Page 23
Chapter Twenty-two
While in the computer lab there were tears and cheers, Eve clicked twice to signal she copied.
They’d cleared the third floor, sweeping his wardrobe, his office. She’d noted the lock system on one of the closet doors.
Armory. That could wait.
With the boy clear, out of danger, she paused outside the main bedroom doors.
Holding up a hand, Roarke crouched down to examine, then scan the locks. When the scanner blinked red, he tapped out a quick message.
Electric charge activated on handle. One minute.
With a nod, she waited.
It took him the minute, and a few seconds more before his scanner blinked green.
Rising, he slid it into his pocket, signaled clear.
Fast , she mouthed to Roarke. Lights , to the commander.
They burst in; the lights flashed on full in the wide room with its river view. Raven-black hair sleep-tousled, dark eyes wide, Potter jerked up in bed. Dawn trickled gently in the windows as he swung a weapon toward them.
Eve’s stream hit center mass, and even on low, had him jittering. The gun dropped from his hand, hit the side of the bed, then thudded to the floor.
“Police.” She rushed forward. “Hands up.”
Though his hands still shook, he yanked another weapon from under the pillow. Closing in, Eve struck his gun hand with her left and just batted it away. He tried to roll, and she had the satisfaction of grabbing him by the collar and hearing something rip.
As she dragged him out of bed, he flailed. His head cracked against one side of her ribs, his trembling fist connected with the other side.
“Give it up, Potter. You’re bagged.” Rolling him onto the floor, she cuffed him. “Conrad Potter, you’re under arrest for the murder of Giovanni Rossi, a human being. For the kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment of Devin McReedy, a minor child. For the attempted murder by explosive device of Marjorie Wright, Ivanna Liski, and Iris Arden. Boy, this is fun. For the—”
“Let me take him, Lieutenant.” Roarke nudged her aside. “You’re bleeding again.”
“What?” She looked down, saw the red seeping into the gray shirt. “Crap.”
“No strenuous physical activity for twenty-four hours,” Roarke reminded her.
“It wasn’t that strenuous. Additional charges, you treasonous fuck, include possession of illegal weapons. Firing an illegal weapon, assault on an officer by firing an illegal weapon. Attempting to fire two illegal weapons at a police officer. Oh, almost forgot, threatening to maim and execute a minor child.”
Because it had—hell!—started to sting again, she pressed a hand to the wound.
“There’s more, but that’ll do for now. Oh, and just a comment. Black silk pajamas? Really? Though I’m grateful you covered your tiny, useless dick so none of us have to be exposed to it.”
“You ignorant bitch! You whoring cunt! You should be dead!”
“Hurt.” Eve held up her bloody fingers. “Not dead.”
In response, Roarke turned out of the range of the recorders, and delivered a single, short-armed jab to Potter’s kidneys as he hauled him to his feet.
On a choking sound, Potter paled, and his already weakened legs gave way at the knees.
Eve simply shot Roarke a warning glare. But in the doorway, Jenkinson, just arrived, grinned. And untucked his tie.
“We got him from here.”
“Read him his rights. House skids beside the bed. Somebody grab them for him.”
“I’ve got them.” Whitney bent to pick them up. “And I’ll arrange his transport to Central, his booking, and a stay in maximum holding until you’re ready for him.”
The commander looked around the elegant room with its lovely view as Reineke joined Jenkinson to perp-walk a sagging Potter away.
“He’s had his last night in the lap of luxury, but you and your team still have work to do here. Good job.” Holstering his weapon, he gave a nod of satisfaction. “Damn good job.”
Whitney paused in the doorway. “Go have the MTs close that wound before you start.”
“Sir, I—”
“That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.” She waited until he’d walked away. “Damn it.”
“Don’t be a baby about it.” Roarke took her arm to lead her out.
“I need to set things in motion here first. And you shouldn’t have punched him.”
“Yes, I certainly should have.”
“That’s the sort of thing that gives cops a bad name.”
