“So you went to Bellacore.”
“To explore possibilities. He understood my issues. He said he could put me in touch with someone. Or rather put someone in touch with me. He told me what to do. He named a price.”
Eve nodded. “What did he tell you to do?”
“I was to acquire a clone ’link and secure it. I was to pay him, Bellacore, either in cash or through his farm. I didn’t have that kind of cash. I said I needed more information before I paid that kind of money. And he told me about Lorcan Cobbe.”
8
“He gave you Cobbe’s name, even before you paid the broker’s fee?”
“I brought him a bottle of wine, and he drank most of it. He’s old, and he likes to talk about his glory days. I listened. He told me Lorcan Cobbe was one of the best he’d ever brokered. That he had over twenty years’ experience in his profession. How he got early training from some Irish gangster in Dublin. It would be costly, a million euros plus expenses, but it would be money well spent. And there would be no trace back to me.
“Liar.” Tween tapped his fist on the table, over and over. “Liar.”
“How did Cobbe contact you?”
“I sent Bellacore the contact number on the clone. He told me to check it every day. Cobbe would contact me. If, for any reason, he turned down the job, Bellacore would provide another name. He also told me never to let Cobbe know I had his name. His actual name. Bellacore laughed and said if Cobbe knew I knew, we could both end up with our throats slit.”
Tween drank more water. “I tried to push for an actual meeting, but Bellacore said to trust him, the last thing I wanted was to come face-to-face with Lorcan Cobbe. He’d still kill my wife, but very likely come back for me. So I pushed to have a conversation, like an interview. Bellacore thought that was funny, but I made it a deal breaker. He said to acquire two clones. He would arrange for Cobbe to contact me, to talk, on the first. Then I’d destroy that one, and all other contacts would be via text on the second ’link.”
“And?”
“First I got a text from Bellacore. Just a time and a day. I used my office at home, locked the door, and Cobbe contacted me. He blocked video, but we had a conversation. He wanted to know specifics about my wife, about the artist. I wanted more specifics on his experience and success rate before I made the down payment.”
Tween picked up his water again. His face had gone very pale and shiny with sweat. “He—he seemed to find that amusing. He gave me some names, places, dates. Told me to use the clone to do a search. He’d wait. I did, and found each of them, all in Europe, all within the last year, had been murdered. Person or persons unknown.
“We talked a bit more, and he told me he’d let me know how and where to wire the down payment if he took the job. And he told me to destroy the clone. That he’d know if I didn’t, and he’d do me for free. If I thought of making a copy of our conversation, he’d know and kill me.”
“Did you destroy the clone?”
“Yes. I put it in the office recycler, and ran it. But …”
Eve felt a quick pump in the blood. “You made a copy.”
“I made one while we talked. I almost destroyed that, too. He scared me, I admit it. But I wanted documentation. I wanted a record.”
“Where’s the copy?”
“You have it.”
“I have it?”
“I mean, the police. They took everything from me when they did the booking. I have a micro disc under the false bottom of my business card case.”
Peabody was on her feet even as Eve turned to her.
“Peabody exiting Interview. Keep going,” Eve ordered.
“We only communicated by texts after that. He sent me instructions, I sent the down payment. When he contacted me saying he’d arrived in New York, I told him I wanted it done when I was—with the security showing I was home, and that she often left to go to her fitness center late in the evening. I would let him know. But then—I monitored her communications—she got a text from the artist, made arrangements to meet him in the park. I sent Cobbe the time. He offered to kill the artist as well, at a discount, but I wasn’t going to spend any more. Last night, she went out, and before long … I should’ve destroyed the clone, like the other, but—”
“You wanted documentation,” Eve finished.
“She would’ve ruined me, do you understand that?” Anger, and genuine outrage, darkened his face. “Ruined me. And all for some man she met on the street because he painted her goddamn hills. She had obligations to me.”
“Right. Cobbe sent you the documentation of her dead body, and instructions on where to send the final payment, with expenses.”
“I should’ve asked for a list and verification of the expenses, but I thought if I challenged him or quibbled, he might …”
Tween drained his water. “He’s a dangerous man. He’s a killer. You won’t find him. You won’t catch him. He’ll get away, and I’ll lose everything. It’s not right. It’s not fair.”
Laying his head on the Interview table, he cried like a baby.
Eve got to her feet. “I’ll put a man on the door to take him back to his cell when you’re done finalizing the deal.” For the hell of it, she sent Reo a hard look. “A deal we clearly didn’t have to make. Dallas, exiting Interview.”
Eve heard Reo’s, clear and deliberate, “Cops. What can you do?”
As Eve started back to the bullpen, Peabody jogged up the hall with an evidence bag. “Just where he said. I signed it out.”
“Let’s go have a listen.”
She scanned the bullpen, noted all her detectives were in place.
“Unless there’s an invasion of killer ninjas from space, everybody hold here,” she announced. “I need ten first.”
In her office, she took the bag, removed the disc. “Coffee,” she ordered, and plugged the micro disc into her unit. “Full audio.”
It started with a click—the recorder engaging.
Yes. Jorge Tween.
You’ll call me Blade. A mutual acquaintance tells me you’re in need of a contractor.
Now she knew his voice, Eve thought. His accent was thicker than Roarke’s, the tone of it rougher.
I might be. I need to know more about your qualifications.
Oh, I’ve more than plenty of those, and I may be inclined to tell you a bit about meself, but first, you’ll be telling me about your wife. I like knowing the ins and outs before I say aye or nay. She’s a woman of wealth and means and fine looks, that I can find myself. But tell me, Mr. Tween, what makes her tick? What makes her tock? Draw me a picture.
When he attempted to, Eve realized Tween didn’t really know or care to understand the woman he’d married, had a child with, had murdered. He spoke of her background, her family business, her—as he termed it—obsession with Italy and Tuscany in particular.
Obviously Cobbe recognized the same, and managed to pry out a few details. Her interests—art, fitness, the family business. Her attachment to the housekeeper, her devotion to her son.
Interspersed with those details came the repeated accusations of cheating, ruining him, whining, nagging, sulking.