Connections in Death (In Death, #48)- J. D. Robb Page 0,74

to find her breath. “Are you saying this is my house?”

“I’m saying Cohen used your income and your name on the application to secure the mortgage for this property.”

“Oh God, he’s a lying liar.” She pushed up, hands waving as she stalked around the room. “He said how I had to work in the club, just a few more months, then when it was a few more, he’d say just a few more. To pay the rent, and everything. I gave up my dream because I loved the lying son of a bitch. I was in Swing on Broadway, twice! I made it to Swing, but he said how we needed the money.”

She held her hands out, breathed deep. “But this could be my house?”

“Talk to your lawyer. It should be easy enough to prove your income is what’s been paying the mortgage. Tell him we’ll be happy to share any relevant information when we can.”

“Thank you.” She squared her shoulders. “Lisa, let’s take this downstairs, get Pete on it, and leave Lieutenant Dallas to do what she has to do.”

“That’s the way, El.”

Shoulders still squared, Eldena looked at Eve. “Sam’s going to prison, isn’t he?”

“I think you can count on it.”

“I want to know, because even now I can’t really believe he would. But I want to know if he had anything to do with those people dying. Come on, Leese.”

Lisa rose, picked up the coffee and bagels as Eldena sailed out. “Kick his ass, and kick it hard.”

She intended to, Eve thought. She fully intended to.

* * *

She found nothing of interest on the second level—and wasn’t surprised Cohen used chemicals to get it up for his young lover. His business interests he kept locked in his office, and McNab hit a gold mine.

“It’s all here,” he told her. “He kept good records, didn’t even try to hide them. I mean, you’d think he’d have tried a wipe or something when she kicked him out.”

“He figured he’d talk his way back in. And I don’t think she gave him the time or the space before she booted him out to try the wipe anyway. So he figures to get back in, then cover up whatever he can cover up once he is. He’s stupid, and he figured she was naive and dumb and soft.

“Copy everything,” she told McNab. “The feds’ll roast him, but we’re going to start the fire.”

“Already copied.”

“Good work. Let’s move out. I want to hear anything you found on Jones and/or the Bangers when we’re out of here.”

She headed to Central with Peabody riding shotgun and McNab in the back. “Can I do the coffee thing?” he asked.

“Do it while you report.”

“First, there’s nothing that implicates Vinn re Jones. Oh, and I just want to say, skimming through her tablet—she’s good.” He only grinned at the cool look Peabody aimed over her shoulder. “Not just the sexy moves—which my She-Body has plenty of.”

“Do not,” Eve warned as her eye twitched. “Do not.”

“She’s got other stuff she recorded on there. Like, ballet stuff and tap and all that. And she’s not stupid. On her PPC I found a small personal account. It’s not a lot, but it looks to me like maybe she culled out some of her tip money—that’s how it reads—and set up her own nest.”

“Great. Can we move on to criminal behavior?”

“You bet. He keeps a calendar—appointments. And he has regular meetings with Jones. Once a month. And that coincides with deposits he makes. Meets Jones, stashes money.

“You said to keep it moving,” McNab added, “so I didn’t stick, more got overview, right? And part of that is him also moving product for Jones. Illegals.”

“Is that so?” Eve mused.

“Like I said, good records. My take? Jones skims some of the product, passes it to Cohen, Cohen sells it to his contacts, and they split the profit. Or they did.”

“What does that mean?”

“That end’s been falling off—from my skim—the last eight, nine months.” From the back, McNab gestured with his coffee, downed some. “Less product passed, so less profit for Cohen. He has a client list—disbarred or not—and he lists Jones as a client, and the share from illegals as part of his rolling retainer for legal advice. About six months ago, he took on a client he names as Bang-Two, and it looks like he’s working the same kind of deal. Smaller, but the same sort of deal, and with this one, he’s pulling some from their sex trade.”

“He gets a cut?” Eve

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