Born in Death (In Death #23)(101)

Eve grinned when his eyes darted toward the door. “Yeah, that’s right, and I’d make book she’ll push this whole thing into your lap. She worked for you, did what she was told, didn’t know. She can play that, and you’ll go down for it. Your kind always does. You’ve got SAP tattooed on your forehead. I don’t like her, so I’m talking to you first. I’m offering you the deal I’m going to offer her if you don’t make me happy.”

“No deal,” the suit snapped.

“I bet you work for Stuben, Robbins, Cavendish, and Mull.” Eve spoke to the lawyer for the first time. “They’re in a big pile of crap, too. Lot of smart lawyers there, right, Walter—smart lawyers who represent Bullock and Chase. I imagine they’ve got you all picked out as fall guy. Sent you over here, gave you busy work, show you no real respect. Now the heat’s on, and who do you think’s going to burn?”

“I was home in bed with my wife when these murders occurred.” Cavendish tugged on his tie. “I have nothing to do with this.”

“You don’t want to lie to me. You really don’t want to piss me off when I’m the only one here looking out for you. Chase killed Randall Sloan, set him up, took him out. I wonder what he’d do to you. Maybe I should put the two of you in a box together and find out.”

“Threats won’t be tolerated,” one of the lawyers snapped.

“Not a threat, just speculation. Here’s how it happened, how it’s documented in Randall Sloan’s private records. Copperfield came across something that didn’t quite add up for her, and she—being a good girl—went to Randall Sloan for advice. She knew him, the father of her friend, the son of the head of the firm—she trusted him. Maybe he tried to put out the fire himself, but she’s asking the wrong questions. He contacts Bullock, she contacts you. You’re in it now. She sets her son on Copperfield when bribery doesn’t work. You knew just what they did—that makes you an accessory.”

“More speculation,” the lawyer said. “You have nothing concrete against my client, or Ms. Bullock and her son.”

“Who do you believe, Walter? The suit from Stuben, or the cop who’s got you by the short hairs? It’s over for you, and you know it. Your life, your career, the plush office, the expense account. But you can choose how you want to spend what you’ve got left. Three counts, accessory to murder or—if you cooperate now—three counts obstruction of justice. You’ll do time in a cage, but you’ll be eligible for parole. You’ll end your life on the outside, instead of in. One-time offer, and you’ve got thirty seconds.”

Eve leaned in close until he had little choice but to meet her eyes. “You know she’ll take it when I go next door. She’ll throw you to the wolves without a second’s thought. Tick-tock, Walter. Twenty seconds left.”

“I want it in writing.”

“Cavendish—”

“Shut up!” he rounded on the lawyer. “It’s not your life on the line, is it? I’m not taking the fall for this. In writing,” he repeated. “And I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“That was easy,” Peabody commented after they’d stepped out.

“Didn’t even get me warmed up.” Eve rolled her shoulders. “Spineless bastard. He’ll do a solid dime on the obstruction.”

“And there’s the fraud. You didn’t mention that to him in the offer.”

Eve grinned. “Oops. Well, it’s not in my authority to offer a deal on international tax fraud or any international crime. Gee, I guess he’s going to do considerably more time than the dime.”

“Who do you want next?”

“We’ll take Bruberry. She’s going to be very, very unhappy her boss flipped on her.”

“You think she’ll crack?”

“Two hours tops.”

“Put money on it?”

Eve considered. “Fifty.”

“Done.”

In one hour and fifty-three minutes, Peabody walked out of Interview. “I’m kind of torn. I’m out fifty, but it was fairly frosty to watch her go down. Didn’t just crack, she exploded.”

“And knew more of where the secrets are locked than her boss.” Eve rubbed her hands together. “Double or nothing on Chase?”

“I figured we’d hit Bullock next.”

“Nope, I’m saving her for last.”

“No bet,” Peabody decided. “You’re hitting your stride.”

As they turned, they saw Baxter hotfooting it down the hall. “Sweeper report, wanted to hand-deliver it.” He slapped a file, with disc, into Eve’s hand. “On Sloan’s vehicle. They found a single hair, headrest, driver’s seat. It’s Chase’s. EDD report,” he added, handing her another. “My new best friend, McNab, found transmissions to and from a Doctor Letitia Brownburn, London. Authorities there have already picked her up, and acted on a warrant to close down Sunday’s Child, until further investigation into its practices. There are also transmissions to Cavendish’s office—Madeline to Bruberry, and from Madeline to the London office where she conversed for some length with Stuben. They spoke cryptically, of an imminent delivery.”

“Cavendish and Bruberry both sang like fat ladies,” Eve told him. “We’re taking Chase next.”