“Which is a git move on the face of it in any case.”
“Oh yeah, but he is a git, and Silverman’s not much smarter. Smart would’ve been for Iler to wait a few more hours. Wait until say two in the morning, then drop his ass down to the street where Silverman’s waiting for him in the black panel van.”
“You’ve booked a private shuttle,” Roarke continued. “You get out, get gone, taking your profits to somewhere without extradition—which you should have arranged at the very start of the whole business.”
“Not smart, but there are eighteen dead, and I’ve still only got one of them.” She stepped back up to the hole in the floor. “Feeney!”
“Yo!”
“I’m heading back to Iler’s. He didn’t blow up his equipment, and he’s no pro. He might have left a trail.”
“We’re going to scan this shit pile. I’ve got boys coming in for it. We’ll be right behind you when we’re done with this.”
“Good enough.” Eve straightened, looking around once more. “We need that trail,” she said to Roarke. “Because what I don’t see in here, or anywhere where Silverman worked and lived, is any remnants of a suicide vest. He’d have had another one in the works, or ready to go. He took it with him.”
“He’s lost his partner,” Roarke pointed out.
“It won’t stop him. And without Iler, there’s nothing to stop him from killing the wife and kid of the next target.” She dragged her hands through her hair.
“He wired the place, hoped to blow some of us up. Failed. Blew up his data, but we may get something out of it. Eventually. He must’ve had a meet spot with Iler. A time and place, but Iler didn’t show. He has to know we have Iler.”
“More inclined to run then.”
“No, no, no. More inclined to finish. He’s volatile. Why the fucking hell take time to blow up the whole damn house? He didn’t use ninety percent of it, but Salazar said it was wired top to bottom. He only needed to blow his data, his records.”
“Well, he’s a madman.”
“He’s a madman, and the brother of his brother’s in a cage. That may mean the access to at least some of the money’s compromised. The money, that’s Iler’s area. Iler had the painting on him when we took him, half a million in cash, and the codes and IDs for three accounts.
“He’s got to finish it, do the next at least the next. Cash in, cash out. Look, we’ve got to split this after all. I need you to go to Iler’s, see what you can do to find that trail. I wanted to let him sweat a few more hours, but I have to start working him. I need to get him in the box.”
“All right. I’ll grab a ride with Feeney.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch.”
As she jogged downstairs, her ’link signaled a text.
Peabody, she noted, and scanned it on the move.
We’re here, and it’s already mag to the ex. But we want to know, just have to know—Did you get them?
Eve answered fast and brief. Iler’s in a cage, about to go in the box. ID’d the partner, working on bagging him. Too busy for details.
Peabody’s response came in seconds. You’ll break Iler like a twig. Let me know when number two’s in the bag.
Eve shoved her ’link in her pocket, and prepared to break Iler like a twig.
* * *
He’d lawyered up, but she’d expected it. She knew Richard Singa, the high-dollar criminal attorney, had faced off with him before.
Iler sat silent and smug—from the smirk—when she came into Interview with Baxter.
“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Baxter, Detective David, entering interview with Iler, Lucius, and his legal counsel on the matter of case files H-32019, H-32024, H-32029, and related matters.”
She sat, folded her hands on those case files. “Mr. Iler, have you been read your rights?”
Singa lifted a finger. “We acknowledge my client was properly Mirandized.”
“Mr. Iler, you’ve been charged with conspiracy to murder, first-degree, eighteen counts, possession of and intent to use explosive devices to cause physical harm, enforced imprisonment, six counts, accessory to assault, four counts, endangering a minor, two counts, and various charges of fraud, tax evasion, breaking and entering—”
“Lieutenant.” Now Singa lifted both hands, peered at her with dark eyes over a broad nose. “Obviously my client not only disputes all charges, but was, as we all know, nowhere near the scene of the tragedies at Quantum headquarters or the Salon gallery. And as the security in your own husband’s apartment building must clearly show, he did not leave his own residence on the night of Jordan Banks’s murder. Therefore, I must insist we dispense with this absurdity.”
“Has your client informed you by which method he attempted to elude arrest?”
