Backfire
Page 25
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“Imagine Virginia not liking you when, I’m sure, you just happened to mention that to her.”
She heard him whistling as he walked away down the corridor. She was in bed ten minutes later.
So his wife had left him the house on Maple and he’d stayed there.
Hall of Justice
850 Bryant Street
San Francisco
Saturday morning
Two guards walked Cindy Cahill over from county jail number two to the interview room on the sixth floor, where the men were housed in the Hall of Justice. She shuffled into the room ahead of the guards, wearing her prisoner’s three-piece suit—cuffs, belly chain, and leg irons. She looked up and saw her husband, Clive, dressed as she was, sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs.
“Clive,” she said, and tried to move toward him, but the guards stopped her. Clive rose slowly, smiling at her. “Hi, gorgeous. I liked you in the blue suit Milo brought you to wear in court last week, but hey, orange looks great on you, too. You okay?”
“I’m okay, but I wish I knew what’s—” Cindy shot a look at Savich and shut up.
Savich rose slowly as the guards seated Cindy beside her husband, then left the small room with Savich’s nod.
Savich introduced himself and Eve to the Cahills. He said, “Before we begin, I’d like you to confirm you’ve both agreed not to have your attorney, Mr. Siles, present. Is that correct?”
“Sure,” Clive said. “Like I already said before my sweet wife arrived, we don’t need Milo for this. We didn’t do anything wrong, and we have nothing to hide. And how could I pass up the chance to spend some time with Cindy? Even talking to you clowns is better than being bored.”
He sat back in the uncomfortable chair, like a seasoned lounge lizard.
Savich asked, “Mrs. Cahill?”
“Okay with me,” Cindy said. “So call me Cindy. I heard the guards talking about you, Agent Savich; said you were from Washington, and you were real important.”
Clive said, “Hey, where’s Special Agent Christoff? That boy needs manners, you know? He’s a hard man, that one, not much fun at all.”
Savich watched them look at each other for a moment—affectionately? Wondering if the other would spill the beans? He didn’t know, but allowing them to be together in the same room without their lawyer present was a good start. With everything that had happened—suspension of the trial, the federal prosecutor O’Rourke gone missing, and Ramsey shot—Savich knew both of the Cahills would want to find out as much as they could about what the Feds knew. He doubted they’d fold their tents and want to deal given what had happened, but maybe they’d let drop something—anything—to give him some leverage, particularly with Milo Siles, since even on a good day the chances of getting the truth out of a defense lawyer were harder than getting a bipartisan bill out of Congress.
Savich said as he sat down, “You needn’t worry. Agent Christoff won’t be joining us. There will be only myself and Marshal Barbieri.”
As Savich spoke, Cindy didn’t look away from his face. She rested her cheek on her long white fingers, her fingernails not so lovely now. Those dark eyes of hers saw deep into a man’s soul, no, not his soul, Savich thought, she made a direct connection to his sex, and the pull of her was powerful. He recognized he was new prey to her, and so Savich clicked away, knew she recognized that he’d turned her off, and hoped she would work really hard to snare him. He wanted to observe her methods.
When Cindy turned her eyes to Eve, with her fresh, very pretty face and blond ponytail, she didn’t look happy, and he was pleased. What came out of her mouth pleased him even more. “Well, now, aren’t you the cutest little thing? All blond and blue-eyed, like a little princess, and yet here you are, a big U.S. marshal all dressed up in red and black, like a hard-ass. I thought all you marshals did was chase bad guys who escaped from the real cops. Like Tommy Lee Jones.”
“My hero,” Eve said. She was pleased Savich had decided to bring her even though Harry had been major-league ripped until Savich had calmly said it was obvious Cindy would have the advantage with two male interviewers, plus she would be instantly wary of anything that came out of Harry’s mouth, since he’d led the case against them and interviewed her at least a dozen times. Savich wanted to shuffle the deck, pull out a joker, and present Cindy with another woman. Hopefully Cindy hadn’t noticed her in the courtroom. Unspoken to Harry was the message that since Eve Barbieri was a looker, why not try to rattle Cindy Cahill, who firmly believed she was God’s gift to all men? Harry hadn’t said another word. On their way to the interview room, Savich had said only to Eve, “Rattle her.”
