention it, not as yet.”
“I think I can use that fear, and the father. One son smearing the honor of the dead son. This goes to court, all that publicity, all that humiliation for the family. But the father’s in freaking France. I got the father’s lawyer, got him to contact Reginald Iler, get it going. I’ve been haggling with the lawyer off and on, maybe making progress. But the senior Iler’s going to freaking sleep on it, and because of the damn rotation of the stupid Earth he’s like hours ahead. Behind.” She closed her eyes. “No, ahead, so I can’t lock it up until right before I get Iler junior back in the box.”
She two-pointed the empty tube of water into the recycler. “Screw science.”
“You need pizza.”
The thought nearly perked her up. “Maybe, but I have to tie up some contingencies with Reo.”
“You can eat pizza while you tie. I’ll eat while I work on this.”
“Pizza?”
He pulled her in for a kiss. “In solidarity.”
22
She ate pizza while she worked out tactics with Reo. Apparently it looked good as the assistant prosecutor ordered up some of her own.
Despite the gray sweatshirt, the tousled fluff of blond hair and lack of makeup, Reo had the appearance of a delicate Southern belle.
Eve had reason to know that appearance masked—often strategically—a sharp mind and steely will. In court, Cher Reo could and did eviscerate a witness on cross without breaking a sweat.
At the moment, she bit neatly into her second veggie slice. “I’ll be there at four—God help me—A.M. Singa’s going to be pissed, but he boxed himself in on it. He should’ve stalled you a couple of hours, then pulled out for the eight straight.”
“Silverman threw him off his game. He needs to research the asshole, get his investigators on it. If he wants to use Silverman as a cover for his worthless client, he has to lay out a plan first.”
“Maybe he’s working late and eating pizza,” Reo speculated. “Anyway, if Daddy Iler contacts you before his nine o’clock time, let me know. Either way he leans, I can work it.”
“I will.”
“See you in the morning then. We’ll nail his ass, Dallas.”
“Fucking A.”
She rubbed her eyes, started to program more coffee, when Roarke stepped in.
“I have something for you. Iler purchased a new model black panel van—loaded. An Essex Sprinter, license Echo-Zulo-Baker-578.”
When she reached for her comm, Roarke held up a hand. “Hold on, save yourself time and order up a search along with your APB. He’s also paying rent on a private garage.” As he gave her the address, he walked over to pour wine. “As I haven’t found, as yet, another storage facility, and you haven’t found, as yet, the Richie artwork they stole—or what Iler purchased—and I found two he bought legitimately in Italy four years ago—they might have used the garage for both purposes.”
She wanted to do the search personally, bit back the impulse by reminding herself of priorities. “I’ll get a team to the garage now, get out the APB on the vehicle. This is good.”
He waited until she had before nudging the wine on her. “We’ll take five, you and I—and while we do,” he continued before she could object, “I’ll tell you I’ve been in touch with Feeney.”
“What’s he got?”
“I’d imagine a raging headache by this time. He, Callendar, and two others have been working on cleaning, scanning, piecing together. It’s slow, tedious work. The odds are long they’ll get much of anything, you should know that. If anything can be recovered, they will. He and Callendar are going to take four hours in the crib, then get back to it.”
“Okay.”
“They’ve dug into the portables Iler had—and there you’ve got
the financial information, his own portfolio, that sort of thing. Nothing on his contact lists, as yet, no link to Silverman. However, they dug up the ’link conversation with Banks.”
“You should’ve led with that.” She popped up, paced to the board. “That’s big.”
“He deleted it, but nothing’s ever gone. Deleted, added some filters and so on. It took some doing, but you have the conversation.”
“I need to hear it.”
“It’s on your unit now.” Roarke leaned over, cued it up.
She heard Iler’s voice answer cheerfully. Well, hello, Jordan.
Hi there. We need to chat.
About what?
About Quantum and Econo, about stocks and explosions.
After a tangible hesitation, Lucius answered, A terrible thing, isn’t it? Another disgruntled employee. Your ex was injured, wasn’t she?
Cut the bullshit, Lucius. I’ve had the cops at my door, and they wondered—pointedly—if I’d shared any of the information Willi passed on to me with anyone.
Listen, Jordan—
No, you listen. I told the cops I hadn’t, played it cool. But that can change. I did you a favor, Lucius.
I paid for the favor.
Not enough. If you want me to hold the line I’ve taken with the cops, I want a cut of what I imagine is a substantial profit. Let’s say two hundred fifty thousand. Consider it insurance.
This is ridiculous. You can’t prove you told me anything, and you certainly can’t prove I had anything to do with what happened at Quantum.
Do you want the cops poking around, Lucius? I covered for you, and I’ll go on covering for you. For a cut.
I had nothing to do with—
Don’t care. Pay the insurance, Lucius, in cash, and your worries are over.
We need to discuss this. Not over the ’link.
Happy to. I’m at Thad and Delvinia’s bon voyage right now. You can meet me here.
Not in public, for God’s sake, not at a party. Let me think. I’ll get back to you.
“Follow up conversation coming next,” Roarke told her.
You took your time, Banks answered.
I needed time to think. And I needed time to put some cash together. I can give you a hundred—and that’s simply to avoid the bother of police prying into my business. I don’t appreciate this, Jordan.