Connections in Death (In Death #48)(98)

“Everybody’s got hair.”

“Jesus Christ, is basic science a foreign language to you? Everybody doesn’t have your hair or your DNA.”

Chesterfield tried a lip curl, but it wobbled some. “You don’t have no DNA on me, my old lady wouldn’t sign me up. She’s smarter than that.”

“Too bad she didn’t pass the smarts to you. You drank a Coke during processing. We took your DNA from the tube, matched it with the hair on Duff’s body. Like we took the knife you had when arrested, and we got Barry Aimes’s blood off the blade and hilt.”

“Then there’s the bloody shirt he left in his flop at the HQ,” Peabody pointed out. “Slitting throats is messy.”

“That’s not my shirt. I found that knife, and the pin thing, too.”

“Where?”

“On the street.” His eyes wheeled. “No, in Snapper’s flop. They were in Snapper’s flop.”

“You want us to believe you’re a thief but not a murderer? Explain why both the knife and the pin have your prints on them, and not Washington’s? You can’t,” Eve snapped. “You can’t lie fast enough, and he’s already rolled on you. Bolt told you what you had to do to be worthy, and you did it. You pumped that syringe in Pickering, you raped and beat Duff and left her in the neutral zone in hopes to start a gang war, then you cut Aimes’s throat, transported him to Chinatown and dumped his body outside Fan Ho’s family restaurant.”

“I was just there.” His wheeling eyes filled now, with tears, to join the tat at the inside corner of his eye. “I didn’t do any of it. I was just there. I was high. Bolt says we gotta do it.”

“Start there, and be specific. What did Bolt tell you to do?”

When they’d finished, Peabody hit Vending for water for both of them.

“I don’t know about you, but I need to hydrate. I thought, after we nailed those two, I’d want to high five.” Peabody cracked the tube. “But he was pitiful. I mean, God, he cried through the last twenty minutes. Not his fault, he was high. Not his fault, Bolt made him do it.”

“So we’ll take Bolt next.” Eve rubbed at her eyes and the headache behind them. “Check on the team we sent out to get the van they used to transport Aimes. See if the sweepers have started to process it. Then take your break.”

As they walked toward the bullpen, Eve spotted Crack and Rochelle sitting on a bench outside.

“Go ahead on the van,” Eve said. “I’ll take them.”

“I can get updates from the other interviews while I’m on break. It’s sitting-down work.”

Eve continued toward Crack and Rochelle as they rose.

“Don’t blame Wilson,” Rochelle said quickly. “He’s only here because he couldn’t talk me out of coming. After I heard the reports about the arrests . . . You were hurt.”

“Job hazard.”

“Skinny white girl’s tough.”

“Yeah,” Eve said to Crack. “We’ve got a lounge.” Eve gestured. “Let’s go in there.”

“I know you’re busy,” Rochelle continued. “And taking time to talk to me adds to your day, but anything, anything you can tell me. I wanted to come in person because—”

“Less chance of me brushing you off.”

“Yes. Yes, exactly.”

Eve led the way into the lounge, nearly empty as she had so many cops in so many interviews or transporting prisoners to and from. “Coffee’s terrible,” she warned.

“I don’t need anything.” Rochelle sat at a table with Eve, took Crack’s hand in a strong grip. “Except whatever you can tell me.”

She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, Eve thought, and in those exhausted eyes need lived.

“We have statements for the media later today, so what I’m telling you now can’t get out. It could hamper the rest of the investigation.”

“Is there something I can tell my family?”

“I need you to keep a lid on this until we’re ready to go public.”

“All right.”

“Of the three men who killed your brother, we have two in custody and both are charged with his murder. First degree. The third’s dead, at their hands.”

“You have them.” Rochelle’s eyes swam. “You have them.”

“There’s a fourth individual, in custody. We’ll interview him next. He’s implicated, not in the execution of the murder, but in the ordering of it.”

Rochelle let the tears come, let them roll silently down her face. “Is it Marcus Jones?”

“I can tell you it was not. I intend to put Jones away for a host of other crimes. But not for your brother. We’ve recovered the items taken from your apartment, and they’ll be returned to you once this is finished. The illegals in your brother’s room were planted there. We have full confessions.”

“He didn’t start using again.” Rocking herself, Rochelle let out a shaky breath. “I knew he hadn’t, but it helps that you know that, too. That everyone will know.”

“Rochelle, your brother wasn’t using again, or involved with his old gang. He didn’t lie to you. He did omit something he’d done and was doing. Lyle was working with the police as a confidential informant.”