Chapter Twenty-Two
Since she’d come out of it with a handful of bruises, she counted it a very good trade.
She counted five officers—three of hers, two of Abernathy’s—under medical for minor injuries, so yes, a good trade.
“Jenkinson, how’s Reineke’s foot?”
“He’ll limp some a day or two, but the medic says no breaks. Lowenbaum’s guy’s good, and Trueheart? Well, he’ll have a shiner and a sore jaw.”
“Good. The blonde’s in that room there. She should be conscious by now. I want her and the broker in separate vehicles for transport.”
“We’ve got it. Willowby took a hit, illegal handgun from one of the security fuckers.”
“What?” Willowby wasn’t in her count. “Where is she?”
“Outside with the medicals. Just a graze, LT. Said she didn’t even know it till the party was over.”
“Start getting them loaded up. Coordinate with Abernathy on the foreign nationals. Peabody! Work with Jenkinson on the transport. Load the servers and catering staff separately. Baxter, work with Lowenbaum to secure the weapons for transport.”
She went straight out, waving off questions. She scanned the medical vans and spotted Willowby sitting in the doorway of one, the left leg of her black baggies hiked up.
Roarke stood beside her while the MT tended to her wound.
“Hey, Dallas, I got shot! With a genuine freaking bullet. How often does that happen?”
“To me personally, twice. Three times, I guess, but that one hit the magic lining so it doesn’t count.”
“Sure it does, and wow! I’m going to let you hold that personal record between us. Shit! Stings.”
“You didn’t want the shot,” the medical reminded her.
“Makes me goofy, and I’m feeling fine. Juiced! I might not toss these baggies. Could wear them as a fashion statement.”
When she hissed again, Roarke took her hand.
“Take a blocker,” Eve advised. “Avoid the goofy, cut the sting.”
“Yeah, I can go with that. Anyway, we got them good.”
“We sure as hell did. Take the blocker.” She flicked a glance at Roarke. “We’ll be a while. Any injuries?”
“Nothing to speak of.”
“Me, either.”
She stepped away to contact Whitney. “Commander, situation controlled. We have one hundred and twelve individuals for transport to Central. No fatalities, twenty minor injuries, including six officers, being treated on-site. Interpol has possession of the Royal Suite, as well as a few other items believed to be stolen goods.”
“Good work, Lieutenant. Joy Barrister has been arrested, booked, and is in holding awaiting her legal representatives.”
“Good work, Commander. It’s going to take a few hours to mop this up, sort things out. I’d like to begin interviews with Barrister, the broker, and the blonde—in that order—in the morning.”
“An excellent lineup.”
The way he grinned, Eve deduced he was still riding on the arrest.
“You’re in charge,” he told her.
Since she was, she went back in to start mopping and sorting. Abernathy hailed her.
“How are your injured?” she asked him.
“Treated, and good to go. Yours?”
“Same.”
“The Royal Suite is secured. We need you to open the shuttle strip. We’ll transport it back to London from there.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Lieutenant, the attendees, we’ll call them. You can charge them.”
“And I will.”
“These are extremely wealthy individuals with connections in high places. It won’t stick. Deportation, yes, criminal charges, no.”
“It’ll leave a smear. The international media’s going to go batshit.”
His lips twitched into a smile. “You have a good point on that.”
“And anyone who deployed a weapon against your officers or mine, I’ll make it stick.”
“I applaud you for it, and for the success of this operation. You’ll have our full cooperation. The catering staff?”
“I’ve got Carmichael and Santiago interviewing them now. Most likely, they’ll be released. I need to bat cleanup here, Abernathy.” At his blank look she translated. “Finish this up. I’ll clear the shuttle strip. You deal with the paperwork on the emeralds.”
Long before she returned to Central, Channel Seventy-Five broke the story of the raid, the recovery, and the arrest of Joy Barrister.
It didn’t surprise her to find Kyung waiting in the bullpen, and wearing one of his well-tailored liaison suits even at that hour of the morning.
“Lieutenant, congratulations. Major congratulations.”
“And my reward is a media conference.”
“I’m afraid so. The list of those arrested at Cochran Estates has leaked.
Many are well-known names. So is, of course, Joy Barrister.
You deserve better than addressing the media, and at eight A.M. I realize that only gives you a few hours at best. I doubt it’s necessary, given your connections, but I’d be happy to arrange a hotel. ”
“I’ve got work. I’ll take a booster. Don’t worry about it,” she said before he could speak. “But I’m out by nine. I’m interviewing the main players, so I’m out by nine.”