She heard him whistling as he walked away down the corridor. She was in bed ten minutes later.
So his wife had left him the house on Maple and he’d stayed there.
Hall of Justice
850 Bryant Street
San Francisco
Saturday morning
Two guards walked Cindy Cahill over from county jail number two to the interview room on the sixth floor, where the men were housed in the Hall of Justice. She shuffled into the room ahead of the guards, wearing her prisoner’s three-piece suit—cuffs, belly chain, and leg irons. She looked up and saw her husband, Clive, dressed as she was, sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs.
“Clive,” she said, and tried to move toward him, but the guards stopped her. Clive rose slowly, smiling at her. “Hi, gorgeous. I liked you in the blue suit Milo brought you to wear in court last week, but hey, orange looks great on you, too. You okay?”
“I’m okay, but I wish I knew what’s—” Cindy shot a look at Savich and shut up.
Savich rose slowly as the guards seated Cindy beside her husband, then left the small room with Savich’s nod.
Savich introduced himself and Eve to the Cahills. He said, “Before we begin, I’d like you to confirm you’ve both agreed not to have your attorney, Mr. Siles, present. Is that correct?”
“Sure,” Clive said. “Like I already said before my sweet wife arrived, we don’t need Milo for this. We didn’t do anything wrong, and we have nothing to hide. And how could I pass up the chance to spend some time with Cindy? Even talking to you clowns is better than being bored.”
He sat back in the uncomfortable chair, like a seasoned lounge lizard.
Savich asked, “Mrs. Cahill?”
“Okay with me,” Cindy said. “So call me Cindy. I heard the guards talking about you, Agent Savich; said you were from Washington, and you were real important.”
Clive said, “Hey, where’s Special Agent Christoff? That boy needs manners, you know? He’s a hard man, that one, not much fun at all.”
Savich watched them look at each other for a moment—affectionately? Wondering if the other would spill the beans? He didn’t know, but allowing them to be together in the same room without their lawyer present was a good start. With everything that had happened—suspension of the trial, the federal prosecutor O’Rourke gone missing, and Ramsey shot—Savich knew both of the Cahills would want to find out as much as they could about what the Feds knew. He doubted they’d fold their tents and want to deal given what had happened, but maybe they’d let drop something—anything—to give him some leverage, particularly with Milo Siles, since even on a good day the chances of getting the truth out of a defense lawyer were harder than getting a bipartisan bill out of Congress.
Savich said as he sat down, “You needn’t worry. Agent Christoff won’t be joining us. There will be only myself and Marshal Barbieri.”
As Savich spoke, Cindy didn’t look away from his face. She rested her cheek on her long white fingers, her fingernails not so lovely now. Those dark eyes of hers saw deep into a man’s soul, no, not his soul, Savich thought, she made a direct connection to his sex, and the pull of her was powerful. He recognized he was new prey to her, and so Savich clicked away, knew she recognized that he’d turned her off, and hoped she would work really hard to snare him. He wanted to observe her methods.
When Cindy turned her eyes to Eve, with her fresh, very pretty face and blond ponytail, she didn’t look happy, and he was pleased. What came out of her mouth pleased him even more. “Well, now, aren’t you the cutest little thing? All blond and blue-eyed, like a little princess, and yet here you are, a big U.S. marshal all dressed up in red and black, like a hard-ass. I thought all you marshals did was chase bad guys who escaped from the real cops. Like Tommy Lee Jones.”
“My hero,” Eve said. She was pleased Savich had decided to bring her even though Harry had been major-league ripped until Savich had calmly said it was obvious Cindy would have the advantage with two male interviewers, plus she would be instantly wary of anything that came out of Harry’s mouth, since he’d led the case against them and interviewed her at least a dozen times. Savich wanted to shuffle the deck, pull out a joker, and present Cindy with another woman. Hopefully Cindy hadn’t noticed her in the courtroom. Unspoken to Harry was the message that since Eve Barbieri was a looker, why not try to rattle Cindy Cahill, who firmly believed she was God’s gift to all men? Harry hadn’t said another word. On their way to the interview room, Savich had said only to Eve, “Rattle her.”
