Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(98)

“I think she’s the type who can know and tell herself she doesn’t. I think she’s the type, when it comes out, who’d say they all asked for it, they all were willing.”

“I know the type. We see it on our end as much as you do. What about Easterday’s wife?”

“She doesn’t know. She doesn’t strike me as someone who wears blinders or doesn’t give a rat’s ass as long as it doesn’t interfere with her social schedule. And that’s a lever I’ll use when I have him in the box. However I get him there.”

“Do you always drive this way?”

“What way?”

“As if we’re trying to outrun an earthquake.”

“Time’s running out. In fact.” She hit the sirens, hit vertical, and punched it. “FYI? This is how you outrun an earthquake.”

She made it from downtown Manhattan to the Bronx in record time, and gave Reo points for only squealing once.

But that damn Rapid Cab shouldn’t have ignored the siren.

Eve squeezed into a No Parking area, flipped on her On Duty light.

Reo flipped down the vanity mirror, checked her face. “Just making sure my eyes aren’t bugging out.” But she fished some hot-red lip dye out of her purse. “It’s power,” she told Eve. “You’ve got the badge and the bad attitude, I’ve got the legal heft and Rock ’Em Red lip dye.”

Reo dropped the lip dye back in her bag, curved the Rock ’Em Red lips in a feral smile. “We’ve got this.”

Uniformed security stopped them at the door.

“Ma’am, you’re under surveillance. Please surrender your weapon immediately.”

“Lieutenant. NYPSD. Badge,” she said, and two fingered it out.

He scanned it, gave her the hard eye. “Bank policy requires you to secure your weapon before entering to do business.”

“I’m here on police business, and my weapon’s secure. On me. Reo?”

“Of course. Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Cher Reo.” Reo flashed a smile, opened her briefcase. “Warrant,” she said, offering it. “We’re duly authorized to enter the premises—and as we’re conducting police business, the lieutenant is under no obligation to remove her weapon—and access the safe-deposit box clearly listed on the warrant.”

“You need to wait here for the manager. Bank policy.”

“While this warrant trumps your bank policy, we’re happy to wait for precisely one minute.” Reo checked her wrist unit. “Beginning now.”

He gave her the hard eye, but hurried off.

“Nice,” Eve said. “The one-minute deal. Will that hold up?”

“If we don’t mind causing a scene.”

The bank was quiet as a church and ornate as a museum with fake marble columns pretending to hold up the sky-view ceiling. Tellers sat on stools behind blast shields and conducted business with patrons in hushed tones.

Eve decided she wouldn’t mind causing a scene.

A woman, long strides in skinny black heels, crossed the wide lobby. She had dark hair in a precise wedge and a stern expression on her face.

“What seems to be the problem, Officer?”

“Lieutenant.” Eve tapped her badge. “I’ve got no problem as long as you recognize the warrant APA Reo is showing you, and lead the way to the deposit box listed on same.”

“The privacy of our patrons, both through bank policy and federal regulations—”

“Does not supersede this duly administered warrant,” Reo interrupted. “A fact you’re fully aware of if you’re the manager of this bank. If you choose to attempt to block the execution of this warrant, Lieutenant Dallas will arrest you for obstruction.”

“As the manager of this bank, I’m obliged to contact Mr. Betz and inform him of the situation.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Eve rolled her shoulders. “You do that—after you take us to the box, and open it. We’re going by the minute here, right, Reo? You’ve got one minute to decide how you want to play this. Starting now.”

“It will take me longer than one minute to contact and inform Mr. Betz.”

“At the end of one minute, you’re going to be in restraints, and the only contact you’ll want to make is to your lawyer. Make that forty-five seconds.”

“I will be reporting you to your superiors. Both of you.”

But she turned on her heel, used those long strides to recross the lobby with Eve and Reo following closely behind, swiped a card over a security pad, tapped in a code.

Two steel doors parted in the middle and slid open to a small warren of rooms lined with steel boxes.

“You’re required to show your identification, and to sign the log. Again, both of you.”

While they did, the manager took the warrant and scowled over every word.

“You’ve left me no choice, but I do this under protest. Our patrons’ privacy—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eve moved past her, following the numbers until she came to Betz’s box. “Go away.”

The woman gave a long sniff and departed, yanking a smaller steel door behind her.

Eve took out the evidence bag, took out the swipe. Before she used it, she turned on her recorder, read in the data.