Delusion in Death (In Death 35)

As she expected, the media prep room buzzed. Tibble, Whitney, Mira, Teasdale, and the ever-sharply dressed Kyung.

Tibble glanced up from his notes, pocketed them before crossing to her to extend a hand. “Congratulations, Lieutenant, Detective. Solid work.”

“We had a solid team.”

“A show of all the officers who participated in the in

vestigation would make a good visual,” Kyung commented.

“They need a break.”

“Of course. For myself, I know I’ll sleep easier tonight knowing Lewis Callaway is behind bars.”

“I need a little more than that. Sir,” Eve said to Tibble. “You know Director Hurtz. Agent Teasdale says he’s an honorable man. There’s a formula capable of killing masses of people. As Menzini has been in custody until his recent death, I have to believe that formula exists, and is buried somewhere deep in HSO’s files.”

“I’ve never seen nor heard of this substance,” Teasdale insisted, “until this case.”

“I believe you,” Eve told her. “That doesn’t mean it’s not sealed up somewhere. There’s also a copy in a journal secured in my office. Our chief lab tech is working on an antidote, and he’ll probably come up with one—whether or not HSO already has. We need an agreement, Agent Teasdale, between your honorable man and mine. I’m not naive enough to believe your people will destroy all trace of said formula, but there has to be an agreement said formula will remain sealed and buried.”

“You’ll have it.” Tibble looked from Eve to Teasdale and back again. “My word.”

“Yes, sir.”

She believed he’d keep his word. As for Hurtz, she wanted to believe it. But … politics and positions changed. She’d have Roarke keep an eye on things on his unregistered equipment—and she had an ace reporter in the back pocket, should the time come to do that shouting from the rooftops.

“We’ll all sleep better now.” She looked back at Kyung.

“I’m told you have Callaway’s parents,” he said.

“I’ve had them transported to a safe house for tonight. Commander, I’d like to have them taken back to Arkansas in the morning, quick and quiet, and arrange for the locals to provide some protection until we see how that wind blows.”

“HSO will take care of that,” Teasdale told her.

“They’ll need to issue a statement,” Kyung considered. “I could help them with that if they’re willing.”

“That would be good. They’re decent people. It’s going to be hard enough for them. Peabody, pave that road when we’re done here.”

“We’d intended to wait for the mayor.” Kyung smiled. “But he’s been held up as the news of the arrest leaked.”

“Did it?”

His smile widened. “Channel Seventy-five broke the story some thirty minutes ago. They’re short on details, but it was enough to have reporters swarming the mayor’s office. He’ll link up with us from there. Now then, Chief Tibble will make a brief statement, followed by Commander Whitney. You and your investigative team will be acknowledged, as will Agent Teasdale and the HSO. Ah, APA Reo.”

“Sorry, I was delayed.” She hurried in, fluffing back her cloud of blond hair. “The news broke as my boss was leaving court. He’s dealing with reporters there. I’ll represent the prosecutor’s office here.”

“Perfect.” Kyung angled his head, gave them all a glowing smile. “Five strong, beautiful women—all playing a part in securing the safety of the city. It’s an excellent visual. Shall we go in?”

The room was packed, but she’d expected that, too. Cameras whirled and clicked, recorders blinked as Tibble stepped to the podium. Tall, lean, imposing, he stood in silence until the room quieted.

“Today, after an exhaustive and intense investigation, the New York City Police and Security Department, with cooperation from the HSO, arrested and charged the individual allegedly responsible for the deaths that occurred at On the Rocks and Café West. Faced with the preponderance of evidence gathered by the investigative team headed by Lieutenant Dallas, in consultation with Agent Teasdale of HSO, Lewis Callaway has confessed to the planning, the intent, and the execution of these crimes.”

Eve let it roll over her—Tibble’s statement, Whitney’s, then the questions that flew like crazed crows. She wanted home, she realized, intensely. The quiet of it, the comfort, the indulgence of familiarity.

She answered questions when called on, and wondered—as she always did—why so many of them asked the same damn thing with slightly altered phrasing.

“Lieutenant, Lieutenant Dallas! Kobe Garnet with New York News. You interrogated Callaway.”

“I interviewed the suspect, along with Detective Peabody, Agent Teasdale, and Doctor Mira.”