J. Robb - Betrayal in Death

Then he shook his head. "But no. No. There's nothing he can do at this point to stop the event from going through. It's done, as far as the end result. All the paperwork is filed. The proceeds go to the Foundation. That's locked in. He can't stop it. It doesn't matter that he was against it initially."

"He tried to stop it?"

Mince rose, paced the room, his palms pressed together as he tried to think it through. "Yes. Yes, he argued bitterly against it. She was giving away his inheritance, his birthright. They had a terrible row over it. She'd reached the end of her rope with him, told him it was time he worked for a living, and that she would not again sail to his rescue with money to plug the holes he kept digging in his life. She said one of the benefits of the Foundation would be that she couldn't just pass him the money. She was setting it up that way for him, for herself, and for those who needed a helping hand."

"What happened to turn him around?"

"I don't know." He lifted his hands, spread his fingers. "He walked out on her, furious. Brought her to tears, and she doesn't shed them lightly. He was out of contact for over two weeks. None of us knew where he was. Then he came back, head bowed, full of contrition. He said she was right, of course, that he was sorry and ashamed and wanted to do everything he could to make her proud of him."

"You didn't believe him, did you?"

He opened his mouth, then let out a sigh. "Not for a minute. But she did. She adores Vince, even as she despairs of him. She was so thrilled when he asked to work on the event. And it seemed, for a time, he'd meant everything he said. Then the bills began coming in again. I had them transferred to me directly to try to spare her. I talked to him, paid them. Talked to him, paid them. Then I threatened to go to Magda. He broke down, begged me not to, promised it would be the last time."

"When was that?"

"Just before we came out East. He has been on his best behavior since, but…" He glanced back toward the data center. "A number of new bills have just come in today. I'm at my wit's end."

"Have any of the bills you've paid since his confrontation with his mother included transportation fees to Delta Colony or to Paris?"

Mince folded his lips into a tight line. "Both. He has friends in those places. I can't say I completely approve, though they do come from good families. There's a wildness to them, a carelessness. Vince's debts always go deeper when he's in contact with Dominic II Naples or Michel Gerade."

"Mr. Mince, can I have your permission to see the bills that came due this morning?"

"Lieutenant, I don't even share such matters with my wife. You're asking me to breach a trust."

"No, I'm asking to help you keep one." She got to her feet. "Would Vince Lane hurt his mother for financial gain?"

"Physically harm Magda? No, no, of course not. That's completely out of the question."

"There are other ways beyond the physical."

Mince's lips trembled. "Yes. Yes, there are. And yes, I'm afraid he would. He loves her. In his way, he loves her very much. But he… I'll bring up the data for you."

It took Eve less than thirty seconds to spot what she was looking for. "Naples Communications. One million dollars."

"Horrible," Mince said from behind her. "Vince has no need for a system of that complexity. I can't imagine what he was thinking."

"I can," Eve murmured.

"You think he'll stick to his word about not telling Magda or Lane about this?" Peabody asked as they took the elevator up to Lane's floor.

"Yeah, at least for the time being. Long enough, anyway, to give us a shot at him, and his pals."

"Screwing over his own mother. That's the lowest."

"I think murder beats that out."

They walked down the quiet hall, rang the bell beside one of the glossy double doors. Lane opened the door himself.

He was dressed casually in a spring sweater and trousers. His feet were bare, and he wore a trendy sport's wrist unit. He had a wide, perfect smile.

"Eve, how nice to see you again. Or if you're here to discuss police business, perhaps I should call you Lieutenant."

"Since I'm here to talk over some points about the auction, you decide."

He laughed, gestured her inside. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you're taking an interest. It really settles my mother's mind. Please sit, be comfortable. Liza, company!"

Lane's suite was several snazzy steps up from the Minces' suite. The living area flowed in a wide curve toward a formal dining area. Chandeliers glimmered overhead, a snow-white piano held court in a corner. A winding gold ribbon of open stairs led to a second level. And down them, brilliantly beautiful in a skinsuit as white as the piano, glided Liza.

Eve didn't think the glitters at her ears, her wrists, her neck, and her ankles were man-made. How much did those set you back, Vinnie old pal? she wondered.

"Hello." Liza gave a pouty little smile and fluffed her hair.

"Sorry to interrupt your day," Eve said pleasantly. "I'd hoped to confer with Vince over a few auction details. The NYPSD wants to be certain Ms. Lane's event goes smoothly."

Liza stifled a yawn. "I'll be glad when it's over. It's all anyone wants to talk about."

"It must be tedious for you."

"Well, it is. If that's all you're going to talk about, I think I'll go out and do some shopping."

"Sorry to chase you off. This shouldn't take very long," Eve said.

"Why don't I meet you?" Obviously anxious to placate, Vince moved to her, ran his hands up her arms. "Let's say twelve-thirty at Rendezvous. We'll have lunch."

"Maybe." The corners of her mouth turned up, and she trailed a finger down the middle of his chest. "You know how I love to be with you, baby doll. Don't be late."

"I won't."

She picked up a handbag from the table by the door, blew Lane kisses, and strolled out.

"All the business and security and publicity work over the past few days has been boring for her," Lane said. "She's been awfully patient."

"Yeah, a real trooper." Eve wandered to one of the three antique sofas, sat on an arm of silk. "You're very involved with the auction, and your mother's foundation. Takes up a lot of your time."

"That it does. But it's worth it."

"No problem seeing her chuck a billion dollars out the window?"

"All for a good cause," he said cheerfully. "I couldn't be more proud of her."

"Really? Even when you're flat broke and siphoning off loans for debts from her friends?" She waited a beat while his body jerked. "Wow, Vince, you're a hell of a sport."

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I find your comments in very bad taste."

"I find plots to steal from family and charity in very bad taste. I find little skunks who're too lazy to work for a living in very bad taste. But most of all, I find murder in very bad taste. Your guy missed his target this morning, by the way. You want to make sure he doesn't collect the rest of his fee on that portion of the contract."

"I want you to leave." He pointed a finger at the door in what would have been a dramatic gesture if his arm hadn't trembled. "I want you to get out. I intend to report this behavior to your superiors. I intend to consult my attorney. I intend – "

"Why don't you shut up, you miserable excuse for a humanoid. Peabody, record on."

"Yes, sir."

"Vincent Lane," Eve began, "you have the right to remain silent."

"You're arresting me?" The color that had drained from his cheeks bloomed back violently. "You think you can arrest me? You have no cause, you have no case, you have nothing on me whatsoever. Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, I know who you are. You're scum. Now, you're going to sit down while I read you the rest of your rights and obligations. Then you're going to sit there and answer my questions. Because if you don't, I'm going to haul you downtown, into Interview. And somehow along the way, the media's going to get wind of it. By the time you're supposed to be meeting your girlfriend for lunch, it'll be all over the screen how Vince Lane has been arrested for suspicion of conspiracy to commit grand larceny, conspiracy to transfer stolen goods, and a whole bunch of other fun little conspiracies, too – topped off with the whopper. Conspiracy to commit murder."