by J. D. Robb
She looked away from him a moment because knowing she’d try for the deal made her sick. The greater good, she told herself. Sometimes justice couldn’t sweep clean.
“I’ll push for immunity. But you’re off the job, and so’s she—”
“You can’t—”
“Shut up, Dwier. Just shut up, because what I’m going to lay down here is as good as you’re ever going to get. And the offer is one-time only. I put my weight for immunity. Make the case for the P.A. that your information, and Price’s, was key to my investigation. If it isn’t key, Dwier, this conversation is moot. You and Price walk, no cage time. But you put in for retirement, and she resigns from Child Services. It’s up to the P.A. and the brass as to whether you keep your benefits. That’s out of my hands. But you walk.”
She shoved her plate aside. “You refuse this deal and I give you a vow to hunt you, both of you, until I have enough to put you both over. I’ll push for multiple charges, first-degree, conspiracy murder. I’ll push for the murder of a police officer. I’ll push hard and the two of you will spend the rest of your lives behind bars. The last breath you take will be in a cage. I’ll make it my personal mission.”
His eyes glittered—temper, terror, alcohol. And, Eve thought with a dull amazement, with insult.
“I got sixteen years in. Sixteen years busting my hump.”
“And now you’ve got five minutes to decide.” She pushed up from the table. “Be gone or be ready to talk when I get back.”
As she strode across the club, Peabody started to rise. Eve simply shook her head and kept going.
She slammed into what the Squirrel called their rest room. Five narrow stalls and two shallow pits for sinks. She ran the water cold, splashed it on her face again and again until the heat of her anger and disgust chilled.
Face dripping, she lifted her head and stared at herself in the black-flecked mirror. Seven people dead, she thought. Seven. And she was about to help two of the ones responsible ride free so she could stop the others.
Is this what it took to speak for Kevin Halloway, for Hannah Wade? Is this what it took?
Shades of right, Tibble had said. And just now she felt smeared by the shadows.
She scrubbed her face dry, then pulled out her communicator.
“Commander. I need a deal for Thomas Dwier and Clarissa Price.”
Dwier was still at the table when she returned and starting on his third bottle. She wondered how long ago he’d drowned his conscience.
“Talk,” she said.
“I gotta have some assurances.”
“I laid it out for you once, I’m not laying it out again. Talk or walk.”
“I want you to understand we did what we had to do. You work to get scum off the street and before you write up your fives, they’re back out. The system’s gone soft. All this shit about civil rights jammed down our throat, lawyers sliding through the grease, you can’t do the job,”
“I don’t want the lecture, Dwier. I want data. Who’s running the show?”
“I’m gonna tell it my way.” He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, hunched in over the table. “Me and Clarissa, we got close. She’s dedicated her life to helping kids, only to see half of them, maybe more, get screwed over by the system. We started going out, mostly just to blow off some steam, and we got close. After what happened with the Dukes kid, she was thinking about packing it in. That one almost broke her. She took a couple weeks’ leave to decide what she wanted to do. And . . . Don came to see her.”
“Don? Would that be Donald Dukes?”
“Yeah. She was in a rough spot. A rough spot. And he told her about this group who was looking for answers, who was working to find a better way. An underground group.”
“Purity?”
“The Purity Seekers. He said a lot of people had gotten together, people like him, like her, other concerned citizens. He asked if she’d come to a meeting.”
“Where?”
“Church basement. Downtown. Church of The Savior.”
“A church basement?” She didn’t know why it offended her sensibilities. She wasn’t, never had been, religious. But it appalled something deep inside her. “This runs out of a church?”
“That’s one of the meeting sites. We move around, churches and schools. She went to the first one with Don, with Dukes. It brought her back up, pulled her out of the depression. It gave her a grip on things again. I went with her the next time. It makes sense,” he insisted. “The program makes sense. You want to clean up the city, you gotta take out the trash. Cops and courts are cuffed. Nobody respects the law because the law doesn’t work. It doesn’t fucking work, and you know it.”
She looked at his face, the flush brought out by beer and righteousness. Not always, she thought. It doesn’t always work because it’s not going to put you in a cage.
“Who runs the meetings?”
“It’s a democracy,” Dwier told her with some pride. “We all have a say. Dukes is one of the founders. We’ve got cops, doctors, judges, scientists, preachers. We’ve got thinkers.”
“Names.”
He dipped his head. Rubbed the bottle over his brow. “We go by first names, but I recognized some, ran some others. You have to know who you’re in bed with. Look, we had some glitches with the program. Maybe we pushed things too fast. The techs figured they could delete the virus after Absolute Purity was achieved, but there was some snafu. They’re working day and night to fix it. We took up a collection for Halloway. We’re making a contribution to the Police Officers’ Survivors’ Fund in his name.”
