In Death 23 - Born in Death

Let the record show Mr. Chase has dismissed his representatives and has agreed to continue this interview without the benefit of legal counsel.”
    She paused, put a concerned, respectful look on her face. “Blackmail, you said? That puts a different face on it. Why don’t you tell us how this started? You were informed by Randall Sloan that Natalie Copperfield was asking questions,” Eve began.
    And he gave them every last detail.

21
    PEABODY HAD A TUBE OF PEPSI WAITING WHEN Eve came out. “You usually like your caffeine cold after a hot interrogation.” She held one out to Baxter. “Wasn’t sure about you.”
    “I’ll take it any way I can get it.”
    “Yeah, I’ve heard that from several women,” Eve said before she took a deep drink.
    For the first time in hours, Baxter laughed. “Thanks for letting me take that scum down with you, Dallas. I’m going to contact Palma, let her know we’ve got him.”
    “Dallas, Jacob Sloan came in while you were in Interview. They put him in the lounge.”
    “Okay, I’ll take him. You can have Bullock brought up.”
    “Sure you don’t want a break before her? You’ve been at this for nearly six hours, pretty much straight.”
    “I’m tying it up, wrapping it up, writing it up.” She rubbed at the stiffness in her neck. “Then I’m going home, and so are you.”
    “Yay. I’ll have her brought up.”
    Eve carried her drink into the lounge, scrubbed her hands over her face, then walked over to sit at the table across from Jacob Sloan.
    He looked older, more frail, and exhausted.
    “Mr. Sloan, you should go home, be with your family.”
    “Did Winfield Chase kill my son? I have sources,” he said when Eve lifted her eyebrows. “I know he was arrested, along with his mother. I can’t see Madeline doing more than pulling strings, so I’m asking you, did Winfield Chase kill my son?”
    “Yes. He’s just confessed. He staged the suicide to implicate your son in the murders of Natalie Copperfield and Bick Byson, who he also has confessed to killing.”
    When he folded his lips tight, nodded, Eve rose. She broke her boycott on Vending and programmed a bottle of water. She sat back down, put it in front of him.
    “Thank you.” His hand shook a little as he lifted the bottle and drank. “My son was a disappointment to me, in many ways. He was selfish and lazy and gambled away his youth, his marriage, his reputation. But he was my son.”
    “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
    He drank more, slowly, then breathed out. “Natalie and Bick, they were bright and they were clean. Their lives together were just beginning. I’ll regret…” Once again he pressed his lips together. “Have their families been told?”
    “It’s being done now.”
    “Then I’ll wait until tomorrow before I contact them. Why did he kill them? Can you tell me?”
    “I can tell you that Natalie was doing her job, and she found something she tried to fix, tried to make right.”
    “My son. He was not doing his job.” He shook his head when Eve said nothing. “This will be hard, very hard, on my grandson, on my wife.”
    “Then you should be with them, Mr. Sloan.”
    “Yes, I should be with them.” He got to his feet. “Anything you needfrom me, my family, my firm to make certain Winfield Chase spends every last second of his life in prison, you have only to ask.” He held out his hand. “Thank you.”
    Eve sat another moment after he’d gone, finished off her drink. Then she went into the washroom, scrubbed cold water over her face.
    She went to face down Madeline Bullock.
    Word had gone out, Eve imagined, as there were only two lawyers with her.
    “Record on,” Eve said and started the routine.
    “Your son’s confessed to five counts of murder,” she began, watching Madeline’s eyes. “I see you’ve got wind of that. He’s also detailed your involvement in each of these murders, and in the abduction of Tandy Willowby.”
    “Ms. Bullock is prepared to make a statement,” one of the lawyers said.
    “Not dictating this load of crap, Madeline? Okay, let’s hear it.”
    “I don’t expect you to understand my terror, my grief, my guilt.” Madeline pressed a lace-trimmed handkerchief to her lips. “My son…how can I not blame myself? He came from me. But something…twisted in him. Such violence, such rage. I’ve lived in fear of him for so long.”
    “Please. You’re not afraid of anything but losing your grip on the foundation—its money and