Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

Silverman sat, arms crossed, face a mass of bruises.

“I’ve got nothing to say. I’m waiting for my attorney, so you can kiss my ass.”

“Your court-appointed?” Eve responded, then smiled. “Oh, I bet you mean that high-priced criminal attorney you contacted after booking, the one shuttling in about now from Philadelphia. Too bad we’re going to have to inform him you have no available funds.”

“I’ve got funds. I’ve got resources. Fuck you.”

“You’ve got nothing. Accounts frozen. Iler’s got nothing. And his daddy won’t pay. Not one thin dime. If you’re thinking of trying to find a way to turn those Richie paintings into quick cash, you can forget that. They’ve been confiscated from the garage Iler rented.”

She dropped into a chair. “EDD’s putting your comps and devices back together in the lab. Of course, it’s more out of a sense of pride at this point as we have all we need. For you? Well’s dry. You have a right to an attorney, and since you can’t afford one, one will be appointed for you. You can wait in your cage while we get that going.”

His eyes, surrounded by bruises, stayed dark and sharp on hers. “Fuck the lawyers, fuck the courts, fuck you.”

“I think he’s a little upset he got taken down by a woman, Lieutenant.”

She shot Trueheart an easy smile. “You think? He got most of his dick and one of his balls blown off. He can pump the chemical testosterone and steroids all he wants. They don’t make him a man.”

“You shut your dick trap.”

She pushed her face into his. “Make me.”

“Now, Lieutenant, come on. Ease back.” Trueheart patted her arm. “He was wounded serving his country.”

She shrugged, sat back. “Do you want the lawyer, Silverman?”

“Didn’t I say fuck the lawyers? Did I bust your eardrums when I punched that bitch face?”

“I can hear you fine. You’re waiving your right to an attorney? You need to say it for the record.”

“I don’t need or want a goddamn shit-ass lawyer. I’m a soldier. I can take care of myself.”

“You were a soldier,” Eve corrected. “Now you’re a murderer. Is that why you went to Iler? I bet his brother talked about him—the big bro who read him stories, looked after him when they were kids. Did you figure you’d find a brother in Iler?”

“Captain Terrance Iler was the best man I know. And those sons of bitches killed him. He dragged me out. I told him to leave me, but he dragged me out, and he went back in

, and they killed him.”

“Is this how you honor his sacrifice?” Trueheart asked, his voice church quiet.

“Fuck sacrifice. Fuck the Army. Those sons of bitches blew themselves up to kill us, but there’s always more. I was ready to go back, take some bastards out. They say I’m not fit to serve? They say the bombing scrambled up my brains? I ended up on the street thanks to them.”

“You used your compensation, your pension, to buy drugs, and what you had left, you gambled away,” Eve reminded him. “You refused to continue treatment at any VA facility, or utilize the assistance offered to veterans.”

“Fuck all of that.” His mouth twisted so violently into a snarl, the healing bottom lip slit open again. “Do you think I’d take their pity?”

“It’s gratitude for service,” Eve corrected. “But rather than take it, you targeted innocent people, and took lives.”

“Innocent is bullshit. Nobody’s innocent.”

“What made Paul Rogan guilty?”

“Which one is that?”

Eve’s gut clenched at the careless question. All the dead were the same to him. “The first. The man whose wife and daughter you tormented until he blew himself up, as well as others at Quantum HQ.”

“Fucking pussy is what he was. Cried. Begged, pleaded. It’s called tactics, moron. It’s called putting the pieces in play.”

“So Rogan and Denby were pieces to be put in play?”