“I’m sure that’ll give his family a lot of comfort, Dwier. Give me names.”
“You think it’s easy to weasel?” He slammed the nearly empty bottle on the table. “You think it’s easy to flip on people you’ve worked with?”
“Was it easier to kill? Easier to throw a few bucks in the hat for a dead cop because there was a snafu? I don’t want to hear about your pain, Dwier, or your skewed sense of loyalty. I want names. It comes down to you or them. No names, no deal.”
“Bitch.”
“Yeah. Keep that in mind. Donald Dukes? His wife?”
“No. He kept her out of it. He doesn’t much like working with women.”
“But he recruited Clarissa.”
“I figure there was some pressure on him to pick her up, since they had a history.” Dwier jerked a shoulder. “Matthew Sawyer, big-shot doctor out of Kennedy Memorial. Brain guy. Keith Burns, one of those computer geeks. Worked with Dukes on the virus. He was the kid’s, Devin’s, godfather. Stanford Quillens, another doctor. Judge Lincoln, Angie and Ray Anderson—their kid got raped by Fitzhugh. Angie runs her own media consultant firm midtown.”
He continued to reel off names. Eve recorded them. He ordered another beer. He wasn’t sloppy yet, she noted. Four beers in less than an hour and he wasn’t showing it. It told her his body was used to the steady intake.
There were other doctors, other cops, a city councilwoman, more programmers, two former social workers, and a minister.
“That’s all I got confirmed. Clarissa might have a couple more.”
“What about funding?”
“Everybody kicks in what they can, donates time.” He sucked on the bottle. “Some of the members got deep pockets, and put their money where their mouth is. We’ve got powerful support—political support—and we could’ve expanded on that without the accidents.”
“Who’s your political support?”
“The mayor. Peachtree, he doesn’t come to the meetings. But he sends statements, and contributions. My take is he lined up Sawyer and Lincoln, Dukes, too.”
“Are you telling me this organization generated out of the mayor’s office?”
“That’s how I see it, yeah. Peachtree wants reform, and he can’t get it through the polls. He found another way. He’s a goddamn hero.”
She stored it, clamped down on another wave of disgust. “How do you select the targets?”
<
br /> “We put the names, the sheets, to the membership. We vote.”
“Who else is nominated?”
“Only got one more infected. We decided to hold off until we worked out the glitches. Dru Geller. Runs private clubs, sells young meat to patrons. Runaways mostly, she scoops them up and pumps them full of Erotica. Her AP’s scheduled within ten hours.”
“How do you know when it’s achieved?”
“That’s mostly tech stuff. Not my area. But we can track usage on their infected unit or units. They ran sims so they know how long it takes to finalize.”
“When’s the next meeting?”
Dwier closed his eyes. “Tonight, eight. The downtown church.”
“Where’s Dukes?”
He shook his head. “Safe house, Upstate. Albany. I’m supposed to help work out a relocation. He’s still working on the program. Him and Burns and the other techs. They’ll have it perfected in a few days. They’re sure of it. Nobody anticipated that girl being in Greene’s place. How the hell can you anticipate something like that? But it comes down to it, she wasn’t any different than Greene. Got what she deserved, same as him. Just a little whore—”
She bitch-slapped him. Her hand was up and swinging before she realized the fury had taken over, before he could see it in her eyes and evade. The sharp crack of flesh on flesh slashed through the club. A few people turned their heads, then quickly looked away again.
Eve got to her feet. “Stay where you are. Peabody! You’re going in. You can tell your story to the P.A. Price is being picked up right now.”
“Just a fucking minute.”
“Shut up, you pulsating piece of shit. You’ll get your immunity. You’re going in now, and staying in until the rest of your self-proclaimed heroes are picked up. There’s a black-and-white outside, and a representative of the prosecutor’s office. Thomas Dwier, you are now in custody. Surrender your shield and your weapon. Now,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “Or I’ll take you down the way I want to instead of by the book you’ve shown such contempt for.”
“People know we were right.” He laid his weapon on the table, tossed his badge down beside it. “There are four monsters off the streets thanks to us.”
She took his weapon, took his badge. Then hauled him to his feet. “There are all kinds of monsters, Dwier. You don’t quite qualify. You’re just a weasel. And an embarrassment to the job.”
When he was secured in the black-and-white, Eve got into her own vehicle. Then just laid her forehead on the wheel.
“You all right, Dallas?”
“No. No, I’m not all right.” She yanked Dwier’s badge and weapon from her pocket. “Seal these. I don’t want my hands on them again. I got him immunity. I got him a ride. Maybe, maybe I pull him in, hammer at him in Interview, I get him to roll without the deal. But I made the deal, because maybe he doesn’t roll, and I can’t spare the time to find out.”
