by J. D. Robb
“Mr. Jorgenson—”
“Shut up, you worthless piece of shit. Shut the fuck up.”
“Would you kill them yourself if you could get to them, Bolt? Or would you order another couple of idiots to do it like you did with Pickering, Duff, Aimes?”
“They’re dead. Slice, Cohen, Snapper, Ticker. Dead.”
“Big talk, big talk from a guy who got his ass kicked by his own sister.”
“You shut the fuck up.”
“Did you know that one, Quentin? He physically assaulted his mother, and his sister gave him an ass kicking. You’re here because, while the family didn’t file charges, they kicked him hard to the curb, so he can’t tap them for money for a lawyer.”
“You don’t know dick.” Jorgenson snarled it, tried to take a swing at Eve, but the restraints stopped him.
“Temper, temper,” she said. “I had a little conversation with your sister, Bolt. I know plenty. Oh, and the staff sergeant doesn’t send her regards.”
“She’s a lying bitch, just like my lying whore of a mother.”
“I don’t think Bolt likes women much,” Eve said pleasantly to Reo. “He might be afraid of them. You couldn’t even take out the junkie you were having sex with, could you? You told them to rape the shit out of her, didn’t you, to beat her to death and leave her where you figured Slice couldn’t ignore it.”
“I’m not the one afraid. Slice is.”
He raged it out. In the zone, Eve thought again. But Jorgenson’s zone was fury.
“If he had balls, Fan Ho and the rest would be dead. But he’s got no balls.”
“It’s why you picked the neutral zone, but Slice didn’t bite. Did you plan to use her, then have her killed back when you started banging her?”
“Don’t—”
“Shut the fuck up!” he shouted at Quentin. “You think I’d stick it to that junkie whore, listen to her whiny ass because I liked it?”
“No.” Eve circled the table again. “You did it because she had two uses for you. To help you get to Pickering, and to die bloody. I get that. I get that. What I don’t get is Pickering. Why? He wasn’t part of the gang anymore. He wasn’t a threat, and I can’t see how he’d be a tool.”
“Slice let him walk, just walk away like he was better than us. Nobody walks away from us like that. I said we need to tune him up good, make him pay a price, and Slice? He says no. He says the asshole’s off-limits, how he was a fine lieutenant, and how he’ll come back when he’s tired of living the bullshit life.”
“And Slice, he’d have put him over you, wouldn’t he? Put him at a higher rank.”
“I said fuck that. Slice even goes to see him at his work sometimes, like friends. He wants a friend outside? I showed him what happens.”
“So you ordered Pickering killed to strike back at Slice, to make an example, and because of their connection, to bring the cops sniffing around Slice.”
“You came, didn’t you? Cohen said it had to look like an accident.”
Eve sat again. “Did he?”
“I said we’ll cut him up good, plant the knife on Jones, but Cohen said make it look like he OD’d. The cops would still come. Slice would still look weak. So I told those motherfuckers what to do, and they can’t do it right? Have to take shit out of the place?”
“You did tell them to mess Dinnie up though.”
“Bitch had to go hard or no point. Cohen says now fucking just kill her like we did Pick, but I say it’s going to be done right.”
“He knew you planned to have her raped and beaten.”
“Shit yeah. Said to make sure they suited up, so no juice in her for the cops to find.”
“And still, after all that, Slice didn’t call for war.”
“Got no guts, got no honor. Stealing from his family.”
“Why Aimes? Was it always going to be Aimes?”
“He’s a dumb-ass, zoned out most of the time. He and Dinnie, always whining for more junk. I never killed any of them. You can’t hang that on me.”
Eve sat back. “Who’s the dumb-ass now?”
This time Eve called for a break all around—and decided to pull another Roarke.
As she sat in her office, reviewing interviews, she smelled the pizza coming her way before she heard the clomp of Peabody’s boots.
“Brought you a slice. Ah, the bullpen wants to know if you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sticky buns this morning, pizza this afternoon.”
