In Death 23 - Born in Death

“They’re not just mother and son.”
    When Roarke said nothing, she turned to look at him. Nodded. “You saw it, too.”
    “I suppose you and I may be more attuned to that kind of thing than most. I saw…we’ll say…the intimacy between them.”
    “That’s too clean a word for it, but to my mind, so’s incest. It just doesn’t get to the base of it. She runs it, runs him.” It made something curdle inside her. “She’s the spider when she should have been shielding him from the bad stuff. Instead, she uses him and twists him…and this isn’t about me.”
    He crossed to her, laid his hands on her shoulders, his lips on her hair. “How can you stop it from resonating with you, just as what may be happening to Tandy does with me?”
    Eve reached up until her hand covered his. “He’d have been the one to do the killing. You could see that in him, the violence under the polish. But she’d be the one pushing the buttons. And maybe I’m reading too much into it.”
    “If you are, I’m reading the same page.”
    “Well.” She drew a breath, lowered her hand. “If we’re right, it’s something I’ll use when I’ve got them in Interview. But for now…What’s the source of the money? Illegals, weapons? It just doesn’t feel right. Mob money. I don’t know. They don’t give that off. Lots of other ways,” she mused. “Lots of ways to make money off the books, but it seems to me—it feels to me,” she corrected, “like it would be something they’re into. Or enjoy. Or believe in. They’re self-satisfied fuckers.”
    “A perfect description.”
    “You get me.” She nodded. “Prissy and righteous and full of themselves. I can’t see them hooking up with organized crime, because shelikes to run the show. Wish I could walk through this with Mira, get a profile.”
    “It sounds like you have one of your own.”
    “She wears diamonds around the house. He’s wearing a suit on a Sunday night when they’re hanging at home. They have this image, even when no one’s around to see it. That’s what they’ve created and nurtured, even when they’re coupling in the dark. And the sex, that’s another level of the unity, the being above the rest. Do you know who she is? Smuggling maybe—it’s got that thin sheen of class and romance.”
    “Why thank you, darling.”
    She rolled her eyes at him. Trust him to remind her that that was how he’d earned a good portion of his fortune in his youth. “Jewelry, art, fine wines. That kind of thing might be it. Maybe some subtle blackmail.”
    “The discs Peabody and McNab are bringing in should tell you, at least some of it.”
    “Yeah. Probably encoded. Pain in the ass. A lot of their houses, other property, are in the foundation’s name.” Restless, she paced in front of the board. “But that’s just a way big wheels loop the loopholes in tax laws. And I’m betting a lot of the jewelry, the art, the high-dollar items were bought with cash.”
    Then she jerked a thumb at the data she had on-screen. “And you look at him. Hitting onto fifty, no marriages, no cohabs, still lives with his mother. Works with his mother. Travels with his mother. They don’t feel they have to bother with a cover over what goes on between them. He didn’t say: ‘Do you know who we are,’ but who she is. She’s the power. She’s the control.”
    Eve pushed that avenue aside as she heard cop feet heading toward the office.
    It was always a surprise to see Trueheart out of uniform. They walked in looking, to Eve’s mind, like the leads in a buddy vid. The slick-looking veteran cop and his young studly apprentice.
    “Coffee.” Baxter said it like a prayer. “Hook me up, kid. Dallas, Roarke.”
    “What’s the word on the vehicle?” Eve demanded.
    “Dump the discs every twenty-four, so the night in question’s long gone. No logs.”
    “You brought me squat?”
    “Would I bring you squat?” He took the coffee from Trueheart, sat, stretched out his legs. “Private garage, with monthly rates that cost more than the rent on my apartment and the kid’s here combined. Key card and passcode to get in. Place holds a half-dozen vehicles, and let me tell you, they were all flash. Vic’s is a sinewy all-terrain. Four-seater. Loaded.”
    “That’s fascinating, Baxter.”
    “Gets that way. We’re looking it over—had to call the manager in, and he’s the one gave us squat. But while we’re there, this guy whose ride is this classic Sunstorm—Triple