Chapter Eighteen #2
He rose with her. “I’ll stick with this, then I’ll come into Central, work in EDD on the rest.”
“In case we go sooner than later. I won’t leave you out.”
“And I won’t hold you up. If it’s in New York as we think, if it’s that important for her to shove my face in it, I can help with blueprints and security. If it’s not, I can help with transportation.”
“She didn’t know you. I wonder if you understand that.”
“You didn’t know me then.”
“People change, sure, but their underlayment doesn’t. It just doesn’t. She never knew you.” She kissed him. “I do.”
He pulled her in, held on. “Take good care of my cop.”
“I was distracted yesterday, but you took care of me. I won’t be distracted today.”
As she stepped back, her ’link signaled.
“Robert J. Wenn. I know that name.”
“As you should. Very successful criminal defense attorney.”
“So what the hell does he want?” She answered. “Dallas.”
“Lieutenant, good morning.”
He looked like a very successful criminal attorney, with his silvered dark hair perfectly styled, electric green eyes hooded under ink-black brows. Somewhere around sixty, he’d worked skillfully for decades to, in her opinion, undo the knots people like her had tied around defendants.
“Mr. Wenn, what can I do for you?”
“I believe there’s something we can do for each other. I have a client who, for certain considerations, has detailed information to offer you regarding your current investigation.”
“And what considerations might those be?”
“My client requires immunity for any charges pertaining to the theft of the Royal Suite.”
“Is that all? As the item or items taken from Barrister House have not yet been made public, I have to assume your client was involved in the break-in, the burglary, during which a man was killed.”
“Not by my client. Lieutenant, my client contends, and has convinced me, to have taken no part in the death of Nathan Barrister. But has information that will lead you to those responsible, and possibly lead to the recovery of the Royal Suite.”
“Would your client be Jenna Lynn Delaney of Savannah, Georgia?”
His gaze stayed steady—she gave him credit for it. “You’re very good at your job. So am I. I believe part of the skill required in our work is separating truth from lies. My client asks for a meeting, at a neutral location, with you and a representative from the prosecutor’s office.
“She could have fled, Lieutenant. She didn’t. She’s in a position, has chosen to be in a position, to assist you in finding Nathan Barrister’s killer. We have yet to face each other in a courtroom, but I know your reputation. I believe this would be your priority. It’s also hers.”
“I have to talk to my boss, and the prosecutor’s office.”
“Of course. Let me add that she is not willing, at this time, to talk to any law enforcement officers but yourself.”
“My partner will attend this meeting if it happens.”
“That’s agreeable. No other agencies, for now. At that time, if we can come to an agreement, I’ll give you an address. I appreciate your consideration.”
Eve looked at Roarke. “Well, well, fucking well.”
“Will you give it to her? Immunity?”
“That’s not up to me.”
“We both know you’d have influence there.”
“She didn’t kill Barrister, and I can make that case to Whitney and the PA. Immunity for the theft, that’s sticky for me.”
“But you have a priority.”
“Yeah.”
“I want to be at the meeting. There’s a language we can speak, Ms. Delaney and I, that won’t necessarily require words.”
“I got that. Whitney first.” She made the contact.
He watched her, pacing, pausing, pacing, as she made her case to her commander. It didn’t surprise him when she pushed for Cher Reo; Eve and the APA had a rhythm.
When she finished, she turned to him again. “Okay, one down. He’ll talk to the PA. I’m going to bring Reo up to speed. Then get Peabody on board.”
“I’ll just go down, speak to Summerset. He can continue on the financials until I can get back to them. He can handle it,” he said as she started to object. “He has the skill, and he’ll use that skill with discretion. You know that.”
“Shit. Are we going to have to make him an NYPSD consultant now?”
Roarke smiled. “I believe he would be appalled at the offer. I’ll be downstairs.”
She found it both endearing and amusing that the richest man on- or off-world gathered up the breakfast dishes and carried them out so the cat wouldn’t lap at them.
As she contacted Reo, she made her way to her office so she could pace there. So she could study her board yet again as she and Reo talked.
She got more coffee, circled her board, contacted Peabody.