“I’m not a cop,” he reminded her. “And I’m only human.”
“Yeah, yeah. All right, boys and girls.” She paused halfway down the steps to relay orders, and, pushing a hand over her face, inadvertently smeared blood on her cheek. “Take this place apart. Any explosives, canisters, chemicals, call in the appropriate units to handle. Confiscate, log, and secure all weapons and ammo. EDD, you’ve got the electronics. Peabody—where the hell is Peabody?”
“She’s with the kid and the MTs,” Callendar told her. “Good call sending the girls in for him, Dallas. He’s bonded to Peabody like glue.”
“She can stick with him as long as he needs. Have the parents been notified?”
“We did that as soon as we got him out. They’re on their way.”
“Good. Everybody get to work. I’ll be back in five. Ten,” she corrected as she had to make some contacts of her own. “Roarke, let Summerset and the rest know this part of the mission, accomplished.”
In the computer lab, they stood, linked with Ivan’s hand gripping Iris’s, and Cyril’s arm around her waist, his hand on Summerset’s shoulder. Ivanna had Summerset’s hand in her right, Marjorie’s in her left, and Marjorie held Harry’s.
“That was brilliant.” Tears clogged Marjorie’s throat, thickened her voice. “That was bloody brilliant.”
“I wish Gio could’ve seen it,” Ivan murmured.
Harry nodded. “So say we all.”
Summerset took out his ’link when it signaled. “Roarke, of course.”
“Should we move out of here before you answer?” Cyril asked him.
“No. The boy and I don’t lie to each other.”
When he answered, Roarke lifted his eyebrows. “Ah, I see. So you already know.”
“We needed to bear witness.”
“Of course. Go get some sleep. It’ll be some time yet.”
“Tell the lieutenant… well done.”
“I will. I’ll send a driver when it’s time, so you’ll all come at once and together.”
“Thank you for that. From all of us.”
When Summerset replaced his ’link, Marjorie sighed.
“You know, I believe I could sleep now.”
“So say we all,” Harry repeated, and made them laugh.
As they shut down, started out, Summerset picked up the cat. “They won’t be home for a while, my friend. You can settle in with me.”
Eve spoke to the boy, but didn’t push. Peabody remained his anchor until his parents arrived, younger brother in tow, and all rushed to the MT truck.
As tears and gratitude flowed, and the kid was all but smothered in hugs, she left it to Peabody, stepped out of the van.
She made her first contact. “Reo, we got Potter. Let me roll through the many charges here in New York. Have you got anybody there who can carve their way through international laws and all that?”
“As a matter of fact.” Reo stood in a robe, her hair still dripping from a shower. “I think I know where you’re going, and was going there myself.”
“That’ll save time. Abernathy—Interpol—he’s my next contact. They’ll start working the extradition. I’ve got some ideas on that, and I want to know if we have weight.”
“I’m all ears.”
They confiscated twenty-three handguns, ten AR-47s, four M16s, silencers, bump stocks, body armor, an assortment of knives in the second-floor armory.
And enough ammunition to start a war.
He’d rigged two canisters of gas in the air vents of the storage room and had another six to spare. In the basement, he’d stockpiled the C-4, the grenades, along with chargers, timers in a workshop set up to make more.
And a lab where he made and stored a variety of drugs, paralytics, hallucinogens, poisons, anesthetics.
With sweepers, explosives teams, hazmat teams in place, Eve left Feeney and his e-team in charge.
In the van, Roarke at the wheel now and the rest of her team in the ridiculously plush back, Eve let her shoulders finally relax.
“He wouldn’t have stopped with them. It wouldn’t have been enough. After he’d killed the rest of The Twelve, me, maybe you,” she said to Roarke, then glanced in the back at Peabody, “maybe you, he’d have picked more targets. Anybody still alive who’d had any part in his incarceration.”
“Their families,” Roarke added. “He’d have felt more power, more triumph with every kill. He’d have spent the rest of his life waging his personal war.”
