“When he pulled out the detonator, my heart stopped.” She eased carefully into the car. “My life stopped. I knew you’d have gone back for Chenowitz. No way you’d have left him in that vest.”
“She wouldn’t leave him,” Roarke replied. “Jolie, his wife. She’d have run out the moment I cut her loose—to get to her son. I convinced her she’d put the boy in more danger, that you’d protect him.”
“You had that right,” Eve agreed.
“But then she wouldn’t leave her husband. He begged her to, but she wouldn’t, so I had a choice. Knock her unconscious, carry her out, or deal with the explosives then and there. A bit tricky, but not as complicated as I’d feared,” Roarke explained.
“He never anticipated anyone attempting to diffuse. Especially this one. He was going to kill them all,” Eve stated as a fact.
“Now they’re safe. Salazar rushed in moments after I diffused, locked it in a bomb box, and that’s that,”Roarke concluded.
“Tuned them both up this time. Iler wasn’t there to cool him off. And he’d have sent Chenowitz out at dawn, down to the building Iler bought—in the Nordon name—where a crew of about six, maybe eight would be setting up for rehab. Five more charges set in there, Salazar said, for a chain reaction.”
“Buy a property, over insure it, destroy it, collect. Classic,” Roarke said. “Chenowitz—the successful builder devoted family man—blows up his own crew.”
“It didn’t matter he’d never be able to collect on this one. He’d have won, completed the mission, and that’s what counted. In his mind, the military let him down, betrayed him. His brothers, his family, all Blue Falcons.”
“Blue Falcons.”
“Military term,” she told him, closing her aching eyes for a moment. “Stands for buddy fuckers.”
“Ah. And in his mind, Silverman was the buddy who’d been fucked.”
“He and Iler fed off each other. Iler’s got the funds, the financial know-how, Silverman’s got the tactics, the explosives training. And they both used what they had to twist the memory of a hero, for fun and profit.”
She took a long breath. “I need to round up Reo, Mira, send an update to Whitney.”
“You should text Peabody, let her know you’ve got them both. It’s still shy of midnight on the coast.”
“I don’t want to hear about time zones.”
She made the tags, sent the update, wrote the text, then eased out of the car—as carefully as she’d eased in—when they reached Central.
“It’s going to take me a while,” she began. “I know you’ll want to observe when I have them in the box, but you should find a place to chill until then.”
“I’ll wander up to EDD.” He took her weight again as they crossed to the elevator and in. “I can let Feeney and Callendar know in more detail what I’ve pulled out of Iler’s e’s. I’d wager they’re back at it.”
“Good thinking.” She leaned against him. “You make a hell of a Peabody.”
“The highest of compliments.” He tipped her face up, kissed her bruises. “I should have punched him harder.”
“Just hard enough.” She stepped to the doors when they opened on her level. “Tell Feeney I still want whatever he can dig out.”
“Understood.”
She glanced in both directions, saw the all clear as the doors started to close. “I love you.”
He stopped the doors with a hand. “Come in here and say that.”
“Later.”
Since there was no one to see, she limped toward Homicide, and into her office. She got coffee, sat at her desk. Then laid her head on it, said, “Son of a bitch!”
She let herself have a couple of good moans, maybe a quiet whimper, then pushed herself up to drink the coffee, write up the report.
When her desk ’link signaled, she smiled at the readout. Reginald Iler. And here we go, she thought.
“Lieutenant Dallas. Thank you for contacting me, sir.”
He had a hard, handsome face, shrewd, dark eyes. “You look as if you’ve been in a brawl.”
“I have been. With Sergeant Oliver Silverman. He’s now being treated in our secure infirmary and booked as your son’s coconspirator on eighteen counts of murder, and related charges.”
“I’ve never heard of this man. This is—”
“Your surviving son has heard of him, and, in fact, knows him very well. As I explained through your attorney, Sergeant Silverman served under your younger son, Captain Terrance Iler. Mr. Iler, your son and Silverman will do eighteen life sentences, consecutive. I’m going to make absolutely sure of it. I no longer need your cooperation in this matter.”
“Now just a damn minute.”
Gave you too many minutes already, she thought.
“I don’t need it because I have the evidence, and very shortly I’ll have full confessions. However, if your cooperation, as I outlined through your attorney, saves the families of the victims more grief, saves the State of New York time and trouble, I’ll take your cooperation into consideration as regards where your son serves those eighteen consecutive life sentences. Your choice, sir. You’ll have to make it here and now, as I’m about to bring your son back into interview.”
*
Later, she sat in the conference room working out strategy with Baxter, Trueheart, Mira, Reo. She came a little painfully to attention when Whitney walked in. And—ah, Jesus—Anna Whitney beside him.
“We won’t get in your way,” Whitney said. “How much longer do you need?”
“We’ve just finished, Commander. I’m having both suspects brought up into separate interview rooms. Baxter and I will work Iler, as we teamed on him earlier. Trueheart and I will work Silverman.”
“You can wait in the lounge, Anna. I’ll have someone come for you. My wife,” he explained, “would appreciate observing the start of each interview, if you have no objections, Lieutenant.”
“No, sir.”
“You’re wondering,” Anna said to Eve, “how I’ll handle the sort of language, the descriptions of violence that go into an interview. I’m a cop’s wife,” she said simply. “Seeing them in the box will give me some peace. Being able to tell Rozilyn I saw them will, eventually, give her and her family some peace.”
She touched a hand to her husband’s arm. “I’ll be in the lounge.”
Eve remained standing when Anna walked out.
“Everybody clear?” she asked. “Any more questions? No? Then let’s get this party started.”
She and Baxter started with Iler, and his attorney led off with a bite.
“I will file a formal complaint against both of you,” Singa began. “Demanding my client submit to interview before five in the morning is absurd.”
“He had his eight, Singa.”
“Clearly, this timing violates the spirit of that law.”
“Clearly, you should have thought about the timing before you demanded the eight at twenty hundred hours. File all the complaints you want. We have business to get to. Mr. Iler—”
“You will address me,” Singa reminded her. “My client has invoked his rights.”
“Oh yeah, slipped my mind. I also meant to mention that fee of yours again. You got that up front, right? A good chunk? How much do you charge an hour?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“You’re right. It’s yours. You might be somewhat concerned to learn your client’s broke. No money, no access to same. All accounts have been frozen—by the IRS pending further investigation.”
“They’re pretty excited,” Baxter added. “Even more since we broke through your filters and coding. You’ve been a very bad boy, Lucius. There are IRS agents having wet dreams right now, and you’re the star.”
“That freeze also pertains to any funds Mr. Iler may have advanced you, Singa, on his behalf, as all his moneys, properties, possessions are now in that freeze. The IRS will be in touch with you.”
“And you know, once they ‘get in touch,’ they just love to poke around.”
“Yeah, they do,” Eve added with a broad, toothy smile. “And in case either of you are thinking of a rich daddy? You can forget it. Reginald Iler and I had a long conversation.”
“You had no right.” Iler tried to push to his feet, rattling his restraints. “No right to involve my father.”