a photo. Do you have a copy of that message and photo, Detective Peabody?”
“I do.” Peabody opened her own file. “The message reads: ‘Proof of completion. Wire final payment as agreed.’ And offers this as proof.”
She laid the copy in the middle of the table. “As you can see, the first responders were on scene, working to secure and preserve it, but it’s a clear shot of Galla Modesto with her gut ripped open. You got what you paid for, Tween.”
“They planted it. They planted it all.”
“Right, several members of the NYPSD decided to plant evidence. Such as the two payments you made to a numbered account in Andorra. The first two weeks ago, the second on the night of Galla’s murder. Like this additional piece of evidence here: your payment to Salvadore Bellacore, a criminal broker—a man who, for a fee, matches clients with the enforcer of their needs. That one’s from March of this year. The local police in Sardinia are having a conversation with Sal as we speak. He’ll roll on you and back again.”
Gotte snatched the copy. “This is to a farm in Sardinia.”
“Bellacore’s farm, and his cover. I happen to have a copy of his sheet. It’s a long one. You might also want to take a look at the earlier communications on the clone, where your client gets his first message from someone using the name Blade—funny, as that’s his weapon of choice. That message logs in on April nineteenth, sets the terms of one million euros plus expenses. Half to be transferred immediately to the aforementioned account, the other half, with expenses, to be wired immediately following proof of completion.”
She shoved more copies across the table, and just kept hammering.
“You’re welcome to read the transcripts of their communications wherein the hired killer asks for information on the target, and is provided with same. Wherein the hired killer asks if the client wishes the wife’s lover dispatched for an additional fee, and the client declines. Wherein the professional killer sought by, hired by, and paid by Jorge Tween—as is evidenced by a shadow account under that name—confirms his arrival in New York two days before the killing. And wherein your fucking client informs the professional killer of his wife’s plans to meet Marlon Stowe in Washington Square Park, at what time, and at what place in the park, with the order to complete the job at that time.”
Eve shoved the entire file across the table. “It didn’t matter that she’d broken off the affair, was meeting Stowe to say a last goodbye. She’d insulted you, and you couldn’t tolerate it. You couldn’t opt for divorce, because she had buckets of money compared to you, and the only way to get it was as her widower.”
“This is all lies! All fabricated. The Modestos put her up to this! Clearly, they’re paying her off. They—”
“Be quiet,” Gotte snapped. “Not another word. We need to consult with our client.”
“I bet you do.” Eve rose. “Just FYI, Tween, putting your wife’s property in Tuscany, in Florence up for sale while she’s in a drawer at the morgue? Cold and obvious. Also blocked.”
“You didn’t even bother to go see her,” Peabody said as she rose. “You couldn’t even pretend to give a damn.”
“Dallas and Peabody exiting Interview. Record off.”
Outside, Eve leaned back against the wall.
“I didn’t expect you to hit him with all of that in the first round,” Peabody commented.
“Did you watch Gotte? She’s pissed. He lied to her, right down the line lied, and she doesn’t like it. She’d have repped him knowing the truth, it’s her job, but he lied. And now she knows he’s guilty, she knows we have a big pile of evidence, and she has to figure out how to get him the best deal. And the other—the corporate lawyer? He’s stunned, shocked, sick. He’ll remove himself as counsel before the next round.”
“I guess I was too busy watching Tween. He was shocked, too. He was genuinely shocked we found all of it, that we went into his house, his e’s, and found all of it.
“He never mentioned his son, Dallas.”
“He will. He isn’t thinking about the kid now. The kid’s just a means to an end. He’ll try to use that means eventually.”
She glanced over as Reo and Mira walked down from Observation.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” Eve said to Mira.
“I heard enough. I wouldn’t term him a true sociopath. It’s situational. He has no conscience regarding his wife, as he