“Now he’ll spend it back in a cage.” Jenkinson tapped his tie. “Just like this. And since we’re all friends here, nice sneaky punch.”
“I enjoyed it.”
“Enough of that. I still say you shouldn’t have had my cops’ rides taken down to Central.”
“Simpler this way.”
“Only you’d think that.” But she’d let it go as they could all use this time as a team. “You could’ve gotten some sleep at home.”
“I will when you will.”
“It’s still going to take me a while to set things up for interview.”
“I’ll find a way to occupy myself.”
He always did, she thought, and let that go, too. And since they were just that, a team, she shifted and spent the rest of the drive laying out her strategy for interview. And beyond.
“You know what I like about you, boss?” Jenkinson got out of the van in the garage. “You got mean smarts. Mean’s just mean, smart’s just smart. But together, you got something.”
When they piled in the elevator, Roarke did something to the controls. “Nonstop.”
“You’re not supposed to do that.”
“I like he did,” Reineke commented. “Wish I could figure out how he did it.”
“No.” Eve said it flatly, and stepped off as soon as they reached Homicide. “Peabody, we don’t need the conference room. Why don’t you go break that down? You could give her a hand, since you need to occupy yourself.”
“Happy to.”
Roarke walked off with Peabody; the rest of the bullpen scattered to desks and cubes. Craving coffee, Eve went into her office to find Reo at her desk.
“Give me good news.”
“I believe I have some, which is why I’m enjoying your coffee and I’m not sitting in that horrible chair.”
“Sit wherever you want. Gimme.”
Crossing her legs, swiveling gently side to side in Eve’s desk chair, Reo smiled. She wore a deep blue suit, and either that or satisfaction made her blue eyes sparkle.
“It’s not finalized, not set in stone, but I know when a deal’s going to happen. And the fact is, there’s considerable agreement for your solution on the other side.”
Eve satisfied her coffee craving.
“There’s blood on your shirt. Yours or his?”
“Mine, but it’s fine. Has he asked for a lawyer, a legal rep?”
“No.”
“That’s always advantage us, but either way. Mira?”
“I contacted her after Abernathy. She’s in.”
“Another advantage us.”
“He will, as we all know, have to serve out his sentence—life, no parole—where those previous crimes were committed.”
Eve just gulped more coffee. “And?”
“Even with extradition in the works, you’d have full authority to interview him here for crimes committed here. We, of course, have an absolute right to try and, unquestionably given the evidence, convict him of those crimes. And those crimes carry an equally heavy weight.”
Eve went for more coffee. “And?”
“As I said, I know when a deal’s going to go through. This will. The rest is up to you.”
“I want the rest. I can make it happen. I’m going to call him up soon, get started.”
“When’s the last time you slept?”
“I honestly can’t tell you. But I’ve hit some point where that just seems irrelevant. I want to wrap him, so we’re going to wrap him. Then I’ll sleep.”
She went straight to the conference room. “Tag Summerset, let him know we’re bringing Potter up inside an hour.”
“Is it set?” Peabody asked.
“Reo’s confident, so we’ll be confident. Let Mira know. And Whitney. I’ll book the interview room.”
“Already done,” Peabody told her. “We’ve got A. I really don’t have to be good cop?”
“Be as mean as you want. But smart mean.”
“They’ll be on their way as soon as possible.” Roarke pocketed his ’link. “Go do what you need to, both of you. I’ll finish this.”
She went back to her office, ordered uniforms to bring Potter to Interview A, cleared the group to come to Homicide and go into Observation.
She wanted a shower, but she’d already used the spare shirt in her locker, so one more thing to let go.
Instead she sat a moment, in the quiet, and looked at her board.
Before she slept, she thought, she’d contact Rossi’s family, let them know Potter was in custody. And she was bound and determined to inform them of his payment for Rossi’s death.
“It won’t go unanswered.”
Though she had no investigative need for it, she added Devin McReedy’s photo to her board.
“It won’t go unanswered.”