Singa’s gaze remained direct and dispassionate. “While my client’s practice of climbing and belaying was unwise in that particular location, you have no evidence this was an attempt to elude. Mr. Iler had no reason to expect arrest as he’s committed no crime.”
“He had the artwork he stole from Banks’s apartment in his possession.”
“My client maintains he purchased the artwork from Mr. Banks.”
“So he’ll provide a receipt for the purchase?”
“A cash deal,” Singa said smoothly, “between friends.”
“And when was this cash deal between friends made?”
“Several weeks ago.”
“That’s bullshit. I personally saw said artwork on Banks’s wall on the evening before his murder.”
Singa hesitated—the faintest flicker across his eyes. “Are you an expert in figure studies, Lieutenant? In Angelo Richie’s work? Otherwise, it’s easy to mistake one for another.”
“I have a witness who is an expert on both. So there’s that. Your client also had a half million in cash, his passport, codes for numbered accounts, clothing, and other personal effects on him at the time of his arrest.”
“It’s hardly against the law to carry cash, a passport. As to the codes and accounts, we will submit that, perhaps, my client attempted to game the system—as many do. Such matters hover in a gray area, and we will cooperate fully with any levy of taxes and/or fines, should they be warranted.”
At that, Baxter grinned, looking directly at Iler. “Is your suit here telling you that you’re going to lose up to seventy percent of what you squirreled away—and likely do a little time in a white-collar cage?”
The smug look dropped away as Iler swung toward Singa.
“We’ll discuss that later,” Singa told Iler. “For now, we again insist these false and damages charges be dropped.”
“I’m not going to—”
“Later,” Singa snapped at Iler, and Eve chose her moment to drop her own bomb.
“Sergeant Oliver Silverman.” She waited a beat as color drained out of Iler’s face. “Aka Oliver Nordon. We’ve already paid a visit to the place you bought him. You’ve got to be good pals for you to let him have it for a couple hundred a month in rent.”
“How did you—I don’t—”
“Quiet.” Now Singa clamped a hand on Iler’s arm.
“Eighteen people, Iler. Eighteen. Because the only person you had the capacity to pretend to care about gave his life to save others. Because you chose to use his memory to make a profit, to have some fun, to get some sort of twisted payback. Whose idea was it to use loving fathers to get that payback, make that profit? Yours or Silverman’s? It could matter. Your lawyer will tell you it could matter to how hard this goes on you.”
“My client has invoked his right to remain silent, and his right to legal counsel.”
“Yeah. Who’s next, Iler? What family did you and Silverman plan to destroy next?”
“I don’t have to talk to you. I want this to stop,” he told Singa.
“Give me the name.” Eve pushed forward. “Right now we’ve got people combing through Silverman’s place, combing through yours. Believe me, we’ll find it. We’ll wrap you up and toss you into a concrete cage off-planet.”
Every ounce of color bled from his face, and his eyes went wide and glassy. “No, you won’t. You will not. You can’t prove any of this. We weren’t there.”
“Stop talking, Lucius. I need to consult with my client.”
“Consult all you want, it won’t change a damn thing. Off-planet, the rest of your life.”
“Look at him.” Baxter laughed as he and Eve rose. “He’s starting to think he can make a deal. Eighteen people dead, and he thinks he can deal it down because he’s got money.”
“Not as much as he thinks seeing as the IRS is going to take most. He’s damn near tapped out anyway. Did you know that, Singa? Better get your retainer up front.”
“And your client?” Baxter added. “He’d better pack some insulated johnnies. Those off-planet cages are cold, baby. They’re cold.”
“Interview paused. Record off.”
As they stepped out, Mira came out of Observation.
“Did you see his face when you said ‘off-planet,’ LT?”
“Yeah.”
“We can use that. We can hammer that.”
“I agree,” Mira said as she joined them. “He doesn’t believe he’ll be punished. He’s convinced nothing will happen, but even the thought of, the remote possibility of being locked up off-planet frightens him. It’s a lever.”
“Yeah, and we’ll use it. Singa’s going to keep him clamped down, clammed up. He didn’t know about Silverman, but he’s getting that out of Iler now.”
She paced away, paced back. “And you know what he’ll do? He’ll start rolling the line that Silverman coerced his client, lied to him, forced him, threatened him.”