Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

She drank again. “He hadn’t told the lawyer about Silverman, I got that, too. So the lawyer shuts it all down—consult with client, client needs his eight hours down. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“The rules are often infuriating.”

“Maybe, maybe if I can keep shoving the off-planet up his ass, dangling Silverman, maybe he starts to crack even with the lawyer running interference. But now we wait—until we toss him back in at oh-four-thirty.”

With a laugh, Roarke ordered up another water. “That won’t sit well with Iler or his lawyer.”

“One thing, it gives me time to work an angle. The father. I get the father to understand his son’s going down, one way or the other—and Silverman’s going to benefit from Iler’s loyalty. And funds. I’m working on blocking those funds, but the father has plenty I can’t block.”

“So you convince the father to block that stream.”

“Yeah, no money for you if you continue to protect Silverman, if you don’t reveal the name of other targets. If he flips, talks, I deal. On-planet incarceration.”

“A cage is still a cage,” Roarke said, but Eve shook her head.

“You didn’t see his face. Mira agrees, says he might be spacephobic. Have you found anything about him going off-planet—business or pleasure?”

“I haven’t, now that you mention it, not as yet.”

“I think I can use that fear, and the father. One son smearing the honor of the dead son. This goes to court, all that publicity, all that humiliation for the family. But the father’s in freaking France. I got the father’s lawyer, got him to contact Reginald Iler, get it going. I’ve been haggling with the lawyer off and on, maybe making progress. But the senior Iler’s going to freaking sleep on it, and because of the damn rotation of the stupid Earth he’s like hours ahead. Behind.” She closed her eyes. “No, ahead, so I can’t lock it up until right before I get Iler junior back in the box.”

She two-pointed the empty tube of water into the recycler. “Screw science.”

“You need pizza.”

The thought nearly perked her up. “Maybe, but I have to tie up some contingencies with Reo.”

“You can eat pizza while you tie. I’ll eat while I work on this.”

“Pizza?”

He pulled her in for a kiss. “In solidarity.”

22

She ate pizza while she worked out tactics with Reo. Apparently it looked good as the assistant prosecutor ordered up some of her own.

Despite the gray sweatshirt, the tousled fluff of blond hair and lack of makeup, Reo had the appearance of a delicate Southern belle.

Eve had reason to know that appearance masked—often strategically—a sharp mind and steely will. In court, Cher Reo could and did eviscerate a witness on cross without breaking a sweat.

At the moment, she bit neatly into her second veggie slice. “I’ll be there at four—God help me—A.M. Singa’s going to be pissed, but he boxed himself in on it. He should’ve stalled you a couple of hours, then pulled out for the eight straight.”

“Silverman threw him off his game. He needs to research the asshole, get his investigators on it. If he wants to use Silverman as a cover for his worthless client, he has to lay out a plan first.”

“Maybe he’s working late and eating pizza,” Reo speculated. “Anyway, if Daddy Iler contacts you before his nine o’clock time, let me know. Either way he leans, I can work it.”

“I will.”

“See you in the morning then. We’ll nail his ass, Dallas.”

“Fucking A.”

She rubbed her eyes, started to program more coffee, when Roarke stepped in.

“I have something for you. Iler purchased a new model black panel van—loaded. An Essex Sprinter, license Echo-Zulo-Baker-578.”

When she reached for her comm, Roarke held up a hand. “Hold on, save yourself time and order up a search along with your APB. He’s also paying rent on a private garage.” As he gave her the address, he walked over to pour wine. “As I haven’t found, as yet, another storage facility, and you haven’t found, as yet, the Richie artwork they stole—or what Iler purchased—and I found two he bought legitimately in Italy four years ago—they might have used the garage for both purposes.”