22
She ate pizza while she worked out tactics with Reo. Apparently it looked good as the assistant prosecutor ordered up some of her own.
Despite the gray sweatshirt, the tousled fluff of blond hair and lack of makeup, Reo had the appearance of a delicate Southern belle.
Eve had reason to know that appearance masked—often strategically—a sharp mind and steely will. In court, Cher Reo could and did eviscerate a witness on cross without breaking a sweat.
At the moment, she bit neatly into her second veggie slice. “I’ll be there at four—God help me—A.M. Singa’s going to be pissed, but he boxed himself in on it. He should’ve stalled you a couple of hours, then pulled out for the eight straight.”
“Silverman threw him off his game. He needs to research the asshole, get his investigators on it. If he wants to use Silverman as a cover for his worthless client, he has to lay out a plan first.”
“Maybe he’s working late and eating pizza,” Reo speculated. “Anyway, if Daddy Iler contacts you before his nine o’clock time, let me know. Either way he leans, I can work it.”
“I will.”
“See you in the morning then. We’ll nail his ass, Dallas.”
“Fucking A.”
She rubbed her eyes, started to program more coffee, when Roarke stepped in.
“I have something for you. Iler purchased a new model black panel van—loaded. An Essex Sprinter, license Echo-Zulo-Baker-578.”
When she reached for her comm, Roarke held up a hand. “Hold on, save yourself time and order up a search along with your APB. He’s also paying rent on a private garage.” As he gave her the address, he walked over to pour wine. “As I haven’t found, as yet, another storage facility, and you haven’t found, as yet, the Richie artwork they stole—or what Iler purchased—and I found two he bought legitimately in Italy four years ago—they might have used the garage for both purposes.”
She wanted to do the search personally, bit back the impulse by reminding herself of priorities. “I’ll get a team to the garage now, get out the APB on the vehicle. This is good.”
He waited until she had before nudging the wine on her. “We’ll take five, you and I—and while we do,” he continued before she could object, “I’ll tell you I’ve been in touch with Feeney.”
“What’s he got?”
“I’d imagine a raging headache by this time. He, Callendar, and two others have been working on cleaning, scanning, piecing together. It’s slow, tedious work. The odds are long they’ll get much of anything, you should know that. If anything can be recovered, they will. He and Callendar are going to take four hours in the crib, then get back to it.”
“Okay.”
“They’ve dug into the portables Iler had—and there you’ve got the financial information, his own portfolio, that sort of thing. Nothing on his contact lists, as yet, no link to Silverman. However, they dug up the ’link conversation with Banks.”
“You should’ve led with that.” She popped up, paced to the board. “That’s big.”
“He deleted it, but nothing’s ever gone. Deleted, added some filters and so on. It took some doing, but you have the conversation.”
“I need to hear it.”
“It’s on your unit now.” Roarke leaned over, cued it up.
She heard Iler’s voice answer cheerfully. Well, hello, Jordan.
Hi there. We need to chat.
About what?
About Quantum and Econo, about stocks and explosions.
After a tangible hesitation, Lucius answered, A terrible thing, isn’t it? Another disgruntled employee. Your ex was injured, wasn’t she?
Cut the bullshit, Lucius. I’ve had the cops at my door, and they wondered—pointedly—if I’d shared any of the information Willi passed on to me with anyone.
Listen, Jordan—
No, you listen. I told the cops I hadn’t, played it cool. But that can change. I did you a favor, Lucius.
I paid for the favor.
Not enough. If you want me to hold the line I’ve taken with the cops, I want a cut of what I imagine is a substantial profit. Let’s say two hundred fifty thousand. Consider it insurance.
This is ridiculous. You can’t prove you told me anything, and you certainly can’t prove I had anything to do with what happened at Quantum.
Do you want the cops poking around, Lucius? I covered for you, and I’ll go on covering for you. For a cut.
I had nothing to do with—
Don’t care. Pay the insurance, Lucius, in cash, and your worries are over.
We need to discuss this. Not over the ’link.
Happy to. I’m at Thad and Delvinia’s bon voyage right now. You can meet me here.
Not in public, for God’s sake, not at a party. Let me think. I’ll get back to you.
“Follow up conversation coming next,” Roarke told her.
You took your time, Banks answered.
I needed time to think. And I needed time to put some cash together. I can give you a hundred—and that’s simply to avoid the bother of police prying into my business. I don’t appreciate this, Jordan.
We’ll consider that a downpayment. You’ve got a week to come up with the rest. Bring it to the party.
I certainly will not. I still have to get it, and I won’t be seen with you. Our friendship’s over, Jordan. I’ll meet you at three A.M., Central Park. By the JKO.
Dramatic! I love it. See you then—have the money. Oh, and Lucius? We were never friends.
“Idiots,” Eve said and shook her head. “Both of them. Banks threatens Iler with exposure, then meets him, middle of the night, middle of the damn park. And Iler doesn’t throw his ’link in the damn river after beating it with a hammer.”
“Custom ’link, platinum casing. Cost him about ten thousand.”
“Which makes him an idiot on that, too. This is going to wrap him, at least on Banks.” As she spoke, she copied the transmission, sent it to Reo.
“You’re not overly worried about wrapping Iler. You know you’ll break him. And you know you’ll get him to flip on Silverman eventually. It’s the eventually that worries you. It’s the thought you might have to put others on your board before the eventually that worries you.”
“I’m hamstrung until the damn Earth rotates. But we’ve got the vehicle ID’d, we’ve got a location on the garage, and we might find something there that points to the other targets. Maybe there aren’t other targets.”
“You’re saying that to not add pressure on me.” He bent over, kissed the top of her head. “I’ll get back to it.”
“Listen, I suck at the e-stuff, but I can follow directions. I’ve run out of what I can do here.” Frustration rippled as she look around her command center. “If they find anything at the garage, I’ll hear about it. If they find the vehicle, I’ll hear about it. I’ll work with you until I do. I can do drone work.”
“I’d say you’d be better off trying for at least a couple hours sleep, but you won’t. All right then, if I can be your Peabody, you can be my drone.”
It didn’t take long for her to figure out he tossed her busywork. Still, he kept her busy, and maybe it saved him some time and trouble.
She knew when he had the bit between his teeth because he muttered, swore, and his Irish thickened.
For herself she settled into the mind-numbing job of scanning codes, looking for—or waiting while the computer looked for—matches or patterns.
If one popped, she toggled it to Roarke so he could do whatever came next. She had no idea what the whatever might be, but a few times when she toggled something over, Roarke made the kind of noises she interpreted as progress.
She wondered if brains actually could spill out of the ears, and she sent Roarke another section.
“Ah well now, that could be useful,” he mumbled. “Pry this bleeding bitch open just a bit more. Aye, that’s clever, but not fecking clever enough, is it then?”
She rose, turned to the friggie because she realized she’d finally hit a point she’d never believed possible to hit. She couldn’t handle more coffee.
She got water for both of them.