Mira set her medical bag on Peabody’s desk. “I could say pitted against, but it is a form of engaging. Peabody, let’s have a look at that knee.”
“We’re about to go into Interview.”
“Call Jones up while she’s doing what she does,” Eve said. “It’ll take awhile to get him here.” As she spoke, Eve pulled over Baxter’s desk chair so Mira could sit.
“Thanks. Of course, I’ve observed countless interviews before, but this has been a kind of microcosm.”
In her gentle, efficient way, Mira rolled up Peabody’s pants leg, removed the brace. “I think I’ll write a paper on it. How’s the discomfort level?”
“It’s not bad. A little more when I’m walking around. But I haven’t been.”
“Good. I’m going to cold wand it.”
Maybe the discomfort wasn’t bad, Eve thought, but there was still considerable swelling and bruising.
Definitely riding the desk for the rest of the week, Eve reaffirmed. Longer if need be.
She waited until Peabody finished arranging for Jones to be brought into Interview. “I should have let you take the asshole who pulled you down into the box.”
“Nah. Jenkinson and Reineke wrapped him up. Do you have time to do a little—maybe on my face?”
“Of course.” Mira glanced over at Eve. “For both of you.”
“After the media deal—her, too. We’re going to show cops can take a hit.”
Mira nodded as she treated Peabody’s knee. “Your choice of outfit today makes you look like you give more hits than you take.”
“That’s the idea.”
22
Saving Jones for the last interview of the day hadn’t just allowed Eve to close out three murders with three arrests—with Cohen to provide the icing on her justice cake the next day. It had given her the opportunity to gather more data from the three men who would spend their lives in cages.
She’d have all that in her pocket as she and Peabody “engaged with” Marcus Jones.
He sat alone in Interview when they walked in, started the record, read off the salient. He slouched—not out of despair, but to show how unconcerned he was. After his gaze tracked lazily over her face, then Peabody’s, he allowed a hint of pleasure to show.
“Took you long enough, but I’ve got nothing to say.”
“One of your rights,” Eve returned as she and Peabody took their seats. “And I know you were read your rights, as I did it myself. You can sit there and be as quiet as you want. We still get paid.”
“Got nothing to say,” he repeated. “And I’m exercising another right. I’m waiting for my lawyer.”
Eve gave him wide eyes. “You requested legal representation and your lawyer hasn’t yet arrived? Must be a busy guy.”
“Good lawyers are busy lawyers.”
“Well then, we’ll have you taken back to Holding until such time as your lawyer gets here.” She started to rise, then angled her head. “Say, your lawyer doesn’t happen to be Samuel Cohen?”
Jones’s only reaction was a narrowing of his eyes. “That’s my business.”
“It is, definitely. It’s just that if you’re waiting for Cohen, well, you’re going to be waiting, oh, about … forever. He’s currently in federal custody representing himself against a whole … What’s the word I’m after?”
“I think it’s shitload,” Peabody supplied.
“That’s it. A shitload of crimes. You’ll also be talking to the FBI when we’re done here. But since you’re exercising your right to remain silent, and wait for your attorney, we’ll have you taken back, and notify the Special Agent in Charge.”
“That’s bullshit.”