A Chip and a Chair (Seven of Spades, #5)(20)
Due to the case’s worldwide notoriety, the FBI had been able to fly in a respected forensic anthropologist and her team immediately. They’d started this morning on determining times and causes of death; positive IDs would take much longer.
“Yes,” Levi said, giving the simplest response to Sawyer’s question he could. It would become public knowledge anyway. “And you know that I can’t tell you any more than that.”
“Fair enough.” Before they’d slept together, Sawyer would have ended with some kind of sly innuendo, or even an outright proposition. Now he only ran his gaze once over Levi’s body and smirked before walking away. “Good luck with the investigation, Detective. Give my best to Mr. Russo.”
Levi sighed. It was too much to expect that Sawyer would give up being a douchebag altogether.
“Thanks for coming in again, Ms. Cassidy,” Dominic said as he ushered her into his office. He gestured toward a chair and sat behind his own desk, where he had Bishop’s file ready and waiting.
“What’s this about?” she asked. “Did you already find evidence I can use against Conrad?”
“Not exactly. I wanted to ask you a few follow-up questions.” He’d decided that directness would be the best tack, so he didn’t fuck around with euphemisms and leading questions. “Does Mr. Bishop have any connection to Utopia?”
Her face screwed up in unfeigned disgust. “The gang? No, of course not. What kind of people do you think we are?”
“Utopia is much more than a street gang these days. And the reason I ask is that I saw Mr. Bishop hand an envelope full of cash to this man-a known member of the organization.”
Dominic slid several blown-up photographs of the park handoff across his desk. He watched Cassidy closely, but didn’t catch so much as a flicker of recognition as she studied the pictures.
“So?” Still frowning, she sat back. “Passing money to a criminal looks like a drug deal to me. That’s your evidence right there.”
“Except this man didn’t give Mr. Bishop anything in return for the cash.” Dominic tilted his head. “When Mr. Bishop was using drugs, did he ever take methamphetamines?”
“No. He may be an addict, but he’s not white trash.”
Charming. “How about prescription painkillers?” Dominic asked, maintaining a blandly pleasant demeanor.
“No. Conrad uses cocaine because he wants to speed things up, not slow them down.” She narrowed her eyes. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“The only drugs Utopia deals are meth and prescription narcotics,” said Dominic. “The cocaine trade in Las Vegas is entirely controlled by Los Avispones, and Utopia hasn’t been able to make any inroads there. Los Avispones is the only criminal organization that’s been able to hold strong against them.” That was due in large part to the Seven of Spades, who had long ago allied with Los Avispones and continued to lend subtle assistance.
Cassidy shrugged. “I’m afraid I still don’t see your point.”
He looked her straight in the eye. “Then let me rephrase my question. Is there any reason your ex-husband would sympathize with white supremacists?”
After a moment of contemplative silence, she said, “Conrad would never deliberately hurt anyone. But if you’re asking if he has strong values-real American values-then yes. Regardless of his personal issues, he’s always been a patriot.”
Dominic was so flabbergasted that he just stared at her, at a loss for words. Even when he found his voice, it was faint. “An American patriot . . . financing Nazis?”
“Oh, please,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “That term is so overwrought. People always rush to scream Nazi to discredit real Americans who are just trying to defend their country.”
Dominic’s blood pressure skyrocketed as if she’d drawn a gun on him. Every muscle in his body went rigid, and a vicious internal heat swept through his limbs, making them tremble with barely repressed rage. He had to clamp his hands on both his thighs to prevent himself from leaping out of his chair.
God. If this was how Levi felt all the time, it was no wonder he had trouble controlling his anger.
“Let me tell you something about defending this country, Ms. Cassidy.” It was a struggle for Dominic to speak calmly. Though he didn’t anger easily, this bullshit was one thing that made him see red. “I was an Army Ranger for eight years. I served multiple tours in Afghanistan. I watched friends die in service to this country. I took a bullet for this country. You don’t get to sit there and lecture me about patriotism.”
Despite his best intentions, by the time he finished, his body was thrumming with the fury he’d tried to conceal. Cassidy had shrunk back in her chair and was eyeing him with clear anxiety.
He took a deep breath. No matter the provocation, it was not okay for a man his size to lose his temper, especially in a closed room with a much smaller woman.
“Get out,” he said.
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You can ask Ms. McBride to reassign your case to a different investigator, but I won’t work with you. Please leave.”
She hesitated for a moment, as if he might be joking. When he glared at her in stony silence, she huffed, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and swept out of the room like a disdainful queen.