She found nothing of interest on the second level—and wasn’t surprised Cohen used chemicals to get it up for his young lover. His business interests he kept locked in his office, and McNab hit a gold mine.
“It’s all here,” he told her. “He kept good records, didn’t even try to hid
e them. I mean, you’d think he’d have tried a wipe or something when she kicked him out.”
“He figured he’d talk his way back in. And I don’t think she gave him the time or the space before she booted him out to try the wipe anyway. So he figures to get back in, then cover up whatever he can cover up once he is. He’s stupid, and he figured she was naive and dumb and soft.
“Copy everything,” she told McNab. “The feds’ll roast him, but we’re going to start the fire.”
“Already copied.”
“Good work. Let’s move out. I want to hear anything you found on Jones and/or the Bangers when we’re out of here.”
She headed to Central with Peabody riding shotgun and McNab in the back. “Can I do the coffee thing?” he asked.
“Do it while you report.”
“First, there’s nothing that implicates Vinn re Jones. Oh, and I just want to say, skimming through her tablet—she’s good.” He only grinned at the cool look Peabody aimed over her shoulder. “Not just the sexy moves—which my She-Body has plenty of.”
“Do not,” Eve warned as her eye twitched. “Do not.”
“She’s got other stuff she recorded on there. Like, ballet stuff and tap and all that. And she’s not stupid. On her PPC I found a small personal account. It’s not a lot, but it looks to me like maybe she culled out some of her tip money—that’s how it reads—and set up her own nest.”
“Great. Can we move on to criminal behavior?”
“You bet. He keeps a calendar—appointments. And he has regular meetings with Jones. Once a month. And that coincides with deposits he makes. Meets Jones, stashes money.
“You said to keep it moving,” McNab added, “so I didn’t stick, more got an overview, right? And part of that is him also moving product for Jones. Illegals.”
“Is that so?” Eve mused.
“Like I said, good records. My take? Jones skims some of the product, passes it to Cohen, Cohen sells it to his contacts, and they split the profit. Or they did.”
“What does that mean?”
“That end’s been falling off—from my skim—the last eight, nine months.” From the back, McNab gestured with his coffee, downed some. “Less product passed, so less profit for Cohen. He has a client list—disbarred or not—and he lists Jones as a client, and the share from illegals as part of his rolling retainer for legal advice. About six months ago, he took on a client he names as Bang-Two, and it looks like he’s working the same kind of deal. Smaller, but the same sort of deal, and with this one, he’s pulling some from their sex trade.”
“He gets a cut?” Eve demanded.
“Sort of. How it reads?” Now McNab scooted up in his seat. “Cops bust one of the sex workers, Cohen goes in as their representative. He doesn’t have to be an accredited lawyer to do that, as long as the person represented is aware he’s not. He takes a fee and lists that as part of his consulting business. It’s tangled, Dallas, but it’s all down there in his records.”
“No mention of Pickering?”
“I ran a search of the name to speed it up, got nothing.”
“Okay.” She pulled into Central’s garage. “I want you to fine-tune this while we take Cohen into Interview. Anything you get, anything, you pass on when you get it.”
“It’s a lot. I can ask the captain or maybe Callendar to jump in.”
“Whatever it takes.” She thought of her approach as they walked to the elevator. “Peabody, have him brought up. He can sweat in the box while I work this out a little. And I need to update Whitney. McNab, copy everything to my office comp.”
“Already done.”
“You’re worth the coffee.” Impatient with the elevator, she pushed off, hopped on a glide with Peabody trotting after her.
In her office she contacted Whitney, played it out, sent a quick text to Roarke that she was going in.
She wished she had time to read through, even skim through, what McNab had dug out, but the clock was ticking.