Salvation in Death (42 page)

“No.” But she laughed, and gave his ass another squeeze. “Absolutely no. But tonight? Your dents are going to have dents.”

“Hot damn.”

In her office, Eve studied the map on her comp screen. Calculated. There were ways, she thought, and ways to run a con. The problem—and she could work around it if need be—was that every one of the Ortega properties was currently occupied. If she ran an op in any of them, even anything as simple and basic as the sting she had in mind, she would have to move them out.

If anything went wrong, if a civilian got hurt, it would be on her.

But there were ways, she thought, and ways. She turned to the ’link and contacted Roarke’s office. Knowing the routine, she did the obligatory chitchat with Roarke’s admin, Caro.

“He’s in a meeting,” Caro told her, “but I can put you through if it’s important.”

“No.” Could be. “Can you give me an idea when he’ll be done?”

“He has another appointment scheduled in thirty minutes. So I’d say no longer than that.”

“Thirty would be fine for him to get back to me. If it’s longer, I may hit you up for that interruption. Appreciate it.”

“Happy to help, Lieutenant.”

Eve programmed coffee, went back to studying the map. “If you don’t have something for me,” she said when Peabody and McNab came in, “go away.”

“How about a toss-away ’link Juanita Turner didn’t toss away?”

Eve’s head came up, and her gaze burned into McNab. “If you’ve got Penny Soto on there, talking about murder, I’ll ignore the next time the two of you play grab-ass on duty. And may, in fact, grab your ass myself.”

“My ass is sure getting a lot of play today.” McNab pulled the ’link he’d sealed, and a disc, out of one of his pockets. “I copied the transes onto disc. The caller blocked video on her end, but there’s plenty for voice match. Which, anticipating, I went ahead and ran against the interview you did with Penny Soto. Bull’s-eye.”

Eve snatched the disc, shoved it into her comp slot.

“The last one should do it,” McNab said.

Eve’s smile spread, went fierce.

“Voice print match, sender Penny Soto, receiver Juanita Turner. Absolutely, positively,” McNab said. “Smells like conspiracy to murder to me.”

“Yeah, we’ll get that. And we’re going to pile it on from there.”

“My ass is now available for grabs,” McNab announced, and was ignored by both women.

“I guess Juanita forgot to toss the ’link,” Peabody commented.

“No. She didn’t forget. She needed it, needed to play it back before she did him, after she’d done him. She needed to hear what Penny fed her, to help ease her conscience. We’ll get Soto on this count, and we’ve got some weight toward the bombings. But we haven’t got a lock there.”

Need to turn the key a little more, Eve thought. Just a little more.

“Then there’s the accessory after the fact on Flores and Ortega, the fraud,” she continued. “The fraud’s going to help lock down the accessory. If we do this right, she’s never going to see the light of day again. So we’re damn well going to do it right.”

Her ’link beeped. A glance at the incoming display told her Roarke was tagging her back. “Get me a conference room. I want Baxter and Trueheart.”

“They’re on Penny.”

“Relieve them, bring them in. Briefing in thirty. Now,” she added, “and take your ass with you.” She answered the ’link. “Dallas.”

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Have you got a property—commercial or residential—preferably on the Upper East Side that’s not tenanted?”

“I imagine I do. Why?”

“I need it for a few hours.”

“Are we having a party?”

“Sort of. In El Barrio or close would be the icing.”

“How about a nice four-story duplex on East 95th, currently being rehabbed?”

“Did you just pull that out of your ass?”

“No. I looked it up.” He sent her a quick, cocky smile. “Is that what you had in mind?”

“Pretty much nailed it. I need the exact address, a legal description, current market value, all that kind of crap. If I could get it, and the pass codes for the locks, by . . .” She checked the time. “. . . by sixteen hundred, it would hammer that nail.”

“I thought we were icing a cake. In any case, I’ll get back to you.”

Eve studied the map again. It could work. It would work. She contacted Feinburg again. “You’re going to need to come down to Central.”

“Lieutenant, as I tried to explain before, I have clients scheduled all day.”

“You’re going to have to reschedule anything you’ve got cooking for the rest of today. I need you here, Homicide Division, within the hour. You don’t want it getting out, to those clients, that you’ve been strung along on a major fraud scam, which included multiple murders, for the last six years. Right?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Damn right you will,” Eve mumbled after she’d cut transmission.

