“You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”
“You have the right to remain silent. You also have the right to put on pants before I cuff you and have you taken into Central.”
“You keep your hands off me, keep them off my things. I’m contacting my lawyer.”
“Also your right, and we’ll get to the rest of your rights and obligations. But really, Steve? Pants. Baxter! Come on up here and assist Mr. Whitt in getting dressed. Mirandize him while you’re at it.”
Inside those empty eyes Eve saw flickers of a dark, deadly heat. “You’re going to pay for this.”
“I’m standing here looking at you naked, with bed hair and a bad disposition. I’ve already paid.”
23
Whitt contacted his lawyer. Eve imagined he’d have a fleet of them when they got down to business at Central. But for now, she had two burly, hard-eyed uniforms escort him out to the waiting black-and-white.
“You’re finished.” While his eyes stayed cold, empty, his cuffed hands balled into fists. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I’ll finish you.”
She only smiled as the uniforms perp-walked him out.
“No smirk,” she commented. “Not so smug. Pissed more than scared, but not so smug.”
She looked around the perfectly ordered living area, more showroom than home to her eye, with its navy gel sofa, its white accent chairs, polished steel tables, and splashy modern art.
“We’re going to find something,” she mumbled. “Something he thinks he’s stashed away where we won’t find it, but didn’t think he needed to get rid of or hide somewhere else.”
“He didn’t even ask about the charges,” Peabody pointed out. “Especially the last one. The third murder.”
“That’s right. He’s trying to work out how we found Cosner so fast. He thinks he’s covered on that. He’ll have a safe, at least one. We’ll get into that. But he’s got some hidey-hole, something a little trickier. Let’s find it.”
She started in the bedroom, as she found people generally considered that their safe space. She found the safe, spent several tense and sweaty minutes bypassing the locks, only to find nothing of particular interest inside. Man jewelry, some cash, his passport.
Feeney walked into the closet. “That’s a decent safe. You bypass?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re picking things up, kid. And speaking of Roarke, you said how he said Whitt didn’t know much about comps? I’m here to tell you, he don’t know dick. Had the unit in his home office passcoded so weak Mavis’s toddler could’ve gotten through. A couple of basic filters you can poof just giving them a hard stare.”
“I take it you’re in.”
“Oh, we’re in.” Feeney took a bag of candied almonds from his baggy pocket, offered some. “Mostly business on it. Financial gobbledygook for clients. Roarke could figure it, or we’ll bring in a forensic accountant, but it looks legit. Here’s what’s not on there. Any of his personal finances.”
“Roarke looked at those. Suspects some money launderi
ng. Cash outlays that don’t make sense.” Frowning, she sat back on her heels. “You’re saying he doesn’t have any personal stuff on there?”
“Not money-wise. I’m guessing he didn’t know enough to keep two sets of books.”
“Add arrogance. Hidey-hole.” She scanned the closet. “There has to be one. Maybe a false wall. Let’s—”
“I’ve got it! Woot!”
At Peabody’s call, Eve scrambled up, and found her partner on her hands and knees at the foot of Whitt’s bed.
Obviously pleased, Peabody actually wiggled her butt. “That rug was over it. I thought, well, you never know, took a peek under, and hey, I did know. Secret compartment in the floor. It’s really well done, custom work. With a thumbprint lock.”
Eve calculated how much time it would take to bypass, walked to the door, shouted, “I need a crowbar.”
Pleased shifted to seriously distressed as Peabody pressed a hand to her heart. “Aw, Dallas, the flooring’s gorgeous.”