“He’s got a good lawyer, slightly on the sleazy side but decent enough in litigation. She—Edie French—is repping them both.”
As she drank, Eve smiled. “Good to know.”
“I’d like to continue to observe.”
“That’s always welcome.”
She waited until the broker and the lawyer—wearing a dark pink skirted suit, her streaked brown hair in a fancy braid—settled in Interview.
“Next round,” she said, and pitched the empty tube into a recycler.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eve walked in, started the record, read off the necessary.
She sat.
French started the ball rolling.
“My client and his partner, whom I’m also representing, contend that Joy Barrister requested they hold an exclusive auction for several pieces, including the Royal Suite. With the request she offered proof of purchase for all items.”
Eve let out a quick laugh. “Are you seriously trying that? Anyone in your client’s line of work is well aware the Royal Suite was stolen from the Tate in London a number of years ago, and has been missing since that time.”
“My client is a retired businessman who has lived in Sorrento, Italy, quietly, for a number of years.”
“Your client is a broker for thieves, fences, and those who covet what doesn’t belong to them, a business he inherited from his grandfather.Just save it. We have the evidence, and we have Joy Barrister’s statement, which coincides with said evidence.”
She looked directly at the broker. “You and Magdelana conspired with Joy Barrister to steal the Royal Suite from the vault where Henry Barrister had it locked away, after he paid to have it stolen. This theft was used as cover for the murder of Nathan Barrister. Not by the thief, but by Joy Barrister. She has confessed.
“She has further confessed to conspiring with you and Magdelana Percell in the hiring of a hit man to kill me.”
“Wait a bloody minute.” Shock covered Mulligan’s face. “I know nothing about such a thing. Nothing.”
He had plenty of Irish in his voice, but it didn’t make her feel sentimental.
“Playback, Peabody.”
Once again, Peabody played back the conversation between Magdelana and Joy.
“Jesus, fecking Jesus Christ. That’s madness.”
“My client is not on that playback, nor is his name mentioned.”
“He’s been sharing a villa and a bed with your other client, whose voice is.”
“Regardless—”
“No regardless.” Mulligan held up a hand. “I’m saying this clear. I knew nothing of this. She went around me, behind me. She’d know I wouldn’t go for it. You don’t go for cops. You don’t.”
“You want us to believe that.”
“I do, as it’s God’s truth. Killing isn’t what I do, or have ever done. You said Joy Barrister did her brother. I believed it was the thief in some sort of panic. I was prepared to give you the name of her in exchange for a deal.”
“We have her name. We have her statement. We have Joy Barrister’s confession.”
He lifted both hands to his face as his head drooped.
“And I’ve been played for a bloody fool. No, I’ll speak,” he said when his lawyer tried to interrupt. “I was retired, and content. I had a wife, I had a family, and then she came along. I lost it all for her. So bewitched was I, so entranced by her. And she played me for a bloody fool. Did murder or had it done.”