“Special circumstances. You can tell them not to get used to it.”
“Being smart cops, I think they know that. Did you talk to Teasdale?”
“Yeah, and sent her the interview. Cohen’s going to be very sad when he doesn’t get witness protection—ever.”
“Instead he goes down for accessory before and after the fact, three counts.”
“I’m going to ask for on-planet.”
Peabody managed to look both surprised and disappointed simultaneously. “Why?”
“I think it’ll actually be harder on the sleazy son of a bitch. Plus, Jorgenson and his idiot team are going off. If they end up in the same facility, Cohen is a dead man. I want him to live a long, miserable life. Go eat before the wolves leave a scatter of crumbs.”
“They’re being nice to me. They said I got the first slice. Let me know when you’re ready for Jones.”
“Yeah.” Eve rolled her tired shoulders, texted Roarke.
Grand slam.
And smiled at his reply.
And the crowd goes wild. I hope to make it down to Central by four if you’re still going to be at it.
She blew out a breath.
Supposed to do stupid media conference about then. Going to bag Jones, and leave Cohen for Teasdale. Jorgenson wrapped him up in a bow.
Then I’ll try to make it down to see you tell the media and the people of New York the city’s a safer place tonight. Eat something.
She started to tell him she had pizza, then remembered she’d had pizza the day before. He’d have something to say about that.
Breaking now. See you later.
After checking the time, she ate her slice, settled for water with a coffee chaser while she continued to review.
Then, calculating, tagged Nadine.
“Am I go? I need to head down to Central in a couple hours and join the rest of the media.”
“Here’s what you’re go on now. Jorgenson, Washington, Chesterfield, Cohen, all charged.”
She ran through the specific charges while she ate. “You can check with the PA’s office on when, but they’re all scheduled to be indicted today. You can add the federal charges on Cohen, but you should get confirmation from Special Agent Teasdale. If you wait about a half hour to break this, you can follow up with Pickering’s CI status. I want Jones in the box before that hits. I don’t want it to leak to him and maybe skew the interview.”
“I can do that.”
“Do me a solid—let Kyung know it’s coming. He may be a little annoyed, but he’ll get it.”
“Don’t sandbag him, got it.” Nadine looked up from her notes. “We’re going to do right by Rochelle’s brother, Dallas.”
“Counting on it. I’ll let her know it’s coming.”
She clicked off, tagged Crack. “Are you with Rochelle?”
“Yeah. I’m helping her family with plans for Lyle’s memorial. We’re at her brother’s.”
“Good. Tell her she can share with her family what I told her this morning. And you should have Channel Seventy-Five on. There’s going to be a major report in about thirty.”
“Are they bagged, Dallas?”
“The five responsible won’t see the outside again. Crack, I want to talk to Lyle’s cop because I know she’s carrying weight on this, but tell the family he wasn’t killed because he was helping the cops. They didn’t know he was helping us. They did it to punish him for leaving the gang, and to hit back at Jones for letting him. I’m sure of that.
“I’ve got to go finish this. Turn on the screen.”
“I’ll tell them. Thanks, skinny white girl.”
“See you around, big black man.”
She finished the slice, the coffee, sat for a minute studying her board.
So many lives ruined, wasted, ended, shattered. Because two men’s greed pushed them to do ugly things for money. And another man’s ego and rage demanded blood and war.
She walked into the bullpen and into applause over empty pizza boxes.
“Yeah, yeah. Now that you’ve stuffed your faces, get back to it. Peabody.”
“Jones next, right? I’ll have him brought up.”
“In a minute.” She moved to Peabody’s desk. “I spoke with Agent Teasdale. She’s giving Cohen the bad news.”
“Aw. Even with all this, I sort of wish we could be there.”
“We’ll take our shot at him tomorrow. Teasdale and I worked it out. We’re going to tie him to all three murders. And since his knowledge and connection to them were motivated by continuing the fraud, tax dodges, illegals dealing, he can do federal time for them, too. We tie him up, Teasdale locks him up.”
