Connections in Death (In Death 48)

“What did he do?”

“What he was told. They made a runner out of him, a delivery boy. He’d deliver illegals, pick up protection money. Up until six months ago, when this went down, the kid was a decent student. After, his grades take a dive, he gets in trouble in school, loses weight because he won’t eat half the time. Even in there, he won’t talk at first. Kid’s terrified, LT, you can see it all over him.”

“What was he doing at their HQ last night?”

“Delivering a package to Jones. Trueheart eased it all out of him, took some time, a lot of care, but he got it out of him.”

“Can he identify the ones who threatened him?”

“Can and did. We’re going to take them next. But he said he had to report to Jones once a week. And Jones said how they needed good young blood like him. How it was fine he wanted to protect his mother, but they were his family now. If he forgot that, well, his mother would pay for it.”

“I want Mira to talk to the kid.”

“Already notified her.”

“Let’s keep him under wraps, him and the mother. We don’t know how many of these assholes are still on the streets. Any ot

her relatives?”

“She’s got a sister in Queens, parents in Brooklyn.”

“She should pick one, go there, once Mira clears it.”

“Same page. Dallas, he said they’re pulling in girls his age for sex work. Either they find ones living on the edge, or use tactics like they did with him.”

The headache that had never quite faded began to drum again. “We’ve got a location on where they keep sex workers. If there’s more, if they have another place for minors, we’ll get that, too. You push that in the rest of the interviews, pass the word. Push it.

“Peabody, break’s over. Jorgenson’s up.”

“I’m ready. I’m freaking armed and ready.”

He didn’t look like much, Eve thought when she walked into Interview. On the short side at five-seven with that compact build. The spiked red hair flamed over a moon-white face.

He sat with his arms crossed and a look of boredom in pale green eyes while his overanxious public defender agitated beside him.

“My client has spent over sixteen hours waiting for this Interview. His due process—”

“Hold it. Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with Jorgenson, Kenneth, and his court-appointed attorney. Please state your name for the record, sir.”

“Paul Quentin.”

Eve named various case files as she and Peabody took their seats.

“As I said, my client—”

“Had to wait his turn,” Eve supplied. “Mr. Jorgenson—”

“I’ll speak for my client, Lieutenant. My client prefers being addressed and/or referred to as Bolt.”

“Is that so?”

Prissy-looking guy, Eve thought, and still green. Mixed race, skinny in his suit and carefully knotted tie. She imagined he was still young enough, still new enough to be idealistic.

“Are you aware of the charges against your client?”

“Of course, and my client, of course, refutes them. My client can name two witnesses who will verify his whereabouts at the time Lyle Pickering died.”

“First, your client is charged with ordering the murder of Mr. Pickering, not of carrying out the murder.”