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“I’d put it that you broke him down,” Roarke corrected. “I watched you.” And had seen the way she’d stared into the glass. Into herself. “He wouldn’t have known how difficult it was for you.”
“Not so difficult, because I knew I’d break him. I didn’t know you were there.”
“I was part of the operational team.” He twirled a bit of her pasta onto his fork. “And I enjoy watching you work.”
“It was a contest to them, and the women game pieces. All I had to do was box Morano into a corner, and game over. The way he sees it, it was Dunwood’s fault, and he was just trying to keep up. Bankhead was an accident, Cline didn’t die, and McNamara, well that was, in his view, a kind of self-defense. I looked at him, and I didn’t see anything calculating or particularly vicious. He’s just empty, weak and empty. A kind of—it sounds hokey—void of evil.”
“It sounds accurate. Dunwood’s a different kettle, isn’t he?”
“And then some.” She picked up her wineglass, sipped, then leaned over to sample some of Roarke’s linguini with clam sauce. “Mine’s better,” she decided, pleased. “After the session with Renfrew in Whitney’s office—”
“What session?”
“Forgot. I didn’t tell you.”
So, between mouthfuls of spaghetti and the herbed bread he offered, she did. “I can’t believe I practically told Whitney to shut up. He should’ve slapped me down for it.”
“He’s a smart man. And a good cop. Renfrew now, he’s just the type of cop who made things relatively easy for me. During a past, and regrettable period of my life,” he added soberly when she frowned at him. “More ambitious than clever, narrow of view and focus. Lazy.”
He scooped up another forkful of her pasta. She was right; hers was better. “And,” he continued, “he epitomizes my previous view of the species. The view I held of badges before I got to know one more intimately.”
“His kind pisses me off, but his captain . . . He’s solid. He’ll deal with it. Anyway. Anyway.” She let out a long breath. She was stuffed, but still wanted more. “I took the team, minus our civilian consultant, to his place to bring him in. He lawyered straight off, and kept his mouth shut. He’s not stupid, and he’s not weak. His mistake is believing everyone else is. That’s what’ll take him under.”
“No, you’re what will take him under.”
His absolute confidence in her warmed as much as any words of love. “Really stuck on me, aren’t you?”
“Apparently. How about letting me have what’s left of that meatball?”
She nudged the plate in his direction. “Dunwood had three lawyers in tow before we finished booking him. He claims to know nothing about nothing, except he did notice his good friend and companion Kevin’s been acting a bit strange, coming in at odd hours, dressing up in strange getups to go out.”
“Friendship’s a beautiful thing.”
“You bet. We’ve got no DNA on him, and he knows it. He’s playing the innocent victim, the outraged citizen, and letting his reps do all the talking. He didn’t even blink when we brought up the home lab, and the samples we’re testing from it. Didn’t even get a shrug out of him when I pointed out we’d found the wig and the suit worn in the Lutz security disc in his bedroom closet. That his bathroom vanity contained the brand of face putty and enhancements found on her body and her sheets. His story is Kevin used them, planted them. Same thing with the Carlo account,” she added. “The illegals operation. He doesn’t know a thing. It must’ve been Kevin.”
“Where do you go from here?”
“Feeney’s doing his e-thing with all the ’links and computers we confiscated from the townhouse. He’ll find something. Dunwood was meeting someone on the night he killed his grandfather, and my take is she didn’t show. We find her, verify the correspondence and the meeting scheduled that night for the club where he bought drinks, and we add more layers. The samples from the lab are going to test out for Whore and Rabbit. His lawyers can try to dance around that experimenting isn’t illegal, and we have to prove use and/or distribution for sale. But it adds the next tier. We dig until we connect him to the distribution of those illegals as Carlo, through Charles Monroe’s client. Crime Scene’s fluoroscoping the house, and they’ll find blood. We’ve got Morano’s point-by-point confession. We’ve got plenty for an indictment. When we add up everything we’ll lock in over the next couple days, we’ll wrap him up in it.”
More due to a need to move around than a sense of tidiness, she cleared the plates off the bed. “I’ll sic Mira on him,” she added. “But even she’s going to have a tough time chipping at that shell. In the end, we’ll dump all the evidence—physical, circumstantial, forensic, the psych profiles, the statements—into a box and wrap it up for the lawyers. He won’t walk away.”
“Will you? Can you?”
“If you’d asked me that twenty-four hours ago, I’d have said no. Unless I lied.” She turned around to face him. “But yeah, after I finish putting the case together, take a couple more shots at him in Interview, I’ll pass it to the PA. And I’ll walk away. There’s alway
s another, Roarke, and if I don’t walk away, I can’t face the next.”
“I need time with you, Eve. Alone, away. No ghosts, no obligations, no grief.”
“We’re going to Mexico, right?”
“To start, anyway. I want two weeks.”
She opened her mouth, a dozen reasons why she couldn’t take that much time ready to trip off her tongue. And looking at him found the reason, the one that mattered, why she would. “When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as you’re able. I’ve dealt with my schedule.”
“Give me a couple days to tie the ends together. Meanwhile, I’ve got a direct order from my commander I have to follow. I’m ordered to use whatever method guarantees me eight hours’ sleep.”