“Sounds fair.”
“Meanwhile, one left for today, here’s how we’re going to play Jones.”
As she laid out the strategy, Mira came in.
“I’m sorry I missed you earlier,” Mira began. “I wanted to tell you this marathon has been an education. Studying so many approaches, rhythms, reactions—one community, as it were, engaged with another within a confined space and confined time period.”
“Engaged with?”
Mira set her medical bag on Peabody’s desk. “I could say pitted against, but it is a form of engaging. Peabody, let’s have a look at that knee.”
“We’re about to go into Interview.”
“Call Jones up while she’s doing what she does,” Eve said. “It’ll take awhile to get him here.” As she spoke, Eve pulled over Baxter’s desk chair so Mira could sit.
“Thanks. Of course, I’ve observed countless interviews before, but this has been a kind of microcosm.”
In her gentle, efficient way, Mira rolled up Peabody’s pants leg, removed the brace. “I think I’ll write a paper on it. How’s the discomfort level?”
“It’s not bad. A little more when I’m walking around. But I haven’t been.”
“Good. I’m going to cold wand it.”
Maybe the discomfort wasn’t bad, Eve thought, but there was still considerable swelling and bruising.
Definitely riding the desk for the rest of the week, Eve reaffirmed. Longer if need be.
She waited until Peabody finished arranging for Jones to be brought into Interview. “I should have let you take the asshole who pulled you down into the box.”
“Nah. Jenkinson and Reineke wrapped him up. Do you have time to do a little—maybe on my face?”
“Of course.” Mira glanced over at Eve. “For both of you.”
“After the media deal—her, too. We’re going to show cops can take a hit.”
Mira nodded as she treated Peabody’s knee. “Your choice of outfit today makes you look like you give more hits than you take.”
“That’s the idea.”
22
Saving Jones for the last interview of the day hadn’t just allowed Eve to close out three murders with three arrests—with Cohen to provide the icing on her justice cake the next day. It had given her the opportunity to gather more data from the three men who would spend their lives in cages.
She’d have all that in her pocket as she and Peabody “engaged with” Marcus Jones.
He sat alone in Interview when they walked in, started the record, read off the salient. He slouched—not out of despair, but to show how unconcerned he was. After his gaze tracked lazily over her face, then Peabody’s, he allowed a hint of pleasure to show.
“Took you long enough, but I’ve got nothing to say.”
“One of your rights,” Eve returned as she and Peabody took their seats. “And I know you were read your rights, as I did it myself. You can sit there and be as quiet as you want. We still get paid.”
“Got nothing to say,” he repeated. “And I’m exercising another right. I’m waiting for my lawyer.”
Eve gave him wide eyes. “You requested legal representation and your lawyer hasn’t yet arrived? Must be a busy guy.”
“Good lawyers are busy lawyers.”
“Well then, we’ll have you taken back to Holding until such time as your lawyer gets here.” She started to rise, then angled her head. “Say, your lawyer doesn’t happen to be Samuel Cohen?”
Jones’s only reaction was a narrowing of his eyes. “That’s my business.”
“It is, definitely. It’s just that if you’re waiting for Cohen, well, you’re going to be waiting, oh, about … forever. He’s currently in federal custody representing himself against a whole … What’s the word I’m after?”
“I think it’s shitload,” Peabody supplied.
“That’s it. A shitload of crimes. You’ll also be talking to the FBI when we’re done here. But since you’re exercising your right to remain silent, and wait for your attorney, we’ll have you taken back, and notify the Special Agent in Charge.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Which part? Cohen hasn’t returned your tags, has he? He can’t because his ’link’s been confiscated, and he has no access to it. The feds do—and, of course, the NYPSD did. We also accessed his electronics, his records. Yeah, the feds can’t wait to have a nice, long chat with you.”
“You think I’m afraid of a bunch of FBI suits?”
