Connections in Death (In Death #48)(57)

“Try this. Where you were last night between six and ten P.M.?”

“This is outrageous! And I was home, with Eldena.”

“He was from six to at least eight,” Eldena confirmed. “I left about eight—to work for a living. But he was here at least until then.”

“What time did you get back home, Ms. Vinn?”

“About three. Sam was in bed, as usual, when I got home after I spent hours naked or getting naked, and giving lap dances to assholes because I get a percentage of the fee.”

“That’s all going to be over soon,” Cohen began.

“Too bad for you.” Eve decided to twist the knife. “Since you and Jones, and apparently Ms. Vinn, own the club where she works.”

“You—” Eldena lost her breath, pushed the heel of her hand up her chest as if to find it. “How could you? How could you do that.”

“I’ll explain it all, I’ll explain.”

“So you have no alibi between the hours of eight P.M. and three A.M.?” Eve interrupted.

Cohen sent Eve a disgusted look, or tried, as panic jittered in his eyes. “I was home, and have no need for an alibi.”

“Think again,” she advised.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Roarke said conversationally. “That someone with a legal background, however nefarious, would enter into multiple partnerships with someone they claim to know little to nothing about? It would make that person either a fool or a liar.”

“Could be both,” Eve added.

“It could, yes. Plus, one more. This person may also have a financial interest in the partner’s—also nefarious—other business ventures. Of the illegal sort.”

“This interview is over.” Cohen surged to his feet. “If you want to speak to me again, it’ll be through my lawyer.”

“You can count on it.” Eve rose, dug out a card, handed it to Eldena. “If you think of anything more, you can contact me.”

“Thank you. I’ll walk you to the door.”

“There’s no need to—”

Eldena rounded on Cohen. “Now you be quiet.”

When she opened the door, Roarke touched a hand to her arm. “The lieutenant likely feels unable to give you any advice at this time. I’m not as hampered. You should get your own lawyer. A good one.”

“Thank you. You can count on it.”

As they walked away, Eve glanced over at Roarke. “That last bit—to him, not her? Good timing on that. And nice, what is it, derision.”

“Heart felt.” He paused by the car. “You know how you often say, after I’ve done a bit of something, that you owe me one.”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to collect.”

“How exactly?”

“You need to let me dig into this bloody bloke, and bury him once I have. He’ll have more tucked away here and there, and possibly some of that will help your case. Regardless, I want to dig and deep. I shouldn’t need the unregistered, but if I do, I do. That’s the payment.”

“If you need the unregistered, tell me. If you get anything there that does play into the investigation, I need to know how to deal with it.”

“Agreed. You drive. I’m going to get started.”

Since he pulled out his PPC as soon as he got into the car, she gave him quiet to work. She had plenty to think about.

She had no doubt Cohen was as dirty as they came—a liar, a cheat, very likely into some fraud, tax evasion. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least to learn he got a small percentage of Banger income.

The question was: How deep did it go? Just business? Did just business include accessory to murder?

Why put the woman’s name on the documents? She’d have asked Roarke, but he was already muttering to himself as he worked.

She had a theory. The properties all carried mortgages. Was she cover? Something goes south, he leaves her holding the bag?

Considering that, she called in, ordered surveillance on the residence. If Cohen left, she wanted to know where he went.

“His partnership with Jones extends to a company,” Roarke said as he continued to work. “CoJo Corp. They use it to bank rents, to pay for maintenance, taxes, insurance. All very standard, with each of them taking a percentage every month—of what they report in any case.”

“You’ve got more than that,” Eve said as she drove through the gates.

“I do. I’ve found two buried accounts already in the time it’s taken to get home, and that’s on a bleeding portable. Sort of a pity, as playing with the unregistered would be a bit of fun. He’s just not good enough at this to bother.”

“Or you’re too good to need to bother.”

When they got out of the car, he skirted the hood, took both her hands. “I wish I didn’t know, absolutely, you sign papers of ours without the reading of them.”

“I give them a scan.” Sometimes. “If you fucked me over, I’m a cop. I know how to make you pay without letting it show. Like, the one where I tranq your wine, dress you in a diaper and pasties, get you in your office and transmit the image globally.”

“You’ve given this some thought.”

“Just in my free time.” She gave his hands a squeeze before drawing hers away and laying them on his cheeks. “Bottom line? She wasn’t wrong to trust a man she loves—because it had to be love. He’s not rich or good-looking or powerful. She just loves the wrong man. I don’t.”