Connections in Death (In Death #48)(106)

“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 a while 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 it needed to 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.”