The judge wrapped himself in a short silk robe and went to the small bar he kept in his bedroom to pour himself a nightcap.
He’s alone. Awake. Move in.
In answer to his command, Transporter rappelled from the roof to the front of the condo and knelt by the door. Around him, the rest of the team dropped from the roof, spread out, staying still; it was always the unexpected that got one in trouble.
He’s turned on his stereo and appears to be settling. He’s in bed, Czar told his team.
That was good. They could hear the music. Classical. The judge liked it loud. Hopefully the neighbors were used to it.
Transporter had the door unlocked and he cautiously pushed it open. Ice took lead, entering first. The room, as expected, was empty. He was a little shocked that the judge didn’t have a better security system than the crappy one they’d found and disabled. It was more for show than real, probably because the judge didn’t want to take a chance that anyone might be able to get a shot of him on camera doing what he loved best, so he’d bought a security system off the Internet rather than having one installed by an actual company.
Ice moved into the room, padding across the floor, careful not to touch anything. They had Winston’s prints and a few hair follicles they’d gotten from a brush in his bathroom. They had decided that Winston would take the blame for the deaths of the other members of the con ring. It was known that he had a bad temper, and when he was angry, he was clearly capable of murder. More than once he’d been seen yelling at a couple of the others. Ice had been in his home several times in the last week, collecting everything they would need.
The story had broken in the news, and it had been huge. The missing heiress was married to a biker. That was exactly the kind of news that seemed to appeal to everyone. Winston had insisted she was ill, and her marrying a biker only proved his point. He wanted her seen by a doctor and remanded to his custody. He had been very specific about which doctor she was to see. Dr. Cyrus Mills had to be involved with the con artist ring, and when Code looked closer into his financials, it was very clear that he was.
Ice had been shocked at how many upstanding citizens were involved. Code began to go back several years and found more than fifteen women who had died under what he considered suspicious circumstances, and that was just in the Northern California area. Perhaps if they’d all been married to the same man, their deaths would have raised an alarm, but only a few times had the same man been widowed there in California. Code said the pattern was repeated in other places.
Winston had wanted in on the scheme, and he’d been given his chance. No one was very happy with him. Now, he had drawn attention to them. Even if they got Soleil back, it wasn’t as if they could just kill her right away, unless they could make it look like a suicide.
Ice and Storm crossed the room to the hallway. Czar sent Mechanic and Transporter to check the other rooms while Savage walked boldly into the bedroom, the twins behind him, immediately spreading out. Absinthe followed them in.
The judge had his eyes closed but, sensing the menace, opened them and tried to grab for his phone. Savage yanked it from him. He didn’t say anything, just put the phone in his pocket and stepped back.
Ice smiled at him. “Good evening, Judge. I’m so glad you had a nice relaxing evening with Mistress Scarlet. I always like to know a man’s last night is a happy one.”
The judge put his sternest face on. “What do you want?”
“You had to know, sooner or later, your lifestyle was going to catch up to you, and I don’t mean the lovely Mistress Scarlett. Your friends have been murdering women for several years now, and you help them do it.”
The judge shook his head and pulled back, looking innocent. “No. No. Absolutely not. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t want me to let Savage loose on you, Judge. We already know you’re a part of the con ring targeting very wealthy women.”
The judge hesitated, started to bluster and then changed his mind. “Those women are dying. The men make their last days very happy ones. They choose to let those men in their lives and are glad for them. They’re grateful. No one suffers. The money has to go somewhere.”
“Some of those women were in their early forties or late thirties. And then there’s Soleil. She’s not even thirty. They weren’t dying, and you know it. You may try to justify it, but in the end their lives don’t matter to you, only the things you can have with the money they pay you.”