Eve knew they weren’t getting anywhere fast. It was time to get down and dirty. She said, “Surely you two are smart enough to realize you could be convicted on half the evidence the prosecutors have. You are both going down, and that means all the way down to a lethal injection.”
Clive smiled at her. “I thought you said the CIA was going to haul us away, never to be seen again?”
Eve turned to Cindy. “Tell me, Cindy, do you have any idea what you’re going to look like in five years? Ten years? In fifteen years, right before you get the needle in your arm?
“Let me tell you what I’ve seen. You’ll probably exercise for another year to keep your body in shape, but you’ll be fighting a losing battle. They feed you lots of carbs and fat, and you’ll gain weight because there’s not much else to do in prison but eat. After a while, you’ll stop exercising, I mean, why keep it up? Who is there to admire you? A bunch of women who could view you as too pretty and hate your guts and hurt you?
“Your skin turns pasty in jail because there isn’t much sun available to you, and no good beauty creams. In five years, you’ll be a fat slob and anyone you know now who sees you will hardly recognize you. Clive will, and because he might still care about you, in theory, he’ll try not to gag.
“When they finally put that needle in your arm, you’ll be a ruin, and they’ll be putting you out of your misery. You’ll end up only a name and a carcass to be disposed of.”
Eve kept quiet and waited. They were crude threats, but they were all she had left. She listened to Cindy Cahill’s pumped-up breathing, watched the appalling comprehension in her eyes before she managed to smooth it away. But Cindy couldn’t veil the rage that followed. It beamed out of her eyes like a flashing beacon. She said, “I hope Xu cuts your face up before he kills you, bitch.”
“That’s not going to happen, so listen up. Tell us about Xu and what he has, and you won’t have to worry about him, or about dying in here.”
There was a heavy lump of silence, while the two of them looked at each other. Clive gave Cindy a small shake of his head.
Eve felt Dillon’s hand pat her knee. He said, “You know what I admire about you, Clive? You’re a real gamer. You know how to spot the perfect mark; you know how to manipulate your mark into doing exactly what you want. You picked out Cindy, didn’t you, because you knew you could mold her to be exactly what you needed?”
Clive said, “Then I’m smart enough to know when I’m being gamed, right, Agent?”
“Sure you are. There’ll be lots of games in prison, Clive, but you won’t win many of them; you won’t even get to play because you’ll be the game. The inmates will recognize you fast enough as a
“The chances are they’ll make you their bonus buddy, at least for a while, as long as you’re looking good. After that, it depends on how bored and sadistic they are.”
Eve heard the tension in Clive’s voice. “Come on, that sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore. I’ve been here eight months. No problems like that. Sure, there are disagreements among the inmates, but nothing violent, nothing sexual.”
Savich shook his head at Clive. “This is local lockup, Clive, not a big bad federal prison where you’re headed. Did Milo Siles try to convince you that if you’re found guilty, you’d be headed to one of the federal country clubs for B felons? If he did, he lied.
“No, you’re going to a place designed for people like you—violent felons and cold-blooded murderers, there to mark time on death row.
“You’re a thinking man, Clive, I told you I admire that. But you’re not a tough guy. You won’t be able to protect yourself. And you won’t have any money to buy yourself out of bad situations.
“Actually, I doubt you’ll even last to the end of all your appeals unless they put you in solitary. At least you wouldn’t get a hunk of soap pushed down your throat in solitary. On the other hand, who wants to spend the rest of his life in a concrete box by himself?”
The only sound in the small room was the hitch in Clive’s breath.
Clive cleared his throat. “What sort of deal are you offering?”
Cindy hissed at him, but Clive didn’t look at her.
Savich said, “The death penalty’s off the table. You’ll get twenty-five years, but it will be in a kind of prison you can look forward to walking out of instead of being carried out in a green body bag.”
Clive looked at Cindy, but her eyes remained on Savich’s face. “This is bull, Clive. Don’t listen to them, they’re playing us.” She said to Eve now, venom pulsing in her voice, “When I get out, I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”
Eve’s eyebrow shot up. “What did I do to you? I’ve told you the truth, nothing more, nothing less.” Eve sat back, touched her fingers to her ponytail. “Do you hate me because I look healthy and clean, and my breath is fresh and I can drink Starbucks coffee every morning if I want to?
“Get off your high horse, Cindy, I’m not the one here who murdered Mark Lindy. Tell us the truth, and you might survive to see the light of day outside of a prison.”
Savich watched Clive lean again toward his wife, but at the bang on the door window, he pulled back. He licked his lips. They were dry and peeling.
Cindy Cahill rose to her feet, her chains rattling. “I know twenty-five years is way too long. You bring the prison time down with the possibility of parole and we’ll think about it. Clive, keep your mouth shut.”
He nodded at his wife, but Eve saw him swallow convulsively.
So was Cindy; she was simply a better actress. Eve wondered if Dillon could get the federal prosecutor down even more. She was of two minds on what should happen to these two violent, greedy people, but protecting Ramsey trumped everything else.
Savich watched the guards walk them out. He doubted either of them would be speaking to Milo Siles about the offer.
Emma hovered around the three big men as they tenderly eased her prized ebony Steinway out of the moving van, positioned it onto the big roller board they used for pianos, and carefully pushed it from the driveway onto the side flagstone walkway.
The drizzling rain had stopped for a while, which was a relief, since Molly knew Emma would have tried to plaster herself on top of the waterproof tarp over her piano to make sure it stayed dry.
As for Molly, she was relieved to see the pinched look gone from Emma’s face. When Emma had come into the principal’s office at her school on Lake Street, her face had been frozen with fear until she’d seen Molly standing there, smiling. Still, Molly had said immediately, “Your dad’s okay, Emma.” She’d pulled her shaking daughter against her and said again, “He’s fine, I promise you. Now, I’ve decided it’s best for us to leave our home for a little while. We’re going to stay in a lovely house in Saint Francis Wood. Remember, we’ve driven through the neighborhood and admired all the older houses, and the big yards, just like ours?”
Emma raised her face. “They’re afraid the man is going to try to kill us, aren’t they?”
So much for sugarcoating the truth. “Everyone wants to make sure we’ll be safe. That’s all there is to it.”
Emma said with great patience, “Mom, I’m nearly twelve. Tell me what’s happened.”
Molly nearly lost it then, but she wasn’t about to tell her daughter about the message the man had left on the machine. “Nothing happened. I only want all of us to be safe.”
“You trust me to take good care of the boys, but you won’t tell me the truth? So I’ll know what’s going on? So if something happens I won’t be surprised?”