“If not before. I’ll make sure of it.”
She nodded, stepped back as those not already in the bullpen filtered in.
“Listen up! We’re going to interview the rich assholes we collared tonight.
Teams of two. Make it sweaty. None of them are getting more than a slap on the wrist, if that, but make it sweaty.
The DOJ will take it from there. We’re going to interview those with illegal weapons, any who deployed weapons of any kind, any who obstructed officers. Make that sweatier.
“Trueheart, get an ice pack on that eye, and everyone’s cleared for a departmentally approved booster. You did damn good work tonight. Commendations will be forthcoming.” She paused. “So will pizza.”
She went into her office, where Roarke waited with coffee, a candy bar, and a booster. “Take the booster first, since you won’t be leaving this morning.”
She popped the booster, gulped coffee. “I can’t. This is going to take hours, plus media deal at oh-eight hundred. You’ve done more than your share. Go home, get some sleep.”
“What I will do is have Summerset send or bring us both a change of clothes. I’m in this until it’s done.”
“All right, but you could catch a couple hours in the crib.”
“Not in this lifetime. I’ve seen the crib. I’ll be in EDD, helping close this down.”
“In that case, I just promised pizza.”
He smiled, kissed the faint bruise on her jaw. “I’ll take care of that.”
“Thanks. You ought to know, I punched her in the face again.”
He lifted his brows, brushed a finger over the bruise. “Did she give you that?”
“Give me a break. She threw a chair at me. Missed. She won’t get anywhere trying to tangle you up. You have to trust me there.”
“I trust no one more. You trust me when I promise you, she’s nothing to tangle me in. Do what you need to do to put her away.”
“I will. Before you go, do you know any of those fuckers we collared tonight?”
“I do, yes, know a few of those fuckers. Know of all.”
“Then give me a quick rundown.”
When he had, she passed the information to her team.
She did her interviews, and left it to her chief and her commander to deal with the attorney general and the lawyers from the Department of Justice.
She ate some pizza, and thought longingly about a shower, a long, hot shower.
Then Summerset came into her office.
“Your change of clothes, Lieutenant. Roarke was very specific.”
“Yeah, I bet. Appreciate it.”
“Congratulations on what you accomplished. Is it appropriate to tell me if you’ve dealt with her yet?”
She figured, in this case, he had a right.
“I punched her in the face again, mainly because I wanted to, and it’ll hurt longer than a quick stun.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
“But her interview is later this morning. If you’re worried, don’t be. She’s going away, and she won’t take Roarke down.”
“I hope her cage is small and cold and dark.”
With that, he walked out.
She grabbed a shower, and felt human. Roarke had gone with leather—charcoal-gray trousers and jacket, slate-gray vest with some navy running through it—she supposed that explained the short-sleeved navy tee. Thick-soled, above-the-ankle charcoal boots with navy laces.
She pulled out a memo cube, listened to Summerset’s voice.
Roarke suggests dispensing with the jacket for the primary interviews, and wearing the Giant’s Tear outside your shirt.
He would, she thought, but she saw the purpose in it.
She dressed, dealt with the media conference. And as the volley of questions never stopped, gave full credit to Kyung when he stepped up and announced Lieutenant Dallas had duties.
As she left, she pulled out her comm. “Bring Barrister to Interview. I have A booked.”
Abernathy rushed after her. “Lieutenant, I need a moment, in your office.”
“Make it quick. Start now.”
“Then I’ll begin by asking if your duties include interviewing Magdelana Percell.”
“They do. Barrister, the broker, then her.”
“As she was very likely the instigator of it all, I assumed you’d take her first. I realize you have personal interests you would want to protect—”
Still on the glide, she whipped toward him.
“Don’t start that bullshit with me. Barrister is my priority because she murdered her brother in my city. And when I break her, she’ll add weight, she’ll add details I can use against the broker and the blonde. I take the broker next because when I break him, I get more.”
She turned into Homicide, waved off Baxter, and strode into her office. Shut the door.
“I take her last because I’ll have everything I can squeeze out of the other two, because yes, she started this ball rolling. I know what the fuck I’m doing.”
He held up both hands. “I apologize. I apologize,” he repeated. “What you say makes good sense. I only brought it up because I want to assure you, you’ll have no issues from me. Roarke will have no issues from me now or in the future. I believe he saved my life last night.”
“Is that so? He didn’t mention it.”