Forgotten in Death(91)

She folded her hands on the file. “You own up to what you’ve done, sign a statement thereof. You resign—immediately—and we’ll deal it down to five years inside. If you can keep yourself in check, you’ll probably get out in three, maybe three and a half. But you’ll never carry a badge again.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s your answer? Let me tell you why you’re going to take that back, and the time inside just went up to seven years. Right now, as we speak, Alva’s story, those photos and documents, pages from her books, they’re all over the media. Not just in New York, Wicker, all over. All the way out to Oklahoma. I expect your ’link’s going to start blowing up really soon now.”

“You’re lying.”

She just smiled again, made a gun out of her index finger and thumb. “Bang. Trigger pulled. How fast do you figure the cops who’ve worked under you will take to turn on you? The mayor of your little cop kingdom, the council members who are going to have the media beating down their doors?”

His ’link signaled.

“You wanna take that? I can wait.”

He yanked out his ’link, set his teeth when he read the display. He turned it off. “I can beat this. Then I’ll sue you for the skin off your ass.”

“Documentation, photographs, scientific data, and witnesses. Do you think nobody knew what you did to her? Do you think nobody ever noticed the black eyes, the splinted fingers? The county sheriff has men out right now, interviewing neighbors.”

His face flushed with rage. “I’m not doing seven years.”

Eve leaned forward. “Wanna bet?”

He punched out, but she was ready for it. She wanted to punch back, more than she could say, but she just shoved his bunched fist back. “Make that ten years.”

Reo opened the door.

“Cher Reo, assistant prosecuting attorney for New York, entering Interview.”

“And by ’link conference,” Reo said as she sat and set up a tablet, “Marvin Williams, prosecuting attorney for Beaver County, Oklahoma. Mr. Williams and I have observed this interview, have read over the file. At this time, Mr. Wicker, we are prepared to offer you a plea bargain. A full confession, your permanent resignation from your current position as chief of police, and your sworn agreement to never pursue or hold another position in law enforcement. Which includes prison guard, security guard, hell, crossing guard positions, or any position of authority.”

“Go to hell.”

“Jesus Christ, Garrett.” On-screen, the Oklahoma prosecutor dragged at his hair.

“And you go with her, you simpering fuck.”

“Ten years,” Reo said flatly. “Or we go to court, drag it all out—adding your second wife, from whom I have a statement—the attempt to assault an officer, every Tom, Dick, and Mary we find that you used excessive and/or unnecessary force on, and every other thing we can and will dig up. I’m betting it’s a lot. I’m betting it’s going to add up to fifty before we’re done with you.”

“Take the deal, Garrett. Take the ten, because I’m telling you as someone who’s known you—or thought he did—for eight years, you’ll do twice that or more if this goes to trial.”

“She’s fucking dead!” He shouted it, pounding the table. “Why do you give a shit about any of this? She’s dead.”

Eve pulled out her badge, slapped it on the table. “That’s why. Because it’s meant to protect and serve, not hurt and terrorize. Because she mattered.”

She rose. “Take the deal or don’t. I don’t care about that, because you’re done. You’re finished.” She picked up her badge. “And when you’re inside a cage where you belong, and they will put you there, I’ll still have this. Because it’s got to matter. Because of people like you. Dallas, exiting Interview.”

She stepped out, took a couple of breaths.

Garrett Wicker wasn’t her father, she reminded herself. But he and Richard Troy ran the same vicious, violent road.

And she’d beaten them both.

“Okay then.” She breathed out again. “Now it’s done.”

She saw Peabody come out of Observation, and recognized the cautious concern on her partner’s face.

To eliminate it, she held out a fist for a bump. “Good job as the whiny, stick-up-the-ass subordinate.”

“I thought so. You’re not staying in for the finale?”

“He’s finished. Sometimes you have to leave it to the lawyers. He’ll take the ten, figuring he’ll get out in maybe six. He figures he can do six.”

Eve shook her head as they walked back. “But he won’t get through the first year without screwing it up, going at one of the guards, getting into it with another inmate. He’ll do the full dime, and maybe more.”

“He never saw it coming.”

“He wouldn’t. He’s not wired to believe he’d pay any price—especially because of a woman.”

“Not just that, Dallas. You had it ultrafine. The timing, the media storm, the whole ball of ’tude. I thought you were going to punch him when he took that swing at you. But really, you did. Complete beatdown.”

“We did.” She pointed to her office so Peabody went with her. “Now it’s done, so we move on.”