This time she laughed, and meant it. "The lapdog would rip out your throat without breathing hard. And you know it. I had no idea you were so afraid of him. That's interesting."
"You're mistaken." But his fingers had tightened on the tube.
She watched his throat work, as if he were struggling to swallow something particularly vile.
"I don't think so. But Roarke isn't the reason I'm here. It's your business I'd like to discuss, Mr. Ricker." She took out her recorder. "With your permission."
His lips curved, a hard line under that brush of silver that was nothing like a smile. "Of course." And he tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. Across the room a hologram swam into view. Six dark-suited men sat side by side at a long table, hands folded, eyes sharp.
"My attorneys," he explained.
Eve set the recorder on the silver table between them, read off the necessary data, and recited the revised Miranda.
"You're thorough. Roarke would appreciate that. As do I."
"You understand your rights and obligations, Mr. Ricker?"'
"I do indeed."
"And you have engaged your right to have your attorneys-all six of them-present at this informal interview. You were arrested six months ago for…" She held up a hand, and though she knew the charges by rote, took out her memo book and read them off precisely. "The manufacture, possession, and distribution of illegal substances including hallucinogens and known addictives, the international and interplanetary transportation of illegal substances, possession of banned weapons, the operation of chemical plants without a license, the-"
"Lieutenant, to save us both valuable time, I will state that I was aware of all charges levied against me at the time of my unfortunate arrest last fall. As I'm sure you are aware that most of those ridiculous charges were subsequently dropped, and those that were not resulted in a trial in which I was acquitted."
"I'm aware that your attorneys and the prosecuting attorney of New York negotiated a deal in which several of the more minor charges against you were dropped. In return, the names of four arms and illegals dealers and information against them were given to the PA's office through your representative. You're not overly loyal to your associates, Mr. Ricker."
"On the contrary, I'm exceedingly loyal to them. I have no associates who are arms and/or illegal dealers, Lieutenant. I'm a businessman, one who makes considerable donations to charitable and political causes every year."
"Yes, I know about your political donations. You gave generously to an organization known as Cassandra."
"I did." He lifted a hand as one of his attorneys started to speak. "And was shocked, shocked to the bone, when I discovered their terrorist activities. You did the world a great service, Lieutenant, by breaking open that ugly sphere, by destroying it. Until the story came out in the media, I had been deluded into believing the Cassandra group was dedicated to insuring the safety and rights of the American public; yes, through paramilitary means. But legal ones."
"A pity you didn't research Cassandra more closely, Mr. Ricker, as I would assume someone with your resources would do before he tossed in more than ten million of his hard-earned dollars."
"A mistake I deeply regret. The employee who oversaw the donations has since been terminated."
"I see. You were scheduled for trial on several of the charges, not within the scope of the deal with the prosecutor's office. However, evidence went missing, and certain data from the operation leading to and including the raid on the warehouse owned by you was damaged."
"Is that the official word for it?" He tossed his head, causing his silver wings to flutter. "The data was thin, incomplete, and ridiculously weighted with misinformation by the police in order to arrange for the attack on a warehouse which, though one of my properties, was run and operated by an independent contractor."
His eyes began to gleam, she noted, his voice to rise, and those lethally tipped fingers to beat a fast tattoo on the arm of the chair.
"The entire matter was nothing more than police harassment, and my attorneys are looking into a suit against the NYPSD as a result."
"What is your connection with Detective Taj Kohli?"
"Kohli?" He continued to smile, the hard glitter bright in his eyes. "I'm afraid that name doesn't ring a bell. I do have acquaintance with many in your profession, Lieutenant. I am a strong supporter of the men and women who serve. But that particular name… Wait, wait."
He rubbed a finger against his lips, and damn him, she heard the light chuckle. "Kohli, yes, of course. I heard about the tragedy. He was killed recently, wasn't he?"
"Kohli was on the task force that busted your New York warehouse and cost you several million dollars in goods."
"Mr. Ricker was never legally connected to the warehouse, labs, or distribution center in New York City, which was discovered by and closed down by the New York City Police and Security Department. We object to the statement claiming otherwise being read into this record."
The lawyer's voice droned, but neither Ricker nor Eve bothered to glance in his direction.
"It's most unfortunate that your Detective Kohli was killed, Lieutenant. Am I to be questioned every time a police officer meets a tragic end? It could be construed as additional harassment."
"No, it couldn't, as the request for this interview was granted without condition." Now she smiled. "I'm sure your fleet of lawyers will verify that. Kohli worked details, Mr. Ricker. He was good at details. As a businessman, and man of the world, I'm sure you'll agree that the truth is in them-and the truth has a way of surfacing, no matter how deep it's buried. It just takes the right person to dig it out. I have a real fondness for the truth and a serious objection to having a fellow officer executed. So finding that truth, and finding the person who killed Kohli-or arranged for it-is going to be a personal mission of mine."
"I'm sure it offends you to have had your colleague murdered, and brutally, in an establishment owned by your husband." Excitement jangled in his voice, just a little off-key. "Sticky, isn't it, Lieutenant? For both of you. Is that why you're troubling me with veiled accusations rather than calling your own husband into Interview?"
"I didn't say the murder was brutal or that it took place in an establishment owned by Roarke. How did you come by that information, Mr. Ricker?"
For the first time, he appeared flustered, his stare going blank, his mouth drooping. All six lawyers began talking at once, a buzz of noise that was no more than cover and wasted air. It gave Ricker time to compose himself.
"I make it my business to know things, Lieutenant. My business. I was informed that there was an incident at one of your husband's properties."
"Informed by who?"
"Another associate, I believe." He waved a hand idly, but it curled into a fist before it rested on the arm of the chair again. "I can't recall. Is it against the law to have that information? I collect information. A kind of hobby. Information on people who interest me. Such as yourself. I'm aware, you see, that you were raised by the state, found in considerable distress when you were but a child of eight."
His hand uncurled as he spoke, but his eyes grew brighter. Hungrier, Eve thought. Like a man anticipating a particularly fine meal.
"Raped, weren't you, and quite violently. It must be difficult to live with a trauma such as that, to reconcile yourself to such viciously stolen innocence. You don't even have your own name, do you, but one given to you by a harried social worker. Eve, a rather sentimental choice, indicating the first woman. And Dallas, a practical one, reflecting the city where you were discovered, broken, bruised, and all but mute in a filthy alley."
It did the job. It took her back, slicked her insides with illness, chilled her bones. But she never took her eyes off his face. Never flinched. "We play the cards we were dealt. I collect information, too. Mostly on people who disturb my sense of style. Dig up all the data you want on me, Ricker. It'll only help you get a good, clear picture of just who you're up against this time. Kohli's mine now, and I'll find the who and why and how for him. Depend on it. Interview end," she said, and picked up her recorder.