Salvation in Death (43 page)

“How does she know you didn’t? Be as vague about that as you want. Lawyers are good at being vague and incomprehensible. I want her to believe she’s going to be getting this property. This duplex at this address, with a fair market value of eight point three mil. I want her to be compelled to respond, to demand more info. That’s all you have to do.”

“Well, yes, but . . .”

“I could go around you, Feinburg, but I don’t want her smelling even a whiff of the game. She’ll believe it’s from you, because it is from you. And she’ll believe the contents because, hey, eight point three mil. Get it done.”

“Do you do mail by keyboard or voice?” McNab asked him.

“Ah, voice.”

“Okay. Just do what you do, but don’t authorize the send. I’ll take care of it. Anytime,” McNab added.

“All right.” Feinburg sat, blew out a breath. He recited the recipient’s name, account name, then began the text.

Eve nodded as he spoke. Yeah, he lawyered it up, she thought, used ten words when one would do. She knew exactly what he was saying and still barely understood half of it.

She signaled McNab to send.

“What now?” Feinburg asked.

“We move the station to portable. She doesn’t have the address or the codes. She’ll want them. We’ll be in place when she gets them. Let’s move it out, set it up, take it down.”

At the duplex, Roarke let Eve and Peabody in the westernmost door. He glanced over as the two detectives entered the second. “You’re banking on her coming to this side first.”

“I want to give them a shot at taking her. But yeah, I figure she’ll come to this one first. Aren’t you assigned to the e-machine?”

“I’d sooner hang with you and Peabody.” He glanced around the short foyer, down the hall, into the room on the left. “It needs a bit of polish yet, but should be quite nice.”

“The trim’s original, isn’t it? And wow. My brother would pee his pants.”

“Gee, Peabody,” Eve began, “if you’d like a tour, why—” She broke off, pulled out her communicator. “Dallas.”

“She bit,” Feeney told her. “McNab’s ready to work the lawyer through the response.”

“Wait twenty. Let her sweat. Then give it to her. Give it all.” She contacted the other members of the team. “Now we wait,” she said. “And it won’t be long.”

The streetlights blinked on. Eve could see their glow against the dim when Baxter beeped her an hour later. “Suspect is approaching from the west, on 95th. On foot. Red shirt, black pants, black handbag. Moving fast. Your location within one minute.”

“Copy that. Maintain position. Nobody moves in until she’s inside the building. Come on in,” Eve coaxed. “Come on in.”

“Dallas, she’s at the door. You’re a go.”

“Hold positions.” Come on, bitch, she thought. She saw, from her position, the security light blink from red to green as the locks opened. She waited, holding, as Penny came in, closed the door quickly behind her.

Penny looked toward the stairs as a wild grin spread on her face. And Eve hit the lights.

“Surprise.”

“What the fuck is this?” Penny edged back toward the door.

“It’s a little party I call You’re Under Arrest—for fraud, for falsifying official documents, for utilizing forged identification, and practicing said fraud over the Internet. For accessory to murder. Multiple charges on that. And we’re just getting started.”

“This is bullshit. You’re bullshit.”

“If you try to go out that door, you’d be resisting.”

“You tried that shit before, didn’t you? Got squat.” Penny turned, whipped open the door. As Eve moved forward, she whirled back, hacked out with a knife.

It caught Eve’s sleeve, and the tip broke skin. She hacked again, and Eve merely stepped back to evade. “You tried
that
shit before,” Eve reminded Penny.

Behind her, Roarke put a hand on Peabody’s shoulder. “No,” he told her when Peabody reached for her weapon. “She’ll want this one on her own.”

“Jesus, you really are that stupid.” Eve drew her own weapon. “Knife. Full-power stunner. You be the judge. Drop it, or I drop you. And I’d love to.”

“I don’t need a goddamn knife to take you down, bitch.” Penny tossed it aside where it skidded across the floor. “Bitch like you needs a stunner.”

“Is that a challenge? I love a challenge. And what the hell. Roarke.” Barely glancing over, Eve tossed him her weapon. “Try me,” she invited.

Hate and excitement merged on her face as Penny charged. Eve felt the blood rush to her heart, her head. The sting of the wound in her arm focused her. She deflected Penny’s fist, but gave the woman credit for what had been behind it. She took a kick—a glancing blow on the hip—and felt the quick heat of fingernails as they swiped at her jaw.

Eve maneuvered, evaded, took a blow here, another there. And saw the violent light of pleasure in Penny’s eyes.

“You can’t fight worth shit,” Penny yelled out. “Pussy cop.”

“Oh. We were fighting? I didn’t realize we’d started. Okay then.”

And she moved in. A shorthand jab knocked Penny’s head back like a ball on a string. A roundhouse kick doubled her over when it plowed into her gut. An uppercut brought her up again. And a right cross took her down.

“That last one?” Eve bent over her as Penny lay unconscious at her feet. “That was for Quinto Turner. Get a wagon,” Eve ordered, then gave Roarke the come-ahead sign for her weapon.

“Your nose is bleeding, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah. Peabody, do you take note that my nose is bleeding?”

“Yes, sir, and your arm.”

“And these injuries were incurred as the suspect attempted to escape arrest and resisted same, thereby assaulting an officer, assaulting said officer with a deadly with intent?”

“All the above.”

“Good. Thanks,” she added when Roarke handed her a handkerchief.

He reached over, covered her lapel recorder with his hand. “You wanted her to go for you. You played with her, let her get a few in so you’ll have the cuts and bruises to prove it. So you could whale in.”