She wanted cold, so programmed for a Pepsi, and guzzled half the tube before she heard the click of heels. Not Reo, she decided. Mira.
And Mira had dressed for the occasion in a severe dark suit and single strand of pearls.
“You’re so pale,” Mira said. “And there’s blood on your shirt.”
“I’m good. My bloodstream’s a hundred percent caffeine, but I’m good. He’s on his way up.”
With a nod, Mira looked at the board. “That’s the boy he took. Poor little guy had a rough go.”
“Potter had the gas rigged, so it would’ve been a lot rougher. And Potter’s going to pay for it.”
“It’s set then?”
“Reo says it’s going to go through. Obviously I don’t need a confession on the kid—though I want one. And I’ll get one on Rossi. We’ll do our part, and the Brits better do theirs. That’s Reo now,” she said when she heard the next set of heels.
Reo stepped in, smiled. “Done. Some paperwork, but done. My boss and Tibble gave it the last push.”
“Then let’s go seal the deal.”
“The boss wanted to handle this part,” Reo told her as they walked, “but he agreed with your tactics. Potter thinks women are inferior.”
“He’s coming into the find-out portion of the program. Peabody.”
“With you.”
Eve paused when she saw Roarke in the corridor.
“Summerset and friends are on their way up. I’ll show them to Observation. Whitney and Tibble are already there.”
“Tibble’s in Observation?”
“He is. I won’t wish the four of you luck, as you don’t need it. I’ll just say, finish him.”
“Count on it.”
They walked to Interview A, and Eve opened the door.
She enjoyed the site of Potter in an orange jumpsuit—a far cry from silk pajamas. And the wrist and leg shackles added a nice finish.
“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, entering Interview with Potter, Conrad. Also entering, Peabody, Detective Delia, Reo, APA Cher, Mira, Dr. Charlotte.”
“What is this?” Dark eyes full of derision, he sneered. “A fashion show?”
Eve just reeled off the various case numbers and sat.
She set the file she carried at her elbow, as did the other women as they took their seats.
“Mr. Potter, you’ve been charged with a number of serious crimes, including murder in the first. Were you read and do you understand your rights and obligations in these matters?”
“I understand them perfectly.” This time, he smirked—as he had at the camera on the night of Rossi’s murder. “I’ve spent considerable time studying law.”
“I guess you had plenty of time for that during your incarceration in Manchester, England. Due to your knowledge and study, are you waiving your right to legal representation during this interview?”
“I am my legal representation. And this interview is bollocks. I see you brought your sidekick, and… APA?”
“Assistant prosecuting attorney,” Reo supplied.
“How often do you sleep with your boss?”
“I haven’t, thanks for asking. Office romances are so messy, and his husband wouldn’t approve.”
“A preoccupation with sex is understandable,” Mira commented. “You had no conjugal visits during your lengthy incarceration.”
“And we have the shrink, a woman pretending to be a doctor instead of tending to her own family.”
With a cool smile, Mira opened her file, made a note.
“Now that we’re all properly introduced,” Eve said, “let’s talk about the murder of Giovanni Rossi.”
Potter started to wave a hand in dismissal, but couldn’t manage the insouciance with the chains.
“Are these necessary, ladies? Are you not able to defend yourselves?”
“I think I managed that just fine when I put you and your silk pajamas down. The shackles stay. Giovanni Rossi.”
“What about him?”
“Did you contact Giovanni Rossi, posing as Lawrence Summerset of New York, both former Underground team members, in order to lure Mr. Rossi to this city?”
“He’d hardly have come if I’d sent up a flare, and one does miss one’s old compatriots.”
“You had established yourself in New York, in the residence on Riverside Drive, as Reginald King.”
“It flows, doesn’t it?” This time instead of his hand, he just waved his fingers. “ Reginald for royal, and of course, king.”
“ Reginald comes from the Latin Reginaldus , which stems from regina . Meaning queen.”
