Connections in Death (In Death #48)(100)

“The commander said this afternoon, later this afternoon. It’s not even afternoon yet.”

“Nearly. I’ve just spoken with Chief Tibble who is now on his way back to the city. He would like to target four o’clock. If this doesn’t give you enough time, I can and will push it back.”

Eve calculated. No point trying to wiggle out of it, so she calculated. She wanted to close out Jorgenson, Jones, and Cohen. “I can let you know by fifteen hundred.”

“I can work with that. I will have a statement.” He held up a hand before Eve could object. “Not for you to make, but for you to clear, to make sure we have all the facts in order, and if you choose, for you to spring off of during your time. In addition, I’m aware you rarely use facial enhancements.”

“Screw that. I’m not going to—”

Again, he held up a hand. “I was going to request you not make this one of those rare times. Let’s show them what our cops are made of.”

Eve drained her coffee, set the mug again. “You continue to not be an asshole, Kyung.”

“I do my best to maintain that benchmark. APA Reo, if I could have a few minutes.”

“Use the office,” Eve told them.

Eve left them, used Baxter’s desk to order Jorgenson brought to interview, to text Roarke the next promised update.

Two for two now. On deck with number three.

A moment later, he responded.

Swing away, Lieutenant.

“For the fucking fences,” she murmured.

Peabody swiveled around. “I can give you a running list of who’s completed interview, the charges, the disposition.”

“Send it to my PPC.” She started to rise when Baxter came in, but he shook his head, sat on the corner of the desk.

“We’re taking a break. I told Trueheart to take a walk outside, get some air.”

“Because?”

“We just finished with one. He’s fourteen. His child advocate and his mother were both with him. The mother’s begging us to help her, to help him. She says a couple of the Bangers started coming around the school a couple years ago, trying to recruit.”

“We know that’s true.”

“Yeah. Gave some free illegals, talked trash. She said her boy stayed out of their way, or tried to. And one night she’s coming home from work, she gets raped, beaten. We’ve got the incident report, so she’s not bullshitting. She didn’t know who attacked her. What else she didn’t know is a couple of the gang cornered the kid after, told him if he didn’t work for them, she’d get worse next time. Maybe end up dead next time. If he told her or anybody, they’d make sure of it.”

“What did he do?”

“What he was told. They made a runner out of him, a delivery boy. He’d deliver illegals, pick up protection money. Up until six months ago, when this went down, the kid was a decent student. After, his grades take a dive, he gets in trouble in school, loses weight because he won’t eat half the time. Even in there, he won’t talk at first. Kid’s terrified, LT, you can see it all over him.”

“What was he doing at their HQ last night?”

“Delivering a package to Jones. Trueheart eased it all out of him, took some time, a lot of care, but he got it out of him.”

“Can he identify the ones who threatened him?”

“Can and did. We’re going to take them next. But he said he had to report to Jones once a week. And Jones said how they needed good young blood like him. How it was fine he wanted to protect his mother, but they were his family now. If he forgot that, well, his mother would pay for it.”

“I want Mira to talk to the kid.”

“Already notified her.”

“Let’s keep him under wraps, him and the mother. We don’t know how many of these assholes are still on the streets. Any other relatives?”

“She’s got a sister in Queens, parents in Brooklyn.”

“She should pick one, go there, once Mira clears it.”

“Same page. Dallas, he said they’re pulling in girls his age for sex work. Either they find ones living on the edge, or use tactics like they did with him.”

The headache that had never quite faded began to drum again. “We’ve got a location on where they keep sex workers. If there’s more, if they have another place for minors, we’ll get that, too. You push that in the rest of the interviews, pass the word. Push it.

“Peabody, break’s over. Jorgenson’s up.”

“I’m ready. I’m freaking armed and ready.”

He didn’t look like much, Eve thought when she walked into interview. On the short side at five-seven with that compact build. The spiked red hair flamed over a moon-white face.

He sat with his arms crossed and a look of boredom in pale green eyes while his overanxious public defender agitated beside him.

“My client has spent over sixteen hours waiting for this interview. His due process—”

“Hold it. Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering interview with Jorgenson, Kenneth, and his court-appointed attorney. Please state your name for the record, sir.”

“Paul Quentin.”

Eve named various case files as she and Peabody took their seats.