“Makes you wonder about cousins.”
“I’ve got dozens of cousins. Pretty great cousins.” She passed Eve the tube of Pepsi. “I don’t have to play good cop with Knightly, do I?”
“No, you don’t. We don’t need a confession. I’ll damn well get one, but we don’t need it. We’re going to hammer him, Peabody, give him a good taste of what it’s like to be trapped.
“Tag Reo, tell her we’re coming in. Mira, too.” Though she wished now she hadn’t said she would … “And Roarke.”
She hit lights and sirens. “I want to get started.”
* * *
When she strode into the bullpen, Jenkinson waved a hand. “Your asshole’s lawyer’s squawking about having a sit-down with you.”
“He’ll hav
e to wait. Peabody, get the record of Knightly’s trophy room and workshop set up in Interview, and get the asshole and his lawyer brought up once you do.”
She walked to her office, decided coffee wouldn’t hurt after all, then sat to put together a big, fat file of photos and documents.
In the end, she used fat files for each set of victims, finishing the last as Reo came in.
“Do you want me in the box or in Observation?”
“Observation. I don’t want to get hung up on lawyer back-and-forthing right now. No deals on this, Reo.”
“So you said before, and what you showed us, briefly, from the suspect’s residence leaves no room and no need for any. I spoke with Mira. Her current analysis is the suspect is legally sane. Should that fall apart—”
“It won’t.”
“Should it,” Reo continued, “he’ll still spend the rest of his life caged.”
“I’ll get what you and Mira need. Then you’ll wrap him up. Max security, off-planet, consecutive life sentences.” She rose, hefted the files.
“Interview A,” Peabody said when Eve came out. “The commander had it held for us.”
“Handy.”
“They’re in there. Lawyer is Wesley Drummond—high-end celeb mouthpiece. I gotta say, Knightly looks really smug.”
“Not for long.”
Eve moved toward, and into, Interview A.
“Record on. Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody entering Interview with Knightly, Kyle, and his attorney, Drummond, Wesley.”
She paused, just a beat while she studied Drummond—ignoring the client.
Drummond looked slick and winter-tanned, wore a pin-striped suit she figured Roarke would approve of, a trim goatee, and a small silver hoop in one ear.
“Mr. Drummond, would you like to make a comment or statement before I read the charges into the record?”
“Thank you, Lieutenant, I would. I hope we can dispense of this matter without undue time or fuss on anyone’s part. While I concede you were authorized to enter and search my client’s home, we will dispute the reasoning used to obtain said warrant. My client was, naturally, shocked and upset by the intrusion and this invasion of his privacy. And given the strain of the assaults on members of his family, the threats on a family member only yesterday, his emotional state was and is, naturally, fractured. He acted rashly, however, he was arguably provoked and simply trying, as anyone would, to protect his rights and properties.”
“Uh-huh.” She tapped the bruise on her jaw. “By striking a police officer in the course of performing her duties.”
“I understand there was a scuffle. Surely all parties can admit tempers were high, and step back from this, avoid the negative media attention this will bring to your department.”
She said “Uh-huh” again. “So your only concern, at this time, is the initial charge of assaulting an officer? You’re not worried about the other charges?”