He bared his teeth at Reo. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Queen King. Funny.” Peabody shifted to Mira. “Would choosing a name like that indicate delusions of grandeur? Because what I’m looking at in here sure doesn’t come off royal.”
“Not delusions as much as a deep and obsessive need to prove himself superior.”
“I have no need to prove what is.”
“We can sort all that out later.” And keep pissing him off, Eve thought. “He’s used a lot of names, and there’s probably a treasure trove of psychological issues in them, but for now, Mr. Potter, you communicated—we were able to access that communication from your electronics. Posing as his old friend, you asked Mr. Rossi to come to New York, and with this message, included tickets for his travel. You instructed him that he would be met upon his arrival.”
“A common courtesy. Didn’t your mother teach you manners? Oh, that’s right, you have no mother on record.” Eyes lively, he bared his teeth again. “No wonder you are what you are.”
“But enough about me,” Eve said easily. “Then, disguised as a driver, you met Mr. Rossi upon his arrival in New York. Nice work on the mask, by the way. It took our techs a few hours to analyze, extrapolate, whatever, to peel it away and come up with this.”
She slid the sketch out of her file. “Pretty good likeness.”
Shock rippled over his face, and anger had color flaring into it. But he shrugged.
“Technology is easily manipulated to achieve desired results.”
“You’d know. You hated Rossi, wanted him dead. Wanted them all dead. Wasp, Fox, Panther, Mole, Owl, Magpie, Cobra, Chameleon. The remainder of The Twelve, the Underground unit that fought Dominion and other violent fringe groups during the Urbans.”
“One doesn’t hate what’s beneath them. One only feels contempt.”
“Sure. They make up the unit you betrayed. The people, along with Leroy Dubois, whom you murdered, and Alice Dormer, who stopped you, who sacrificed her life to stop you. You spent decades in prison plotting and planning your escape for one primary purpose. To kill them all.”
“I had a purpose. Fawn prevented the full completion of that purpose.”
“Because she was able to warn her team of your betrayal, stopping the ambush set up to kill them all. So you had to run.”
“Retreat,” he corrected.
“You didn’t get far. Rossi found you. Wasp might have beaten you to death if Fox hadn’t stopped him.”
Eve angled her head, smiled just a little.
“Which was worse for your twisted ego? I wonder. Being caught and beaten, or being spared more beating by another you felt contempt for? I bet it’s a tough call.”
“I’d have handled Wasp. I’d have handled both of them.”
“But you didn’t. Rossi busted your nose, your jaw, cracked a few of your ribs. Bruised your kidneys.”
She glanced up from the medical report in the file.
“I bet you were pissing blood for a week.”
“You’re a crude, ignorant female.”
“I can’t argue with the ‘crude.’ Then, thanks to The Twelve, you ended up in Manchester, in Five Hells. It took you decades, and then the only way you could handle Rossi was through deception.”
“It’s all he’s got,” Peabody commented. “Lies, deceit, masks, wigs. Oh, and the face work so he could massage his gigantic ego and look younger. When it comes to a one-on-one fight? Just another pussy.”
“You’re nothing but an underling serving under a bitch who’s trying to be a man.”
“That’s Lieutenant Bitch to you, asshole,” Peabody snapped back as she rose, leaned forward. “You’re on that side of the table. Shackled. The ovaries on this side are a hell of a lot tougher than your tiny, shriveled balls.”
“The day will come when I’m not shackled. And I’ll kill you. Slowly.”
“Oh. Shiver.” With an eye roll and fake shudder, Peabody sat again.
“We can add threatening an officer—on record—to the charges.”
He turned his head to smirk at Eve. “Your charges are shite. Even if you could prove them, they’re shite. So fuck your charges. I’d say fuck you, all of you, but none of you are my type.”
“We’re all grateful for that small blessing,” Reo commented before Eve continued.
“You drove Rossi in a limo you’d previously stolen—”
“Speculation!”
