In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

on the inside. Vince Lane's as inside as they come."
    "He's going to steal from his own mother." Peabody spoke now, mildly outraged. "And kill to do it?"
    "He's a financial fuck-up," Eve told her. "Over the years he's put together and begun to put together dozens of schemes and projects. He's pissed away his trust fund, run through the setup costs his mother gave him, twice, for businesses. He's borrowed from her to pay off loans and I imagine a few spine-crackers, too. But for the past fourteen months, he's been a very good boy, working for Mama. She pays him a ridiculous salary according to their financials, but he's all but dead broke. His expenses go directly to Carlton Mince, her financial advisor. I intend to talk to him, and to Lane. Carefully. I don't want Lane alerting anyone, Magda included, that I'm looking at him on this."
    She stopped, coming to attention when Whitney came in. She'd already sent a full update and all data to him earlier that morning.
    He glanced at the wall screen, judged where she was in her briefing, then took a seat. "Continue, Lieutenant."
    "Yes, sir. Peabody and I will do a dropby on Mince and Lane at the hotel. Feeney, if you could use your connections through the IRCCA. As we've said, it's probable the other agencies already have this data on Naples. And they may have more. If they do, no matter how speculative, do what you can to convince them to reach out. McNab, see the head of the event's security at The Palace. Roarke will have already alerted him, but I want you to follow up. You're his general dogsbody until this is over. You'll be provided with complete dossiers on everyone involved in the security. Get to know and love them. I want the NYPSD and this team aware and apprised of every change, every step, every function of security at the hotel. A door guard has a butt rash, I want to know what kind. Understood?"
    "Yes, sir."
    Now, she drew a breath. "Commander?"
    He had the faintest of smiles on his face. "Lieutenant?"
    "I'd like to request that you use whatever weight you might deem appropriate with your connections in the FBI and East Washington. I want some elbow room, and Jacoby's not going to give it to me unless..." She trailed off before she finished the thought, which had to do with her shoving his head up his ass. "... without some directive. If I can have the room, and the cooperation to bring Sylvester Yost down, I'm willing to give the feds the collar."
    "What! What!" Feeney was out of his chair, his face a furious red, his arms waving. "What the hell are you talking about? You don't give them dick, you hear? You've busted your balls on this, done all the work, got closer than anyone ever has to this bastard. Would've had him, too, if it wasn't for those assholes screwing us over. If you put in eight hours this week on this one case, you've put in eighty. You got circles under your eyes I could swim laps in."
    "Feeney -- "
    "Uh-uh, shut up." He jabbed a finger at her. "You may be primary, but I still outrank you. You think I'm just going to stand back and let you pass the baton to the Feebs after you ran the damn race? Do you know what this collar could mean to you? Every agency on and off planet's been after this bastard for twenty-five years. You bring him down, you bring him in, and you're heading toward pinning on your captain's bars. And don't you stand there and tell me you don't want them."
    "I want him more." She wasn't sure if she was touched, embarrassed, or annoyed by his outburst on her behalf, but she knew she had to clear the decks. "You got the anonymous source tip," she reminded him, keeping her eyes steady on his so he'd understand she knew where it had come from. "Without that, I wouldn't have had the Winifred angle, or at least not this soon. And without that, I wouldn't have had a tool to use on Stowe to move onto that Paris triad. Agent Stowe put in a lot of hours and grief on her investigation, too. She gave me useful data; I promised her the collar. That's the deal, Feeney. I made it, and I'll keep it."
    "Well, your deal sucks. Commander -- "
    Whitney held up his hand. "No point in appealing to me on this one, however much I agree with you. Lieutenant Dallas heads this team. I'll give you what weight I can, Lieutenant."
    "Thank you, sir. Excuse me," she said when her communicator beeped. She pulled it out, stepping aside to take the transmission.
    "Jack," Feeney said in undertones. "She deserves the collar."
    "At this point, we don't have