They’d want this meeting quickly, in her judgment. Get those wheels turning. While she waited for the go from command, she tagged Jenkinson.
In the field, eta unknown. Cover things.
His reply came quickly, and was as colorful as one of his ties.
Some fucked-up fucker tried to stab you in the fucking back? Tried to put a fucking hole in you on the fucking street?
I don’t have any extra holes in me, and they had to shovel up what was left of him off that fucking street. Cover things, Detective Sergeant. Briefing, full available squad, when I’m back in the house.
Fuck the fucking all. You got it, Loo.
Imagining Whitney and the prosecuting attorney hammering out some details, she headed downstairs as Summerset headed up.
“I understand you may have some issues with my active participation in this matter. I would like to say something. You once asked me to remove that woman from this house.”
“After I knocked her ass out.”
“Yes. I was more than pleased to do so. She hurt him, and that would have been enough for me. Whether or not he deserved your fist in his face at that time is debatable, though I can certainly see your side of it. But we’re now, now, where she’s doing all she can to hurt him again.
More, she’d destroy him if she could. She would have if the attempt on your life had succeeded.
If anything I do helps you put her away, I’ll find that very satisfying. ”
“And that has to be enough for me.”
“Good.” He looked down at the cat. “Now Galahad and I have work to do.” He started up again, paused. “At that time you told me to get that trash out of your house. Now I’m saying to you, get that trash out of our lives.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
She went down to where Roarke waited. He’d tossed on the black leather jacket, and she imagined he’d tucked in a weapon somewhere.
She wouldn’t ask.
“We should have more data on the finances shortly.”
“Every bit helps.” Her ’link signaled. “Commander.”
“You’re go for the meeting. Reo is speaking to Wenn now. She’ll give you the location.”
“Yes, sir. We’re getting closer on the sources for the payments to Delaney. We’ll see if she confirms.”
“And for the payments to Timothy Kruger?”
“Also close. Commander, I’ll brief my division on my return, and begin preparations for a raid operation on the auction if, as I believe, it will take place in New York.”
“I’ll attend. Keep me updated.”
She pocketed her ’link. “Now we wait.”
“We’ll wait outside. It’s a lovely morning.”
As they stepped out, he took her hand. They stood a moment, looking out over the lawn, at the leaves fluttering in the light breeze.
“You want to get moving, I know, get this done. But since we have to wait, we may as well enjoy where we are, what we have.”
He kissed her fingers. “The family’s coming for Thanksgiving, and Brian as well. I thought we might ask Crack and Ro again this year, Louise and Charles.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“And Richard and Catherine, the children. It means quite a bit to Nixie to have that time with you.”
“She tags me once in a while.”
“Yes, I know. You’re a hero to her. Doing your job, yes,” he said before Eve could, “but you kept your word to her, and put the people who slaughtered her family in prison. Even a young girl knows not everyone keeps their word.”
Both their ’links signaled.
“Summerset,” Roarke said.
“Reo.”
Eve moved off a few paces.
When she turned back, Roarke slid his ’link in his pocket.
“You have an address.”
“Yeah, Wenn’s son’s penthouse on the Upper East. I’ll program it, you drive. Summerset?”
“Since you won’t want all the tech, I’ll bottom line it.”
He got behind the wheel.
“It’s clear someone else is good at their work. Though she covered it very well, and very quickly, an inactive Zip account was activated, then shut down again yesterday. A deposit of exactly fifty thousand was made in cash.”
“Cash.”
“Cash, yes, into this inactive account, then wired to various other financial institutions in various locations. It bounced around over the course of a few hours. The seventeen-five was wired to Timothy Kruger’s account, and the remainder moved about a bit more, and now sits in that temporary account, where, I suspect, it will be withdrawn, in cash, when the bank opens today. ”
“You’ve got the bank?”
“That’s right.”
“I need it. I’m going to have a couple of soft-clothes detectives surveil. I want her going in—or her rep going in—pulling it out. It’ll be a nice bump when we bust her.”
“Why wouldn’t she simply hand Kruger the cash?”
“She’d have had to deal with him directly. A lowlife.”
