“Nobody held a bang stick to their heads.”
“You just beat their wives, threatened to kill their children. You built the bombs, the vests,” Eve repeated.
“I got the training. Didn’t make the cut, and that was a pisser. I knew what I was doing. I trained myself more after they booted me back to the world. I could’ve taken out more than I did, but Lucius wanted to keep the casualties down. He’s got soft spots.”
“How’d you pick the targets?”
“What do you care?” He smirked. “Got blowed up, didn’t they?”
“It took some doing, some work, some smarts. Why don’t you tell us how smart you are, Sergeant?”
“Shit. Rogan was easy. That asswipe Banks fed Lucius some intel on the merger—rich bastards getting richer. We’re just sitting around one night, me and Lucius, drinking and bullshitting, and he says how we could make a windfall buying up some of the stocks. We started playing with it, then we could see how it could work.”
“And how was that. Why Paul Rogan?”
“Lucius wanted to pick a father. He’s got a hard-on for his own, right? He wanted to see, like an experiment, if a father would give his life for his kid. His brother gave his life for his men. It’s like the same, so we started working on it. Rogan fit the bill.”
“I’m going to say Lucius worked up the jammers, the way through security.”
Silverman jerked a shoulder. “He’s got a knack. Took him weeks, but he figured it out.”
“You handled the parents, he handled the kids.”
“No hurting the kids, that was his line.”
“But the women were fair game.”
“You gotta incentivize people. They don’t believe you’ll follow through, they don’t follow through.”
“Lucius set up the fake accounts, buried them, bought up stocks,” Eve prodded.
“He’s got good brains for that shit. He’s an asshole on tactics, but he knows his money shit.”
“How much did you make?”
“One-point-three.” When he grinned a little blood dribbled down his chin. He swiped it away. “More money than I’ve seen in my life, all at once.”
“And still not enough. Did you always plan to steal the Richie from Banks?”
“That jerk-off? Lucius said we’d consider that the jerk-off’s fee. We had some already, and we’d have more after we got the art guy to blow up the artist and a bunch of his faggy art shit.”
“But Banks pushed his way into it. You had to kill him.”
Silverman eased toward Eve. “If I could’ve gotten my hands on you just right?” He bared his teeth as he twisted his hands, made a crunching sound. “Stupid fuck walked right into it. Lucius was a little shaky after I did it, but he held up.”
“The two of you dumped Banks’s body in the reservoir.”
“It’s called teamwork.”
“Lucius had already broken into Banks’s apartment for the Richie artwork.”
“That was slick.” Admiration gleamed in those dark eyes. “Damn slick. He’s got skills, and we both figured we might as well have it.”
“It’s a tight timeline, Rogan to Banks to Denby.”
“Tighter than we figured, but we worked it. Gotta think on your feet in the field.”
You’re not thinking so much now, Eve decided. Now you’re bragging. “Where was Lucius supposed to meet you, after I paid him a visit, got him all worked up?”
“He’s not used to dealing with cops. We were supposed to meet at the garage. I figured it went south when he didn’t show.”
“Did he know you planned to move on Chenowitz?”
Silverman responded with another smirk. “He’d have known when we got there.”
“Did he know you planned to kill the wife and kid this time?”
“Look, I let him have his way before on that, and that’s why it went FUBAR. We left them alive. Dead don’t talk.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Where were you going to go?” Trueheart wondered. “You knew your partner was compromised, you knew, had to know, we were coming for you.”
“Private shuttle, dickwad. We got the scratch for it, and enough to buy some pilot’s silence. We get to Port Salute—no extradition, tropical, beaches? All the money we need. We get there, we’re home free. Fat fucking City.”
“There won’t be any beaches for you, Silverman,” Eve said.
He shot up his middle finger. “Do you think I care about doing time? I’m a goddamn soldier. Nothing you can throw at me I can’t handle. You won’t break me.”
Eve stood. “I just did. Detective, have the prisoner taken back to his cell. You’re a disgrace to everything Captain Iler stood for, fought for, died for.”
“You don’t know dick about squat.”
“I know you. I’ve seen you before. I’ll see you again. You’re nothing special. Dallas, exiting interview.”
She stopped outside the door, scrubbed her hands over her face. Coffee, she thought. One more hit, then she’d go back on Iler.
Mira stepped out of Observation, laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder, rubbed gently. Eve sent a leery glance at the medical bag in her other hand.
“You need another round with the healing wand and ice patches.”
“I need coffee.”
“You can drink it while we have that round. Save time,” Mira added. “Don’t argue with a doctor. You played him perfectly.” She steered Eve toward Eve’s office. “Tapped into his anger, resentment, manhood, ego. He may have emotional issues resulting from the attack, his injuries, and the loss of fellow soldiers.”
“Screw that. He—”
“Wait.” She nudged Eve onto her desk chair, opened her doctor’s bag. “His emotional issues don’t negate his actions. He showed no remorse. Look up. In fact,” she continued as she ran the healing want over Eve’s bruises. “He showed pride. He was, knowing he had no escape route, pleased to share details. To brag. In a very real way, he considers himself now a prisoner of war. He needs to be on suicide watch. He will try to self-terminate, whatever he claimed about not breaking.”
“Yeah, I already planned for that. I need that coffee.”
“One second.” Mira applied the ice patches, walked to the AutoChef. She handed Eve coffee. “I’m going to close the door and do the rest of you.”
“It’s not that bad.”
Mira simply walked to the door, locked it. “Strip off the jacket, weapon, shirt. I don’t want to recommend to your commander that you should be taken to a health center.”
“Goddamn it.” Outgunned, she pushed up, started to jerk off her jacket. Everything twinged and pinged at once.
“Here.” Mira slid the jacket off. “We’ll get this done, no fuss, then you’ll finish your job.” She helped Eve out of her harness, her shirt. Then sighed.
“Not that bad? Really, Eve, damn it! Did the MTs say ribs are broken?”
“Bruised. Just bruised.” She clamped her teeth down as the healing wand could sting on deeper injuries. “Maybe a hairline fracture. Maybe.”
“Internal injuries?”
“No. I swear. Roarke wouldn’t have let me skate out of there and straight here. I’ve got strains and sprains in places I didn’t know could get strains and sprains. The son of a bitch can fight.”
“Obviously so can you.”
She closed her eyes, ordered her body to relax, to accept the treatment. “Roarke’s Christmas present—dojo, training—holo and in the flesh with the master. I let it come. I was a goddamn crane, and a snake, a freaking dragon. Had the tiger coming, but he tried to take a header off the wall.”
“I have to admit, I’d like to have seen that. You’re going to need another treatment in three hours.”
“Okay.”
Mira kissed Eve cheek. “I mean it.”
“I know it. Or you’ll rat me out to Whitney.”
“And Roarke.”
“Figured.”
She had to admit she felt better after Mira got done with her. With Baxter she walked back into Interview A with Iler. Singa remained counsel of record.
“Record on, resuming interview. So here we are again. I have to tell you—full disclosure, because why the hell not—Silverman rolled on you like a pig rolls in shit.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”