by J. D. Robb
All she had to do was sidestep the charge and trip him—but the added uppercut gave her an even higher lift.
He fell like a tree and skidded a foot or so on his face.
“We’ll bury you, bitch! We’ll bury you.”
“You’re the one eating dirt, asshole. Add another charge of assaulting an officer and resisting arrest to his slate,” she told the uniforms who dragged him up again.
“Big man,” the uniform snarled. “Had a stunner, and hit my partner with a stream, then grabbed his own kid—eight years old—and tried to use the kid as a shield. Kid gave him the shiner.”
“Good for him.”
“Her,” the uniform corrected, and muscled the guard into the van.
At the gates, Eve saw Whitney conferring with Teasdale. And Nadine, outside those gates, doing a one-on-one with Tibble, with the compound, the activity at his back.
“Commander, Special Agent, the compound is secure. Joint teams are processing. At last count we have six hundred and thirty-two adults and fourteen hundred and eighteen minors moved or being moved out. APA Reo and the reps from the federal prosecutor’s office, the state’s attorney’s office are running tabs on the number of arrests and charges. Child Protective Services is conducting interviews and evaluations.”
Whitney held up a hand to stop Eve’s report. “Do you wish to remain here overseeing this cleanup operation?”
“Sir, I’d prefer to call my division back into Central and start the interview process.”
“Done. This was good work, Lieutenant. Down the line good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll remain here,” Teasdale told her. “And touch base with you later today.” She paused as Conroy raced over.
“They found him. Tony—Agent Quirk. He’s alive. In bad shape, but alive.”
“Where?” Teasdale demanded.
“The farm system, somewhere in Iowa. They had him in a cell, shackled in a cell. Had a shock collar on him. Beaten, tortured, but alive.”
He turned to Eve, held out a hand.
“That’s good news, Conroy.” She shook it.
“He’s a friend of mine. He’s got internal injuries, and the medical I talked to said without treatment, he wouldn’t have lasted another forty-eight. He’s alive because we pushed on this tonight. I thought it was a mistake. I was wrong.”
“I’ve been wrong once or twice myself. I need to speak with Nadine, Commander, then I’ll be at Central.”
“We’ll need to schedule a media conference later this morning,” Whitney told her. “Kyung will coordinate with you. No good deed,” he added.
“Yes, sir.” She walked over to Nadine, who’d concluded her one-on-one with Tibble.
“I really need to get in there, Dallas. They won’t even let our choppers do flyovers.”
“I’m not in charge of that. But I’ll give you a one-on-one here and now with as much detail as I’m able.”
“I’ll take it.” Nadine angled her head, narrowed her foxy eyes. “Did you manage to grab eight hours of sleep somewhere? You look a hell of a lot fresher than you did this afternoon.”
“Kicking ass is better than sleep.”
“Apparently.” Nadine signaled to her camera.
Two hours later, on a morning that dawned with a steady spring shower, Eve sat at her desk. She pumped coffee as she worked on her strategy.
Roarke, who’d stated—firmly—he was in for the duration, had gone off to find some quiet place to start his wheels and deals.
She’d told her detectives to grab sleep, a shower, a change of clothes, food, whatever they needed. And to report back to the bullpen by zero-nine hundred.
More hot irons to handle, she thought.
Twenty minutes before deadline, she decided to shower off the night herself and start fresh.
As she started out, Shelby started in—with a garment bag.
“Why aren’t you at home sleeping?” Eve asked.
“Tried, sir. Really couldn’t. I’m hoping you’ll clear me to hang in Observation during some of the interviews.”
“You earned it.”
“Thanks. A Mr. Summerset just brought this in for you. He said Roarke asked him to bring you a change of clothes.”
Eve studied the bag. “Sure he did.”
She knew the bony cadaver went into her closet, but she didn’t need to be reminded before interview.
“Lieutenant? I want to say my ambitions don’t aim toward a gold shield. I like the uniform.”
“I know.”
