“Which part? Cohen hasn’t returned your tags, has he? He can’t because his ’link’s been confiscated, and he has no access to it. The feds do—and, of course, the NYPSD did. We also accessed his electronics, his records. Yeah, the feds can’t wait to have a nice, long chat with you.”
“You think I’m afraid of a bunch of FBI suits?”
“You should be. Especially after Cohen spills his guts.”
“Bring them in here.” His chains rattled when he jabbed a finger at her. “They want Cohen, I’ll make them a deal.”
“Sorry, you have to deal with us first, and you’re not talking to us, as is your right. We’ll wait until you have something to say and/or engage another attorney.”
“He’ll need a public defender,” Peabody pointed out as she and Eve stood. “Since all his accounts are frozen.”
“That’s his problem.” Eve made a point of gathering up her files as she spoke to Peabody. “Just like the three charges of murder in the first are his problem, and that’s before the feds get him.”
“Murder my ass.” Jones tried to shove to his feet. His chains rattled again, held him in place. “You’re not going to pin murders on me.”
“You either invoke your right to remain silent or you don’t. You invoke your right to an attorney or you waive it. Decide.”
“I’m saying you’re not pinning murders on me.”
“Are you now willing to speak, to answer questions, without the benefit of legal representation?”
“I’m not having some limp-dick court-ordered winding me up. I can handle myself, and you got no murders on me.”
“Your former lawyer disagrees. He’s laying them right on you.”
“He’s a lying sack!”
Eve sat again, waited for Peabody to do the same. “On that we agree. He’s a lying, cheating sack. But he was pretty convincing when he laid out how you planned Lyle Pickering’s murder, and how he tried to talk you out of it.”
“I never killed Pick, and anybody who says so is a liar. Pick was a brother to me. I never talked to Cohen about Pick until after you came and said how he was dead.”
“You did speak with Cohen about it?”
“After. He’s a lawyer, ain’t he? Supposed to be my fucking lawyer, so I told him you’d come sniffing.”
“Reasonable,” Eve said easily. “And what did he advise?”
“He said not to worry none. Sounded to him like you were trying to get a rise out of Pick’s OD, out of Dinnie getting dead.” Wrists cuffed, Jones beat a fist into his palm. “Now he’s trying to save his own ass and using mine. Well, I can do the same. I know plenty about that mofo.”
“I’m sure you do, and I imagine the FBI will be interested in what you have to say about your business dealings with him. But before they get their turn…”
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She stacked the files, tapped them.
“We’ve got three murders, illegals charges, weapons charges, the matter of using unlicensed sex workers—including minors—for profit, extorting money—your protection racket. Oh, and there’s the explosives materials found on your property, assorted firebombings, assaults, kidnapping, witness intimidation, related murders, and I can cap all that and other charges off with the attempted murder of a police officer. That would be me.”
“I was defending myself.”
“Ah … no. See, your property—and your name’s on that property—was entered via warrant, you and your … guests? Tenants? Were so informed. You resisted with force. You, specifically, aimed a stunner—illegal to civilians—on full at me, fired it while stating…”
She flipped through the file. “‘You’re done, bitch.’”
“If I had a stunner on full, why didn’t you go down?”
Eve wiggled her fingers in the air. “Magic. So three murders, all the rest, and an attempted on me. I can tell you the courts take a really dim view of attempts to kill police. I know because I’m police.”
“I never killed Pick or Dinnie or that dumb-ass Fist. I’ve been looking into that myself, figuring out about who did.”