“I’ll do both. Thanks. Maybe I won’t need the insurance, but I’m not going to gamble.”
She kissed him, then dashed to the car. As she sped toward the gates, she hit lights and sirens.
She flicked her wrist unit to contact Peabody.
“Get to the courthouse. Fifteenth floor. Ebersole’s being arraigned at nine, and there’s a bail hearing.”
“At nine? How did they—”
“Money, Peabody. Get there.”
When Eve spotted a knot in traffic ahead, she punched vertical. She didn’t have time to waste.
Her in-dash signaled. She nearly ignored it when the readout told her Nadine Furst. Then she calculated.
“I’m on my way to the courthouse.”
“So am I. Or will be in three minutes.”
“If you want a one-on-one, you’ve got it, but it has to be fast.”
“Make that a minute and a half,” Nadine said, and clicked off.
APA Cher Reo didn’t allow herself to pace outside the courtroom. Pacing here would make her look weak and nervous.
She was, by God, not weak. But plenty nervous.
She had no doubt in her mind, with the evidence in hand—and whatever else could be gathered—she’d get a conviction. For Christ’s sake, the NYPSD had caught him with his next victim, one he’d threatened to kill—on record. They had the paintings, the costumes, his own words, the drugs used, the wire, the damn glue.
They had it all.
And none would matter if he got out, got away, riding and hiding on Harper Group money.
She’d make that case, and she’d push it hard.
But, but, but.
She sprang up from her bench, shoving files aside as she spotted Peabody.
“Where’s Dallas?”
“She was on her way when she made contact. I’m closer, but she’ll be here. How the hell did this happen so fast?”
“They pulled all the aces from the deck—including getting Judge McEnroy on the bench.”
“That’s not good. But still, bail’s not going to happen.”
“I want the judge to see NYPSD in the courtroom. I want, if I can wrangle it, a chance for him to hear the arresting officer’s statement on that arrest. I’ve barely had time to prepare. They got the jump on me.
“And here they come.”
Peabody glanced back to see four people striding down the wide hall. Two men in suits, one woman in a suit. And a second woman she recognized as Phoebe Harper.
She thought the three lawyers looked just like a vid version of slick and successful attorneys.
On the other hand, Phoebe Harper looked quietly elegant in a long-sleeved black dress, her golden brown hair waving to just above her shoulders.
She was thin and petite, makeup subtle, jewelry understated. And she looked, Peabody gauged, about a dozen years younger than sixty-seven.
