Born In Death

“More speculation,” the lawyer said. “You have nothing concrete against my client, or Ms. Bullock and her son.”

“Who do you believe, Walter? The suit from Stuben, or the cop who’s got you by the short hairs? It’s over for you, and you know it. Your life, your career, the plush office, the expense account. But you can choose how you want to spend what you’ve got left. Three counts, accessory to murder or – if you cooperate now – three counts obstruction of justice. You’ll do time in a cage, but you’ll be eligible for parole. You’ll end your life on the outside, instead of in. One-time offer, and you’ve got thirty seconds.”

Eve leaned in close until he had little choice but to meet her eyes. “You know she’ll take it when I go next door. She’ll throw you to the wolves without a second’s thought. Tick-tock, Walter. Twenty seconds left.”

“I want it in writing.”

“Cavendish – ”

“Shut up!” he rounded on the lawyer. “It’s not your life on the line, is it? I’m not taking the fall for this. In writing,” he repeated. “And I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“That was easy,” Peabody commented after they’d stepped out.

“Didn’t even get me warmed up.” Eve rolled her shoulders. “Spineless bastard. He’ll do a solid dime on the obstruction.”

“And there’s the fraud. You didn’t mention that to him in the offer.”

Eve gri

“Who do you want next?”

“We’ll take Bruberry. She’s going to be very, very unhappy her boss flipped on her.”

“You think she’ll crack?”

“Two hours tops.”

“Put money on it?”

Eve considered. “Fifty.”

“Done.”

In one hour and fifty-three minutes, Peabody walked out of Interview. “I’m kind of torn. I’m out fifty, but it was fairly frosty to watch her go down. Didn’t just crack, she exploded.”

“And knew more of where the secrets are locked than her boss.” Eve rubbed her hands together. “Double or nothing on Chase?”

“I figured we’d hit Bullock next.”

“Nope, I’m saving her for last.”

“No bet,” Peabody decided. “You’re hitting your stride.”

As they turned, they saw Baxter hotfooting it down the hall. “Sweeper report, wanted to hand-deliver it.” He slapped a file, with disc, into Eve’s hand. “On Sloan’s vehicle. They found a single hair, headrest, driver’s seat. It’s Chase’s. EDD report,” he added, handing her another. “My new best friend, McNab, found transmissions to and from a Doctor Letitia Brownburn, London. Authorities there have already picked her up, and acted on a warrant to close down Sunday’s Child, until further investigation into its practices. There are also transmissions to Cavendish’s office – Madeline to Bruberry, and from Madeline to the London office where she conversed for some length with Stuben. They spoke cryptically, of an imminent delivery.”

“Cavendish and Bruberry both sang like fat ladies,” Eve told him. “We’re taking Chase next.”

“I’ll be in Observation with Reo.”

“Baxter, why don’t you take this round. I’ll observe.” Peabody glanced at Eve. “That work for you?”

“Fine.”

“I appreciate it. How do you want to handle it?”

“Hard and mean. No deals, no good cop. He’s got a temper. Let’s piss him off.”

“Like your style.”

They went in together. Eve slapped the files on the table where Chase sat with three lawyers.

“Record on.” She read off the data. “There’s one suit in here too many.” She shot up a hand before any one of them could speak. “Anything over two reps is at my discretion. One of you get out.”

“As Mr. Chase is a British citizen and the absurd charges levied against him so serious, we require special representation for international law, for criminal law, and for tax law.”

“I don’t much care what you require. One of you get out. Now, or this interview is over, and your client goes back to sit in his cell until you’re down to two.”

“We expect some courtesy.”

“You’re not going to get it. Detective.” She turned for the door.

“I can handle international and criminal.” The lone woman, a brunette of about fifty, spoke in clear, unaccented tones. “I think it’s in our client’s interest to have this straightened out as soon as possible.”

One of the men rose, strode stiffly out of the room.

“Mr. Chase, you’ve been read the Revised Miranda, is this correct?”

When he sat stonily silent, the woman spoke again. “Mr. Chase acknowledges the reading of his rights.”

“I hear that from him, on record, or again, this interview is over.”

“I was read my rights,” Chase snapped. “And manhandled. I intend to file charges of police brutality.”

“You look okay to me. Are you requesting a physical examination to document any injuries you may have incurred during your arrest?”

“You attacked me.”

“Beg to differ, and the assault against me was recorded. Now, do you understand your rights and obligations, Mr. Chase? He answers,” Eve said again. “On record.”

“I understand them, such as they are in this uncivilized city of yours.”

“Good. In this uncivilized city we like to put people in cages for their entire natural life for various offenses. Now, where should we start?”

“Lieutenant.” The brunette took a sheet of paper from her briefcase. “If we could clear up the matter of one Tandy Willowby residing temporarily in Ms. Bullock and Mr. Chase’s New York home?”

“Residing? Is that what you Brits call it when a woman’s locked in a room and held against her will?” She shook her head at Baxter. “And they say we speak the same language.”

“Didn’t look like she was residing to me. Bet you like women locked up and helpless, Chase. Pregnant, too, so they can’t fight you off. Fucking pervert.”

“We will make note of any obscenities,” the brunette said primly.

“Wanker.” Eve gri

“You disgusting bitch.”

“Mr. Chase.” The brunette laid a hand over his. “Lieutenant, please. I believe we can clear this up quickly, and move on. I have here a statement Ms. Bullock dictated to her representative, and which Mr. Chase has corroborated and signed. I’d like to read it into evidence.”

“Help yourself.”

“On Thursday, shortly after six P.M., Ms. Bullock noticed Ms. Willowby on Madison Avenue, where Ms. Bullock had been shopping. In May of last year, Ms. Willowby had enlisted the help of the Bullock Foundation to assist her in placing her child for adoption. However, Ms. Willowby failed to keep subsequent appointments with the counselor, the obstetrician, and the placement agency. Relieved to see her well, Ms. Bullock approached her. At that time, Ms. Willowby became quite distraught and begged Ms. Bullock for help. Concerned, Ms. Bullock helped Ms. Willowby to her car, intending to have her driven home. But Ms. Willowby only became more hysterical, to the point of threatening suicide. She was nearly at term and had realized, she stated, that she could not raise the child, having neither the emotional nor the financial wherewithal. Out of concern, and with a desire to assist, Ms. Bullock took the young woman to her home – with Ms. Willowby’s full consent. She lodged Ms. Willowby there, arranged for medical assistance, and began to make arrangements for counseling and for adoption proceedings should Ms. Willowby remain in the same state of mind.”

“You can just stop there, because we didn’t bring shovels, and that’s the biggest load of bullshit we may have ever had dumped in this room. We’ve got you on Tandy, Chase. Not only her statement, but the statements of five cops and one civilian, who will all testify she was locked in a room against her will.”

“Ms. Willowby’s state of mind,” the lawyer began, and Eve shoved up from her chair, got in her face.