The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [410]
“You have to give me something. A plea bargain, a way out. I have money—”
Her hand whipped out, snatched his shirtfront. “Was that a bribe, Kevin? Am I adding bribing a cop to your list of credits?”
“No, no, I just . . . I need some help here.” He tried to calm himself, to sound reasonable, cooperative. “I can’t go to prison. I don’t belong in prison. It was just a game. A contest. It was all Lucias’s idea. It was an accident.”
“A game, a contest, someone else’s idea, an accident.” She shook her head. “Is this multiple choice?”
“We were bored, that’s all. We were bored and needed something to do! We were just having a little fun, a kind of re-enactment of his bastard grandfather’s great experiment. Then it went wrong. It was an accident. She wasn’t supposed to die.”
“Who wasn’t supposed to die, Kevin?”
“That first woman. Bryna. I didn’t kill her. It just happened.”
She leaned back now. “Tell me how it happened, Kevin. Tell me how it just happened.”
An hour later, Eve stepped out of Interview. “A miserable, pusboil on the ass of humanity.”
“Yes, sir, he is. You wrapped him up tight,” Peabody added. “A platoon of lawyers won’t be able to poke so much as a pinhole in that confession. He’s gone.”
“Yeah. The other boil won’t break so easy. Alert the team, Peabody. Same personnel as the park. I’m getting a warrant for Dunwood. They deserve to be in on act two.”
“You got it. Dallas?”
“What?”
“Do you really want to sing show tunes on Broadway?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She pulled out her communicator, prepared to request her warrant. It beeped in her hand. “Dallas.”
“My office,” Whitney ordered. “Now.”
“Yes, sir. What is he, psychic? Round up the crew, Peabody. I want to move on Dunwood within the hour.”
With the interview on her mind and the anticipation of getting her hands on Lucias hot in her blood, she walked into Whitney’s office. She’d been prepared to give him her report orally. Her plans changed when she saw Renfrew and another man in Whitney’s office.
Face impassive, Whitney remained behind his desk. “Lieutenant, Captain Hayes. I believe you and Detective Renfrew have already met.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Detective Renfrew is here with his captain. He’s considering filing a formal complaint re your conduct in the Theodore McNamara investigation, of which he is primary of record. In hopes to avoid any such action, I’ve asked you to come here so that the matter can be discussed.”
There was a dull roar inside her head, a low burn deep in her gut. “Let him file.”
“Lieutenant, neither I nor this department have a desire to wade through the mess of a complaint if it can be avoided.”
“I don’t give a damn what you or the department wants.” Her tone bit and had something unidentifiable flashing in Whitney’s eyes. “You file your complaint, Renfrew. File it, and I’ll finish you.”
“I told you how it was.” Renfrew bared his teeth. “Got no respect for the badge, no respect for fellow officers. She comes onto my crime scene throwing her weight around, pulling rank, undermining my investigation. Questioned my crime scene unit after I requested her to remove herself before she contaminated the scene. Goes behind my back to the ME getting data on a body that’s not hers.”
Whitney held up a hand to halt Renfrew’s tirade. “Your response to this, Lieutenant?”
“You want my response to this? I’ll give it to you.” Furious, she yanked a disc out of her pocket, slapped it onto the desk. “There’s my response to this. On record. You idiot,” she said to Renfrew. “I was going to let it slide. That was my mistake. Nobody