Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

She glanced in both directions, saw the all clear as the doors started to close. “I love you.”

He stopped the doors with a hand. “Come in here and say that.”

“Later.”

Since there was no one to see, she limped toward Homicide, and into her office. She got coffee, sat at her desk. Then laid her head on it, said, “Son of a bitch!”

She let herself have a couple of good moans, maybe a quiet whimper, then pushed herself up to drink the coffee, write up the report.

When her desk ’link signaled, she smiled at the readout. Reginald Iler. And here we go, she thought.

“Lieutenant Dallas. Thank you for contacting me, sir.”

He had a hard, handsome face, shrewd, dark eyes. “You look as if you’ve been in a brawl.”

“I have been. With Sergeant Oliver Silverman. He’s now being treated in our secure infirmary and booked as your son’s coconspirator on eighteen counts of murder, and related charges.”

“I’ve never heard of this man. This is—”

“Your surviving son has heard of him, and, in fact, knows him very well. As I explained through your attorney, Sergeant Silverman served under your younger son, Captain Terrance Iler. Mr. Iler, your son and Silverman will do eighteen life sentences, consecutive. I’m going to make absolutely sure of it. I no longer need your cooperation in this matter.”

“Now just a damn minute.”

Gave you too many minutes already, she thought.

“I don’t need it because I have the evidence, and very shortly I’ll have full confessions. However, if your cooperation, as I outlined through your attorney, saves the families of the victims more grief, saves the State of New York time and trouble, I’ll take your cooperation into consideration as regards where your son serves those eighteen consecutive life sentences. Your choice, sir. You’ll have to make it here and now, as I’m about to bring your son back into interview.”

* * *

Later, she sat in the conference room working out strategy with Baxter, Trueheart, Mira, Reo. She came a little painfully to attention when Whitney walked in. And—ah, Jesus—Anna Whitney beside him.

“We won’t get in your way,” Whitney said. “How much longer do you need?”

“We’ve just finished, Commander. I’m having both suspects brought up into separate interview rooms. Baxter and I will work Iler, as we teamed on him earlier. Trueheart and I will work Silverman.”

“You can wait in the lounge, Anna. I’ll have someone come for you. My wife,” he explained, “would appreciate observing the start of each interview, if you have no objections, Lieutenant.”

“No, sir.”

“You’re wondering,” Anna said to Eve, “how I’ll handle the sort of language, the descriptions of violence that go into an interview. I’m a cop’s wife,” she said simply. “Seeing them in the box will give me some peace. Being able to tell Rozilyn I saw them will, eventually, give her and her family some peace.”

She touched a hand to her husband’s arm. “I’ll be in the lounge.”

Eve remained standing when Anna walked out.

“Everybody clear?” she asked. “Any more questions? No? Then let’s get this party started.”

She and Baxter started with Iler, and his attorney led off with a bite.

“I will file a formal compl

aint against both of you,” Singa began. “Demanding my client submit to interview before five in the morning is absurd.”

“He had his eight, Singa.”

“Clearly, this timing violates the spirit of that law.”

“Clearly, you should have thought about the timing before you demanded the eight at twenty hundred hours. File all the complaints you want. We have business to get to. Mr. Iler—”