“Maybe.” She grinned as she stanched her bloody nose. “But that’s going to be really hard to prove. I’ve got to take her in, get her in the box.”

“I’ll be coming with you. Might as well see it through. And see that arm’s tended to.”

Penny called in the same lawyer, screamed police brutality, false imprisonment. Montoya made lawyer noises about suing, even when Eve came in with the wound on her arm raw and fresh, her face bruised, and claw marks at her jaw.

“Let’s have a look at this first, just to get it out of the way. Record playback.” While the scene inside the duplex ran, with Penny spinning at the door, striking with a knife, Eve spoke. “As we expected to make an arrest, record was on throughout, and record clearly shows the subject attacking me with a knife concealed on her person. Which, in fact, she had done on a previous occasion.”

Which, Eve thought, was why I counted on her repeating the performance.

She shut the recording off. “The charges there are assault with a deadly and with intent to kill a police officer. That’s fifty years.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Oh, tired tune, Penny. Got it on record, got witnesses, got MTS report, got it all. Also, got you cold on the fraud. Our e-trace—duly authorized—nailed your pocket
PCC
for the receiving of Feinburg’s transmission, and the sending to same.”

“That’s nothing.”

“Penny,” the lawyer began.

“Nothing!” She elbowed Montoya aside. “That was Lino’s deal. He set that up. I just followed it through. Why the hell not? I just went to the damn house to see it. No crime in walking into a house when a freaking lawyer gave me the pass codes.”

“You’d be wrong. You perpetuated fraud. But I might be willing to deal on that, and on the charges stemming from your attack on me, if you can tell me the whereabouts of Miguel Flores, José Ortega, and Steven Chávez. We want to close it up.”

Eve rose, and made sure Penny saw the irritation cross her face. “My bosses want to close it up, so there’s a deal on the big hit for coming at me with a knife, and a deal on the fraud.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Let the fraud go down to falsifying documents. Deal the intent to kill a police officer down to simple resisting. Couple of years against oh, maybe seventy.”

“That’s on record.”

“Yeah, that’s a deal on record. I hope you don’t take it. I hope you don’t.”

“One moment.” Montoya leaned in close, whispered in Penny’s ear. She jerked that bony shoulder.

“Maybe Lino told me some shit.”

Eve dropped back down in the chair as if annoyed, and disappointed. “You’ve got the goddamn deal of a lifetime, thanks to my superiors, Penny. But some shit has to lead to results, or no deal.”

“Okay. I’ve got plenty, so eat this.” She sneered across the table. “Lino and Steve hooked up with Ortega, figured they’d skin him for some of what the old man left him. Played him awhile, scammed him for a couple hundred thousand. Chávez got him hooked again, so they played him some more. Lino said how he figured they’d just about tapped it, and he’s working on getting the deed for our old headquarters out of Ortega. That’s the prize—or was—then the idiot ODs. They got a dead guy on their hands, and Lino is pissed.”

She leaned back in her chair and laughed. “’Til he thinks how to work it. They take him out to the desert, and they bury him. And Lino does his thing with ID. He’s got the skills, and he’s got a nice, fat pile from the scam, and Ortega’s winning in Vegas. He invests, gets a marriage license on record for him and Ortega. Ortega always was a queer anyway, and they’ve been sharing this big, flashy house out there for close to three months.”

Idly, Penny examined her red and black nails. “Backdates the license, pays some guys he knows back in Taos or some shit, back here and all that to say how they knew this Aldo guy, and Ortega. Happily married couple.”

She tipped back up, snorted out a laugh. “That Lino, he covered his ass. Mostly. So, he reports Ortega missing. Now he’s sitting pretty. Real pretty, ’cause Ortega’s got millions back here in property and shit.”

“But he has to sit for seven years.”

“Got that. He figures he’ll sit as this Ken Aldo guy, except he can’t come back here with that one—it’s just a beard, some hair changes. Anybody who knew him would see it. Then the priest just falls into their lap. Lino said he wasn’t going to kill the guy. It just gave him the idea, you know? He was going to make up another ID, work that, maybe come back here as an indie priest or some shit. But Chávez got mouthy, and the priest started clueing in, and Chávez killed him. Hacked him up bad, Lino said. Lino, he had some religion, you know? Didn’t like the idea of killing a priest like that. Bad luck, wrath of God, or whatever.”

“Yeah, I bet he felt bad.”

“Bad enough so he killed Chávez. He said he tried to stop Steve from slicing and dicing the priest, and hey, it just happened. Besides, he’d enough of the screwups. He buried them out where he’d buried Ortega.”

“Where?”

“You want the where?” Penny’s eyes went sly. “I can give you the where but, the charges go away—all the way.”

“My client has valuable information,” Montoya put in. “She’s cooperating. I believe if you want further information, further cooperation, the charges must be dropped. I’m sure the families of these men want closure.”

Eve didn’t have to fake the disgusted look. “You tell me where, and the bodies of Miguel Flores, José Ortega, and Steven Chávez are recovered, the falsifying docs and resisting go away.”

“He said he buried them, all of them about fifty miles south of Vegas, in this place the native guys call Devil’s Church because there’s this rock formation thing with what looks like a cross on top. He put them in right at the base. He always had that religion thing in him, see? He liked burying them under the cross.”

Penny sneered, tipped back in the chair again. “Nice doing business with you, pussy cop.”

Eve studied her face. That was the truth, as Penny knew it. “We’ve got more business. Now we go back, Penny, we come home and go back. The bombings in 2043.”

“That was Lino’s deal. And with no charges on record, I’m free to go. Bitch.”