“Which you had modified,” Eve continued. “And using a canister of phosphine—which you’d also stolen and hidden during the Urbans—filled the passenger area with said poison gas. While you watched Rossi fight to escape, choke, convulse, die through the camera you’d installed.”
“No proof. None whatsoever.”
“We found additional canisters, same poison, same era, same canister type, in your residence.”
“Circumstantial.”
“Wow.” Reo gave a quick laugh. “You should’ve studied a lot harder. And that doesn’t even touch on the fact your prints are on the explosive device planted under the table in Chez Robert, or the fact that Devin McReedy was held captive in a locked room in your basement.”
“With another canister rigged to fill that room with poison gas,” Peabody added. “Or Devin’s hair found in the trunk of the car parked in your garage. The recording you forced him to make, which you then edited and sent from a mobile device.”
“I was going to get to all of that,” Eve complained. “I’m taking things in order. But since we’re there. We tracked the ’link and recording, identified the bus, and the driver ID’d you—or the red wig and beard you wore, and which we again found in your residence. And, of course, we have Devin. You didn’t bother with a disguise after you had him in that room because you were never going to let him leave that room alive.”
“Bollocks and shite and of no consequence. I could have shot the boy in the head and tossed him at your feet and it wouldn’t matter a bloody damn.”
“Just how do you figure that?”
“I’ll be extradited. Nothing I’ve done here matters at all.”
“I see.” And she did. She shot a look at Reo, and to her credit, Reo shot back one of concern and worry before she spoke.
“We can fight it.”
“You’ll lose.” Sitting back, Potter spread his fingers. “You didn’t think ahead, did you? None of you. If that bomb had gone off and killed those three whores and half a dozen besides, you could do nothing. If I’d lured one or more of the rest into that room with the boy and killed them all?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Impunity. I’m serving life, and, oh yes, they’ll insist on extradition.”
“You got out once, you figure you’ll get out again. And fulfill your purpose.”
He only smiled as Eve looked at Mira.
“He’ll certainly try. He’s failed twice. He despises—we’ll call them The Twelve. He despises them for what they are, what they stood for, the lives they’ve led while his has been locked away. They’re responsible for his loss of freedom, for the wasted years. There must be… would you call it restitution, Mr. Potter?”
“Retribution.”
“You put my card in Rossi’s hand because I’m not only a woman trying to be a man, but one who’s achieved rank in what you consider a man’s job. But more, because I connect to Fox, to one of The Twelve. That was just too good to pass up. You’d beat me, humiliate me, killing him and the rest in the process. Bonus round. And once you’d accomplished that, you could live as whoever you wanted, wherever you wanted.”
“The game’s not over.” His eyes—and there wasn’t madness in them as much as fervor—bored into Eve’s. “Skill and savvy adjusts.”
“Maybe, but we figured out you were alive, that the prison doctor—who’s in custody, by the way—accepted a substantial sum from you to help you fake your death and escape. We were onto you very quickly.”
“So you say. It doesn’t matter.” The angry color that rose into his cheeks belied that. “Nothing I’ve done on this side of the Atlantic outweighs the rest. You’ll have to turn me over.” She leered at Reo. “Even the empty-headed blonde knows it.”
“You’ll still be in prison,” Reo said.
“I’m sure it soothes you to think so.”
Eve slapped a hand on the table. “You murdered Giovanni Rossi.”
“What of it?”
“You watched him die, left his body under the underpass, and walked away.”
“It wasn’t a long walk. A few blocks to where I’d left my car. It’s outrageous what parking costs in this city.”
“You admit it? You sit here and admit to the premeditated murder of Giovanni Rossi?”
Potter leaned forward. “I boast about it. He walked right up to me in the terminal, looked right at me, and didn’t know me. He settled right into the limousine, sipped some wine. This man who hunted me, who bloodied me, a man who worked for decades in intelligence, handed me his bags so I could stow them in the boot, and walked into his own death. I enjoyed every moment. I savored it.”
“You have no remorse,” Mira murmured.
“Retribution needs no remorse.”