Forgotten in Death(119)

“At the very least, you were and are an accessory.”

“And the deal stands—as long as it’s proven out.” Reo looked at Cross. “Are we done here?”

Cross merely lifted her hands.

“Then let’s go to a conference room, make it official.”

“But—but—I told you everything. You can see I was coerced. I didn’t know. You have to have some pity.”

Eve rose. “Sorry, all my pity’s used up. It’s all for Johara Murr. Interview end.”

Eve took twenty minutes to recharge by sitting in her office, boots on her desk.

She turned her head into Roarke’s hand when he came in, laid it on her hair.

“One wonders,” he said, “the genetic miracle that makes a man like Bolton Singer with such a father, such a grandmother.”

“We’d know about that.”

“We would. You should take a blocker.”

“Not yet. This last round won’t take long. She’s either going to spew or clam up and go to court. Either way, we’ve got her.”

“You hope to make her spew.”

“I’m going to give it a damn good shot.” She sat up, rolled her shoulders when her communicator signaled.

“Tell me the good stuff.”

“I’ve got good stuff,” McNab told her. “I want to make out like it was hard, like I had to pull out super magic skills, but it’s all on her office comp. Yeah, passcoded, but not much more. It goes back decades. But I’ve scanned through, and I can give you a whole bunch that ties her up in this.”

“Gimme. Send it. I’m about to put her in the box.”

“Really? It’s almost midnight.”

“She wants it.”

“Okay then, I’m going to give you the cherry on top. Trueheart found a passport in the name of Johara Murr in Elinor Singer’s bedroom safe. Now, I did have to use some magic to open it. So credit there.”

“Sick, sociopathic bitch. I need a copy of everything. Listen, if you want to break for the night after that, you’re cleared for a hotel.”

“I think we’re into it, but we might want one after we’re done.”

“Good enough. Keep me informed. Good work, McNab. Good work all around.”

“She kept the passport,” Roarke said quietly. “So she could take it out, look at it, congratulate herself for seeing that the family line continues as she dictated.”

“Yeah. Why don’t you let Mira know about that? I need to— Busy around here,” she said when her computer signaled an incoming. “What goes on top of the cherry on top?”

“Those sprinkles things?” he suggested. “Those colorful little candies?”

“We just got sprinkles.”

Peabody stepped in. “She’s up.”

“So are we. Grab Reo. We need a few minutes before we take her.”

Roarke read the screen over Eve’s shoulder. “I’ll update Mira and Jack. Take her down hard, Lieutenant.”

“You bet your fine ass.”

The jumpsuit didn’t flatter Elinor any more than it did her son. She looked her age, at least around the eyes. Her very distinguished counsel sat in his very distinguished suit at her side as Eve started the record, read in the data.

“It’s late, so why not make this quick? You’re going to want to wait, Mr. Breathed,” Eve added as he started to speak. “Just hold on to all the objections, the my client this and that. First, Mrs. Singer, your son just rolled all over you and back again.”

“That’s absurd.”

“That’s fact. I have his statement, and his confession and his play-by-play on record, and we’ll get to that. Next, we have records accessed from your home office computer for a pallet of bricks to be delivered to the site and the building under construction where the remains of Johara Murr and her fetus were found. Your order, signed by you, for said bricks and for the mortar required to build the ten-by-eighteen-foot wall, dated September 8, 2024.”

“Really, Lieutenant, Mrs. Singer, without a doubt, ordered material for that site and many others. This is hardly evidence of murder.”

“She ordered the brick for a wall that was not on the blueprints, not in the plans, and was used to conceal the body of Johara Murr. Just wait, will you?” she snapped at Breathed. “Here, I have a copy of a passport found during the warranted search of your home. Found in your bedroom safe. A passport in the name of Johara Murr. Maybe you’d like to tell us how you came to be in possession of this item?”

“I know nothing about it.”

“It just, what, popped in there by magic? It has a stamp on her entry to New York. It’s dated September 8, 2024. The same day you ordered the brick—rush delivery, I’ll add. Cost you extra.” She pushed the copy across the table.

“I’ll need a moment with my client.”

“Fine, fine, but can you just wait until I’m finished piling on the evidence, so we can get the hell out of here sometime tonight? I have here the ballistic report—I can rush things, too—on the weapon you used to fire two shots at me, a police officer, this evening.”

“My client was confused, and believed you were an intruder attacking her son.”