“Oh. Well, good. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Shelby, you’re a good cop, and an asset to this division. You keep at it, you continue to work your way up to being as good, as solid, as exemplary as Officer Carmichael, you’ll be an even bigger asset to this division and the department.”
“That’s exactly where my ambitions aim, Lieutenant.”
Eve took the garment bag, headed into the locker room and the narrow closet with the piss-trickle of almost hot water that served as one of the showers.
Despite the facilities, she did feel fresher.
And when she opened the garment bag, she put aside the fact that Summerset’s fingers had been on her clothes—including her underwear—and let herself bask in the other fact.
She saw exactly what Roarke had intended when he’d ordered this outfit.
Black pants, straight line, and short black boots. A white shirt as crisp as an Alpine breeze. Black vest, not a jacket, so her weapon remained visible. Leather vest, no frills, all business.
Dressed, she stepped out and saw Peabody in the process of removing her pink coat.
No pink otherwise—not even her usual boots—but a dark, murderous red shirt with a thin gray-and-red scarf used as a kind of tie. Gray pants, scarred black boots.
No jacket, Eve noted. Weapon visible.
“Got two hours in my own bed,” she told Eve. “McNab bunked up in EDD. They’re really slammed. I hit the espresso—just a hit. I learned my lesson there. Feel ready.”
“Good, because we’re having our interviewees brought up to the boxes at nine hundred.” She checked the time. “So they’ve got ten minutes.”
She turned because she recognized the familiar click of heels coming toward the bullpen.
“All the interviews will be on record,” she said as Mira came in. “You didn’t have to come in this early to observe.”
“Eve, I went to medical school, and I raised children. It’s hardly the first time I’ve worked on little sleep. I had an opportunity to speak with several of the women, and more than a few men, who’d been held one way or the other. I’m here because I need to be.”
“Understood. Appreciated. Peabody, would you see that Observation is stocked with decent coffee and the tea Dr. Mira likes?”
“Oh, and that is appreciated.”
Jenkinson and Reineke came in next. Jenkinson’s tie, a flaming orange, had little red devils all over it. The kind with horns and pointy-end tails and snarling grins.
“Really? Today?”
“Especially today, Loo, because if there’s a hell, those bastards are going to fry in it. But first we’re gonna lock them in cages.”
“Did you read our report?” Reineke asked. “One of the kids we got out was locked in his room in one of the apartments, restrained to the bed. Gay kid, and he said they were going to send him to the island for Realignment today if we hadn’t come. Fifteen years old. His own parents, Dallas. His own mom and dad.”
“I read it. Let me see the socks.”
That made him grin as he hiked up his pants leg. Black socks with one red pitchfork-wielding devil on the side.
“Okay, just—For fuck’s sake, Santiago, you’re on medical leave.”
“No, sir.” Face mutinous, left arm in a sling, he stood his ground.
“There’s no talking to him,” Carmichael told her.
“Then I won’t waste my breath.”
She waited f
or the rest, including Reo and the other lawyers, the feds. Feeney and Roarke came in together.
“Okay, boys and girls, hell of a job, all around. We’re going to do the same today and nail this shut. Everyone will be fitted with ear-buds. Rather than Feeney trying to catch you up on EDD’s findings, and they’re still coming in, you’ll have an EDD officer fill you in on your specific subject, and continue to inform you as data comes in.”
“My boys are humping it, and the feds aren’t slackers.”
“Reo and the other prosecutors will work with you on charges and potential deals if such deals help fry bigger fish. Remember, after dealing with us, and whatever deals are or aren’t struck, these subjects then face federal charges. Nobody walks away from this.
“Dr. Mira will observe. Peabody and I will rotate between Stanton Wilkey, Mirium Wilkey, and Lawrence Piper. Jenkinson and Reineke take the Huffmans and Gayle Steenberg.”
“Come on, Dallas. I should—”
Before Santiago got the rest out, Eve froze him with a stare. “We’re charging Steenberg with attempted murder of a police officer. You’re that police officer. You don’t interview her.”