She gathered what she needed, checked to see which conference room Peabody had booked, then contacted the commander to update him while she was on the move.

“The voiceprints along with Turner’s statement are enough to bring her in on the St. Cristóbal’s case.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We want that closed down, Lieutenant. There’s going to be a lot of sympathy for Turner, a lot of media attention. Having Soto locked to it will defuse some of that.”

“I intend to lock her to it, and to a lot more. This op will do it. She’ll bite. It’s greed that had her set Juanita up to kill Lino. It’s greed that’ll have her walking right into this. She won’t be able to help herself. And once she does, she’s locked for the fraud, and the fraud locks her to Flores and Ortega, possibly Chávez. Three additional murders.”

“Suspected.”

“Yes, sir. I can use some of that, will use some of that to grease the rails and get the confession for the bombings.”

“You’ve got the day, you’ve got the op. Anything starts to slip or slide, you nail up the St. Cristóbal’s case. Nail it tight.”

“Yes, sir.” She clicked off, stepped into the conference room.

“Relief is heading uptown, Lieutenant,” Peabody began. “Baxter and Trueheart will head back as soon. It’s going to be more than thirty.”

“Okay. Contact Detective Stuben at the Four-six, ask if he and his former partner want any piece of this.”

“Can I tell him piece of what?”

“Of closing their cases. Are you still here?” she asked McNab.

“You said briefing, and didn’t tell me to go away.”

“Actually, I can use you. I’ve got the lawyer this skank’s been using coming in. I need you to set him up at a D&C so it transmits like it’s from his own. She may know how to check that, Lino could have shown her how to verify transmissions. And I want it right here. I want any incomings traced and copied—and whatever you e-geeks do to ID them to a specific unit and location and account.”

“Can do.”

“Then do.” Eve slapped a photo of Penny Soto to the center of a board. “Because she goes down today.”

Within the hour she had the room set, with McNab refining the details of an e-station. On the board, surrounding Penny’s photo were photos of every victim who could be associated with her.

When Feeney came in, she glanced over in surprise. “Hey.”

“Hey. When you steal one of my boys for an op, I like knowing why.”

“Sorry.” She scooped her hair back. “I should’ve tagged you. I got caught.”

“I’m hearing.” He wandered to the e-station, examined McNab’s work. His hands stayed in the baggy pockets of his baggy pants. “So I figured I’d sit in.”

“I’d appreciate it. Baxter, Trueheart,” she said when they walked in. “We have a couple of detectives coming in from the Four-six. I’ll wait for them before I start the briefing. We’ll need to—” She broke off, frowned as Roarke strolled into the room. She moved to intercept him.

“I just needed the data.”

“My data, my property.” He smiled at her. “I want to play.” He handed her a disc, then wandered over to examine the e-work with Feeney.

With the arrival of Stuben and his partner, Kohn, she made brief introductions, followed with a short overview of Penny Soto.

“We’re keeping the arrest of Juanita Turner quiet for the moment. I’d like to surprise Penny with that, once we pull her in. I’ve got the lawyer on tap. If McNab’s done his job, we’ll be able to track the transmission from here to her location and unit, and track the transmission back from her. Another lock in. We lure her here.”

She brought up the info on Roarke’s disc, scrolled through to an image of the building. “Untenanted residential unit—no civilian factor. The lawyer contacts her, relays that this property—alludes that her partner knew of it—is now added to the inheritance due to the recent death of old Mr. Ortega’s cousin. Just need some lawyer bullshit, she’s not going to question it too deep. As José Ortega is named heir, and so on, so on, she’ll be counting the profits. He’ll do his legal dance about escrow, trusts, market values, taxes, whatever. And he’ll say he’s hesitant to transmit the passcodes.

“She’ll want them, she’ll demand them. And she’ll go there as soon as she can to take a look. She’ll use them. And when she does, we’ve got her. We keep the tail on her.” She brought up the map, called for zoom and enhancement of

“Happy to.”

“Peabody and I here. E-team and vehicle, here. Lure her in, scoop her up. Keep it tight in case she gets frisky. Bring her in, and lock it up all the way back to 2043. Questions?”

It took another twenty before she brought the lawyer in.

“This is what you’re going to say.” Eve handed him a printout. “You can use your own words, legal it up, but this is what gets across. Understand?”

“Not entirely. If there had been property in probate, I certainly would have informed Mr. Aldo—or, well, the person I believed to be Mr. Aldo.”