“You should be. Especially after Cohen spills his guts.”
“Bring them in here.” His chains rattled when he jabbed a finger at her. “They want Cohen, I’ll make them a deal.”
“Sorry, you have to deal with us first, and you’re not talking to us, as is your right. We’ll wait until you have something to say and/or engage another attorney.”
“He’ll need a public defender,” Peabody pointed out as she and Eve stood. “Since all his accounts are frozen.”
“That’s his problem.” Eve made a point of gathering up her files as she spoke to Peabody. “Just like the three charges of murder in the first are his problem, and that’s before the feds get him.”
“Murder my ass.” Jones tried to shove to his feet. His chains rattled again, held him in place. “You’re not going to pin murders on me.”
“You either invoke your right to remain silent or you don’t. You invoke your right to an attorney or you waive it. Decide.”
“I’m saying you’re not pinning murders on me.”
“Are you now willing to speak, to answer questions, without the benefit of legal representation?”
“I’m not having some limp-dick court-ordered winding me up. I can handle myself, and you got no murders on me.”
“Your former lawyer disagrees. He’s laying them right on you.”
“He’s a lying sack!”
Eve sat again, waited for Peabody to do the same. “On that we agree. He’s a lying, cheating sack. But he was pretty convincing when he laid out how you planned Lyle Pickering’s murder, and how he tried to talk you out of it.”
“I never killed Pick, and anybody who says so is a liar. Pick was a brother to me. I never talked to Cohen about Pick until after you came and said how he was dead.”
“You did speak with Cohen about it?”
“After. He’s a lawyer, ain’t he? Supposed to be my fucking lawyer, so I told him you’d come sniffing.”
“Reasonable,” Eve said easily. “And what did he advise?”
“He said not to worry none. Sounded to him like you were trying to get a rise out of Pick’s OD, out of Dinnie getting dead.” Wrists cuffed, Jones beat a fist into his palm. “Now he’s trying to save his own ass and using mine. Well, I can do the same. I know plenty about that mofo.”
“I’m sure you do, and I imagine the FB
I will be interested in what you have to say about your business dealings with him. But before they get their turn…”
She stacked the files, tapped them.
“We’ve got three murders, illegals charges, weapons charges, the matter of using unlicensed sex workers—including minors—for profit, extorting money—your protection racket. Oh, and there’s the explosives materials found on your property, assorted firebombings, assaults, kidnapping, witness intimidation, related murders, and I can cap all that and other charges off with the attempted murder of a police officer. That would be me.”
“I was defending myself.”
“Ah … no. See, your property—and your name’s on that property—was entered via warrant, you and your … guests? Tenants? Were so informed. You resisted with force. You, specifically, aimed a stunner—illegal to civilians—on full at me, fired it while stating…”
She flipped through the file. “‘You’re done, bitch.’”
“If I had a stunner on full, why didn’t you go down?”
Eve wiggled her fingers in the air. “Magic. So three murders, all the rest, and an attempted on me. I can tell you the courts take a really dim view of attempts to kill police. I know because I’m police.”
“I never killed Pick or Dinnie or that dumb-ass Fist. I’ve been looking into that myself, figuring out about who did.”
“That’s amazing.” Peabody widened her eyes, turned to Eve. “Dallas, isn’t that amazing? He’s been looking into it, and so have we.”
“I’m almost speechless.”
“You think you’re smart?” Leaning forward, he spread his hands. “You ain’t nothing. You get me somebody in here who can make me a deal—in writing—and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“You want a deal?”
“I want those feds off my ass for that petty bullshit, and I’ll give them plenty on that mofo Cohen. You brush off the rest of this bullshit, mostly you can’t prove, and I’ll give you the murders. Simple as that.”
“‘Simple as that,’” Eve repeated, looked at Peabody. “He wants a deal.”
“Yeah, like we haven’t heard that one today.”
The two of them went into fits of laughter, until Peabody gasped for air and wiped her eyes.