The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [427]
“Yes.”
Callendar made sure her gulp was audible. “Wow. Me, too.”
“Here’s the deal. Onetime offer, and I hope you’re too stupid to take it. The conspiracy charges will be dropped on you, and on your wife, if you confess to the charges of bribery and collusion, to altering records. You’ll do ten to fifteen, on-planet, provided you cooperate and tell us everything you know regarding Ricker’s communications.”
“Ten to fifteen on-planet’s cake compared to life without parole on Omega.” Callendar gave Rouche another little pat on the arm. “If I were you, I’d sing like a bird on a spring morning. What do you think?”
Rouche wiped his sweaty lip with the back of his hand. He cleared his throat. And he sang.
When it was done, Callendar stood outside interview with Eve. “That rocked. Seriously. He just popped open and poured it out like . . . something that pops and has stuff in it. I’m really tired.”
“Go home, get some sleep. You did solid work here.”
“I am so all over that. Hey, Peabody. I helped Dallas cook the turkey. See ya.”
“She looks beat, so did Sisto. But we cooked our own turkey.”
“We’ll compare notes.” She nodded to Reo as Reo came out of observation. “Walk and talk. We need . . . Morris.”
“He’s an idiot. A greedy idiot. And that greed and stupidity helped kill her.”
“I know ten to fifteen may not seem like enough, it may not seem like—”
“No.” He interrupted, shook his head. “It’s enough. For him.”
“You can go with Reo. The two of you and Mira can watch the next phase. We’ve got a room set up for you.” She pulled out her communicator when it signaled, noted it was Baxter. “You go on ahead. We’re nearly ready to start.”
She waited until Morris was out of hearing before she answered. “Tell me.”
“A whole shitload of cash money, credit cards and IDs in fake names, more passcodes, which I’m reading as bank accounts. Unregistered ’link and PPC, not yet activated. And the money shot, Dallas: Coltraine’s ring.”
“Bag it, log it, bring it. You earned your doughnuts today, Baxter.”
“Fry her ass, Dallas.”
“You can depend on it.”
She clicked off Baxter to tag Feeney. “Did she bite?”
“Not a nibble on the ’links.”
“How about her unit?”
“Through the passcode and fail-safe—she has some skills, but I’ve got more. I’m just starting on the data.”
“Plan B, then. Roarke?”
“Ask him yourself. Hey, hotshot, your wife wants you.”
Eve winced at “your wife,” then shrugged it off as Roarke came on. “Hello, darling.”
“Don’t do that. I’m clocking time. Did you hook it up?”
“Ready when you are. And let me just say this is a brilliant idea on so many levels. I’m pleased to have a hand in it.”
“Thought you would be. I’ll beep you twice when I’m ready.”
“I like ‘darling,’ ” Peabody commented. “It’s old-fashioned and romantic. Especially with the accent.”
“Peabody.”
“Just thinking out loud. So can we fry her now?”
“Right now.”
When she reached the conference room, she stopped to give the uniforms new orders. “She won’t get past me, but on the off chance she does, take her down.”
She walked into the conference room. Grady sat at the conference table, drinking coffee, studying the screen. Looking, Eve thought, very pleased with herself.
“I was just about to hunt for you. I think I might have something.”
“Funny, I have something, too. You helped me get to it.”
“Yeah?” Genuine pleasure lit Cleo’s face. “Can I be there when you arrest the fucker?”
“Front and center. Do you think it comes down in the blood?” Eve asked conversationally. “You know, bad blood begets bad blood? I think that’s a cop-out myself. You’re in the job long enough, you see it’s not that simple. You see people who come from shit and crawl out of it to make a decent life. Others who come from decent and crawl into the shit. Because they like it. Then again, Ricker’s blood’s partially foul.”
“Alex Ricker doesn’t have his father’s brains. He’s just been coattailing. No offense, but somebody was going to nail him sooner or later.”
“Maybe. His problem was getting stuck on the woman. Not enough to make him change his ways, but enough to mess him up. Guy’s got