“It would be, for you. I’ll get a warrant, do it straight. If I’m going to bring Bayliss into Interview, and I am, I want it straight, and I want it clean.”
“Then you may want to ask for another warrant while you’re at it. On Vernon.”
“It’s already on my list,” she began, then got slowly to her feet. “You followed the money.”
“I did indeed, through a circuitous, convoluted, and tedious route, back to Max Ricker Unlimited. That doesn’t give you Ricker personally passing funds from his hand to Vernon’s, but it does involve his corporation. He’s not as clever as he once was,” Roarke murmured. “Or as careful. It should have taken me twice this long to trace it back to him.”
“Maybe you’re more clever than you once were.” She walked over to study the screen, laying a hand on Roarke’s shoulder. Most of what she saw was a jumble of accounts, names, companies. But one name in particular jumped out, made her smile.
“Canarde, am I reading this right? He’s attorney of record for Northeast Manufacturing, a subsidary of Ricker’s main deal?”
“That’s right.”
“And am I reading this one? Canarde authorized the electronic transfer of funds, funneled through the main deal, into Northeast, over into this other corporation, up into the casino in Vegas II, where Vernon picked it up, ostensibly as gambling winnings.”
“I’m so proud.” He took the hand on her shoulder, pressed his lips to her palm.
“Thanks, but you’ve diagramed it here so a moron could connect the dots. I wanted a shot at that smug son of a bitch Canarde. Now I’ve got one. Except I can’t use it,” she said in disgust and paced away. “Unless I can get Vernon to roll.”
She’d get him to roll, she promised herself, then moving away from the control center so that her communicator screen would show nothing but the screened window, she contacted her commander.
She wanted some brass knuckles.
Roarke sat where he was, watching her, listening to her make her case: clear, he thought, concise, detailed, and dispassionate. He knew her like a book and could already see the steps she planned to take.
He wasn’t the least surprised when she pressed Whitney after he agreed to throw his weight into her request for a warrant in the morning.
“Sir, I want to move on Captain Bayliss tonight.”
“Lieutenant, Captain Bayliss remains a ranking officer in the NYPSD. Convincing a judge to grant an immediate warrant ordering him to submit to interrogation regarding two homicides is going to be tricky.”
“I realize that, Commander. Which is why I contacted you, in the hopes that you will, in turn, contact Chief Tibble.”
“You want me to call Tibble in on this?”
“Certain information has come into my hands that leads me to believe Chief Tibble will be receptive to this request. I cannot at this point in my investigation ascertain whether Captain Bayliss is a suspect or a target. However, I have no doubt he falls on one side of the line. If he’s a target, quick action may save his life. If he is a suspect, that same action may save another.”
“Dallas, your personal feelings—”
“Do not apply, sir, and have not influenced my current findings.”
“Be damn sure of it,” Whitney muttered. “I’ll contact the chief.”
“Thank you, Commander. At this time, I request a second warrant for Detective Jeremy Vernon of the One two-eight, requiring him to report for a formal interview at nine hundred tomorrow morning, regarding the same investigation.”
“Christ.” It was his first and only exclamation. “You’ve been busy.”
“Yes, sir,” she said so coolly he let out a short laugh.
“I’ll get the warrants, Lieutenant. Expect me, and in all probability Chief Tibble, in observation during these interviews. Let’s take some care here. We’re going to look like we’ve taken a page from IAB’s book.”
“Understood. I’ll await verification and receipt of the warrants.”
“Well done,” Roarke said quietly when she ended the transmission.
“Not close to done. I have to go get dressed. Thanks for the help.”
“One moment.” He rose and walked to her. He took her face in his hands and lowered his mouth, taking hers in a kiss of quiet, somehow desperate tenderness.