“Got you covered, Santiago,” Reineke told him. “We’ll lock her down.”
“Do you doubt your fellow officers can handle—what was it, Detective Carmichael?—the hag of a bitch?”
Santiago shot his partner a half smile. “No, sir.”
“Good. Baxter, Trueheart, you take Po, Harstead, and Wexford. Carmichael and Santiago, the Pooles and Hester Angus, the Tribeca midwife.”
“That’s first round. There will be more, but this round is key. Each interview team, take the next twenty to familiarize yourself with your subjects. Consult with Mira and/or Reo if you have applicable questions. Detective Carmichael?”
“LT?”
“See that your partner takes any necessary breaks. Dr. Mira will evaluate his condition every two hours.”
“Aw, come on, boss.”
“That’s the deal, Santiago. Take it or go home.”
“I’m taking it, “I’m taking it.”
“Study your subjects, work out your rhythm, and report to the assigned interview rooms—they’re in my notes—at zero-nine-thirty.”
“Lieutenant, if I could address you and your officers, very briefly.”
“You have the floor, Special Agent Teasdale.”
“I received word only moments ago that Utopia Island is fully shut down. There were five casualties, two law enforcement, three residents. Any injured are being treated in the medical facilities there, as they are, I’m assured, excellent. While the farm system is not yet fully contained, we estimate it at eighty-five percent.”
“How’s your agent?”
“Stable condition, thank you, Lieutenant. We have amassed a great deal of data from both of these areas. We will, of course, share all of it with the NYPSD. At this time, however, I think it’s important to relay Rachel Wilkey is in a coma, and has been for nine days, following an attempt at self-termination. We have records showing this is not her first attempt. Evidence and statements at this time indicate Aaron Wilkey, Wilkey’s youngest son, was not part of the criminal enterprise. He has been restricted to the island for months, and has endured two Realignment procedures. He is cooperating fully with authorities.”
“That’s good information, thanks.” Eve scanned the room. “We use it and put these motherfuckers where they belong.”
She took a minute to speak with Roarke while her detectives got ready. “Appreciate the change of clothes.”
“You look like a self-contained, professional ass-kicker.”
“A good definition of a cop in this case. Get any sleep?”
“I bought a couple of planets instead. Better than sleep.”
“You’re probably not really kidding. I need to huddle with Peabody.”
“I’m going to do the same with EDD. I’m useful,” he said before she could respond. “And I’m enjoying it.”
“I know the first, and since the second seems true, go enjoy. Peabody.” She gestured to her office. “Piper first.”
“I lost that bet. I figured we’d hit Mirium Wilkey first.”
“You read Piper’s data. How would you describe him?”
“Wife-beating, misogynistic bully.”
“You don’t say true believer. He’ll roll. To save himself, he’ll roll on the Wilkeys.”
“It won’t save him.”
“No. Here’s how we play it.”
When they walked into Interview, Piper sat alone, arms folded over his chest. His knuckles, though healing well, still showed raw from beating them against his wife.
“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with—”
“I’m not talking to cunt cops.”
Eve continued to read details into the record, then sat. “Mr. Piper, the record shows that you were read your rights at the time of your arrest.”
He tried to stare through her.
“We’re aware that you exercised your right to contact a legal representative. However, that representative has also been arrested. And your financial accounts have been frozen due to your connection with Natural Order. If you wish legal representation at this time, we can and will arrange for a public defender.”
“Fuck you, bitch. You can’t do that to my money.”
“We didn’t. The FBI did, so you can take that up with them. Do you wish to have us arrange for a public defender?”
“You think I don’t know they work with the cops? You think I’m stupid?”
“My opinion in the matter of your stupidity isn’t relevant. Are you waiving legal representation?”
He jabbed a finger at her. “Fuck you and fuck lawyers. I don’t need a lawyer. I don’t need to talk to you.”