As they’d spoken, she’d done a run on Wenn’s son.
“Stephen Wenn, age thirty-three, an associate in his father’s firm. Got a twin sister, Rachel, who lives in Savannah, where she relocated six years ago and lives, with her husband and their two kids, right next-fucking-door to Delaney.”
“The world can be very small.”
“The sister practices law down there through Legal Aid, the husband’s a doctor. Internist. So Delaney meets the son on one of his visits, maybe Wenn, too. She’s in trouble, that’s who she taps. If that’s who picked her up from the hotel Saturday, they waited to pull this lever.”
“You’ll find out why.”
“Did she contact Magdelana, the broker, Joy Barrister? Any of them?”
“If I were in her position,” Roarke told her, “that would be a firm no.”
He pulled into the underground parking at a tower of silver and shimmering blue and straight into a reserved slot.
“It’s yours, isn’t it? This place.”
“The younger Wenn’s penthouse has some stunning views.”
He took her hand again as they walked to the elevator. Inside the car, he swiped a card.
“Express,” he told her. “We’ll go straight to the penthouse foyer.”
“You leave me nothing to bitch about.”
“My fondest wish come true.”
The car ran smooth and quiet, had silvered walls, and carried a scent both pleasant and fragile.
It opened into a foyer with a black-on-white mural of the New York skyline running over the walls and doors that gave the feeling of standing in the center of the island of Manhattan.
The occupant had added floating benches on either side, which worked, Eve thought, as they did their floating over the East River and the Hudson.
Eve pressed the buzzer.
The younger Wenn answered promptly. Though he wore it longer, just over the collar of his navy pin-striped suit jacket, he had his father’s dark hair, minus the silvering. His eyes were of a quieter green.
He extended a hand to Eve, then to Roarke.
“Stephen Wenn. Thank you for coming.”
He led them into a huge living area with one of the stunning views. Through another floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, a generous terrace spread.
He’d furnished it to suit the size, including a baby grand in glossy black, low-slung sofas, high-backed chairs in shades and patterns of gray and black. In contrast, his art ran to the big, bold, and splashy.
Two people rose from one of the sofas, the lawyer and the client. Wenn had gone all dignity in slate gray, navy-and-maroon-striped tie, polished wingtips. His client wore a Yale sweatshirt that dwarfed her, and Eve deduced she’d borrowed it from her host.
She’d paired it with black jeans and kicks—which Eve assumed she’d wear in the course of her work.
She had her hands—ringless, slim, long-fingered—clasped together. That was nerves, but the look she shot Roarke was pure, naked admiration.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Robert Wenn.” He walked over to shake her hand. “Roarke, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“As consultant,” Eve put in.
“Sorry, excuse me.” Coastal Georgia glided slow and easy through the words. “Steve, Rob, could I have a minute? Could I have the room for just a minute?”
“Jenna.”
“I know.” She held up both her hands to her lawyer. “You don’t have to worry. I’d just like a minute.”
“Would you like coffee?” Stephen put a hand on Jenna’s shoulder—protective, affectionate—as he spoke to Roarke and Eve. “Dad, give me a hand with the coffee.”
He nodded, gave Jenna a warning look, then walked out of the living area with his son.
“First, I want to thank you, Lieutenant Dallas, for giving me a chance to explain things. But I have to—” She took Roarke’s hand in both of hers. “You’re the best that ever was.”
“If that were true, you’d have no reason to say so.”
She just beamed at him. “You hear things, and we have some mutual acquaintances. I … You gave it up. This has me seriously thinking it’s time for me to do that. But how did you do it? How did you just walk away?”
“If I were to walk away from something I could be considered the best at, it would be because I no longer needed it in the same way, and needed something else more. And then, I fell for a cop. A good, smart cop with integrity and compassion.”
She glanced at Eve. “That’s what I hear.”
“Even the what I needed more paled next to that. She knows my truth. Tell her yours.”
“I’m going to.” She looked at Eve with direct blue eyes. “I swear by all the gods and goddesses, I’m going to.”
The buzzer sounded again.
“Looks like you’re about to get started on that,” Eve said.