“Was she blackmailing you?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“The evidence says it for you,” Eve stated. “She was blackmailing you; you were paying her off. I’m sure you’re aware there are only two ways to stop extortion, Chief Simpson. One, you cut off the supply. Two . . . you eliminate the blackmailer.”
“This is absurd. I didn’t kill Sharon. I was paying her like clockwork. I—”
“Chief Simpson.” The elder of the team of lawyers put a hand on Simpson’s arm, squeezed. He turned his mild gaze to Eve. “My client has no statement to make regarding Sharon DeBlass. Obviously, we will cooperate in any way with the Internal Revenue Service’s investigation into my client’s records. At this time, however, no charges have been made. We’re here only as a courtesy, and to show our goodwill.”
“Were you acquainted with a woman known as Lola Starr?” Eve shot out.
“My client has no comment.”
“Did you know licensed companion, Georgie Castle?”
“Same response,” the lawyer said patiently.
“You’ve done everything you could to roadblock this murder investigation from the beginning. Why?”
“Is that a statement of fact, Lieutenant Dallas?” the lawyer asked. “Or an opinion?”
“I’ll give you facts. You knew Sharon DeBlass, intimately. She was hosing you for a hundred grand a year. She’s dead, and someone is leaking confidential information on the investigation. Two more women are dead. All the victims made their living through legal prostitution—something you oppose.”
“My opposition of prostitution is a political, moral, and a personal stance,” Simpson said tightly. “I will support wholeheartedly any legislation that outlaws it. But I would hardly eliminate the problem by picking off prostitutes one at a time.”
“You own a collection of antique weapons,” Eve persisted.
“I do,” Simpson agreed, ignoring his attorney. “A small, limited collection. All registered, secured, and inventoried. I’ll be more than happy to turn them over to Commander Whitney for testing.”
“I appreciate that,” Whitney said, shocking Simpson by agreeing. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
Simpson rose, his face a battleground of emotion. “When this matter is cleared up, I won’t forget this meeting.” His eyes rested briefly on Eve. “I won’t forget who attacked the office of Chief of Police and Security.”
Commander Whitney waited until Simpson sailed out, followed by his team of attorney
s. “When this is settled, he won’t get within a hundred yards of the office of Chief of Police and Security.”
“I needed more time to work on him. Why’d you let him walk?”
“His isn’t the only name on the DeBlass list,” Whitney reminded her. “And there’s no tie, as yet, between him and the other two victims. Whittle the list down, get me a tie, and I’ll give you all the time you need.” He paused, shuffling through the hard copies of the documents that had been transmitted to his office. “Dallas, you seemed very prepared for this interview. Almost as if you’d been expecting it. I don’t suppose I need remind you that tampering with private documents is against the law.”
“No, sir.”
“I didn’t think I did. Dismissed.”
As she headed for the door, she thought she heard him murmur “Good job” but she might have been mistaken.
She was taking the elevator to her own section when her communicator blipped. “Dallas.”
“Call for you. Charles Monroe.”
“I’ll get back to him.”
She snagged a cup of sludge masquerading as coffee, and what might have been a doughnut as she passed through the bullpen area of the records section. It took nearly twenty minutes for her to requisition copies of the discs for the three homicides.
Closeting herself in her office, she studied them again. She reviewed her notes, made fresh ones.
The victim was on the bed each time. The bed rumpled each time. They were naked each time. Their hair was mussed.