“Let the record show Mr. Piper has waived his right to an attorney. While he may exercise his right to remain silent, we don’t have to. We will inform Mr. Piper of the weight of the charges against him. Detective.”
“Mr. Piper, you’re charged with spousal abuse, spousal assault, endangering minors—three counts—due to the locks installed on the doors of your children’s rooms.”
“That’s all bullshit. I’m the head of the house, the breadwinner. I run my house as I see fit, so you can fuck right off.”
“You saw fit to strike your wife on multiple occasions—we have the records from the Huffmans’ medical facility.” Good Cop Peabody made no appearance here. She continued in a cold, flat voice. “You are further charged with murder in the second degree for the beating death of your wife—”
“Six months’ pregnant wife,” Eve added. “The jury’s going to want that information.”
“And are charged with leaving a crime scene, attempting to conceal evidence.”
“That’s all bullshit! My wife died from complications of a miscarriage. I called her doctor, I got her to the best hospital I know. Now you’ve taken my kids. They just lost their mother. I lost my wife. I’m going to sue your bitch asses to the—”
“They took your wife out of the house in a body bag,” Eve said. “Your cleaners missed a spot, Larry, so we have her blood and yours on the wall where you beat her head in. That’s off-planet, a lifetime in a cage. And with the other charges? Add another twenty. And that’s before the feds hit you with accessory to kidnapping, torture, forced imprisonment. And I’m barely getting started.”
“You can’t prove any of it.”
“I have proved it. Two witnesses, Larry, heard your pregnant wife screaming, begging you to stop. Heard you screaming at her, beating her, bashing her head against the wall.”
“Lying bitches. Who’s going to believe them?”
Eve leaned in. “I believe them. A jury’s not only going to believe them, a jury’s going to eat up every word they say. Two witnesses, blood, and forensic evidence. And guess what, Larry, your wife’s body.”
She watched him jerk back at that.
&nb
sp; “We recovered it from the crematorium on the compound. Hell of a thing to have, a private crematorium—but they hadn’t disposed of her yet. Her body is now at our morgue. We’ve got the Huffmans, we’ve got your head cleaner. The Wilkeys, the Pooles. We’ve got the island, we broke the farm system. You’re fucked, Larry. And yeah, bone stupid if you think the Huffmans, the Wilkeys, any of them will protect you now.”
“Hard to protect some flunky,” Peabody added, “when you’re locked in a cell.”
“You’ve got one shot or we walk out of here. As it stands, you’ll do life off-planet with a twenty-year sweetener. Take the shot, give us chapter and verse on the Wilkeys, on Natural Order, and we can talk to the PA about reducing the murder charge so you’d have a chance at parole in twenty-five. Cooperating witness or a lifetime plus off-planet. Up to you.”
“What do you want to know?”
He spilled, then spilled some more, primarily confirming and corroborating evidence and statements she already had. But she didn’t object to adding to the pile.
As he spoke, Roarke’s voice came through her earbud, and, with that lovely hint of Ireland, gave her more.
“All right, Larry, I’m going to talk to the PA about reducing the time for beating your pregnant wife to death and get you that twenty-five on-planet.”
“With parole.”
“Possibility of parole. Then there’s the twenty for child abuse and endangerment.”
“What? Wait!”
She sent him a cool look. “I explained that to you, on record. Your prints on the locks, Larry. Only yours. Same deal with the illegal substances—the derivative of Whore, the date-rape drug—found locked in your office. The bondage toys? Woo, Larry, but that’s a personal choice. After that, you’re going to have to deal with human trafficking charges. We’re leaving that to the feds, so good luck there.”
He started to sputter.
“You kept really good records on your computers—at home and in the compound. You had a good shot on a solid return on your investment with Marcia. The fifty K marriage fee’s steep, but you got a ten K rebate since you found her on your own.
“Amazing how they broker people, isn’t it, Peabody?”
“I know I’m impressed. He banked the five K each for his three kids, and got that really nice house for dirt cheap rent as long as he kept Marcia in line.”