“The prosecutor wouldn’t have dealt immunity if he didn’t figure it was the way to go.”
“When you want the whole pie, sacrificing one little slice is a reasonable trade. That’s how the P.A. figured it. That’s how Dwier knew he’d figure it. I wish I could. Get me an address on a Dru Geller. She’ll be in the system.”
She pulled out her communicator to run the next steps with the commander.
It took an hour to set it up to her satisfaction. Precious time, but she wasn’t losing another cop. Not today.
“We can’t be sure what kind of shape she’s in,” Eve reminded the crisis team she’d handpicked. “We will assume she is violent and armed. Three men on the door, three for the windows. We go in fast. We subdue, secure, and transport. The subject cannot be shocked with standard weapons, even on low setting. The probability is high that the infection has spread to the extent that this would result in termination. We use tranqs, and tranqs only.”
She gestured to the apartment blueprint on-screen. “You’ve familiarized yourselves with the setup. We know the subject is in this location. We don’t know where she is within its perimeter, but the highest probability is for the main bedroom, here. Communications are to remain open throughout the op. When the subject is secured, she will be transferred, immediately, to the medical techs, accompanied by two team members during transpo to designated health center where a medical team is waiting.”
Maybe they’d save her, Eve thought as she approached the door to Dru Geller’s apartment. And maybe they wouldn’t. If Dwier’s information was accurate, she had under eight hours left. Morris had called the infection irreversible after the initial spread.
She was risking six cops, her aide, and herself over a woman who was in all likelihood already dead.
She drew her tranq-shooter, nodded for the crisis team cop to uncode the locks. “Uncoding,” she said quietly into her communicator. “Locks disengaged. Wait for my signal.”
She eased the door open. She caught a whiff of spoiled food, of stale urine. The lights were off, the sun shields tight at the windows. The room looked and smelled like a cave.
She gestured, pointing Peabody and the second officer left. She went in fast, low, and right. “Living area clear.”
She heard it then, a kind of growling. The sound a rabid dog might make when cornered. “Moving to main bedroom. Hold at the windows.”
She took flank at the door, nodded again, then kicked it in.
Dru Geller had her back to the wall. She wore nothing but panties. There was blood on her breasts, breasts scored from her own fingernails. Her nose had bled as well, and the red ran down over her snarling lips, stained her teeth, dripped off her chin.
Eve saw it all in the space of a heartbeat and saw the long-bladed scissors in her hand.
The scissor flew, like an arrow from a bow. Eve pivoted, deployed the tranq. It caught Geller in the left breast. “Now! Go! Hit her again,” she ordered as Geller lunged forward.
A second tranq hit her midbody, and still she leaped on Eve like a wildcat, all teeth and nails. She saw the red eyes wheeling, felt the blood drip on her face. Geller howled as a third tranq took her in the right shoulder.
She shut off like a light, red eyes rolling back, limbs going limp.
It took seconds, only seconds. There was a flurry of movement as Geller was rolled away, her unconscious body restrained.
“Get her to the MTs, get her transported,” Eve ordered. “Move.”
“We got an officer down.”
“What?” Wiping the blood from her face, Eve gained her feet, spun around.
And saw Peabody lying on the floor, bleeding, the scissors jammed deep into her shoulder.
“No. Goddamn it. No.” She was on her knees in one fast move, and without thinking brushing her hand over Peabody’s white face.
“Zigged right, should’ve zagged left,” Peabody managed. She turned her head, stared dully at the bright silver scissors. “It’s not too bad, is it? Not too bad.”
“No, it’s nothing. Get me a medical, now. Right now!” Eve stripped off her jacket, prepared to use it to staunch the flow of blood.
“Pull them out, okay? Wouldja?” Peabody groped for Eve’s hand. “It’s making me pretty sick, having them sticking out of me.”
“Better not. MTs coming up right now. They’ll fix you up.”
“They’d hit an inch over, the riot vest would’ve deflected them. What’re the chances? Really hurts. Jesus, it really hurts. I’m cold. Just shock, right? Right, Dallas? I’m not dying or anything?”
“You’re not dying.” She snagged the wrinkled bedspread from one of the crisis team. “I don’t have time to waste training another aide.”
Eve turned her head as an MT rushed in. “Do something,” she ordered.
Ignoring her, he ran a scanner over the point of entry, took Peabody’s vital signs. “Okay, Officer. What’s your name?”
“Peabody. I’m Peabody. Would you get these goddamn scissors out of me?”
“Sure. I’m going to give you a little something
first.”
“Gimme lots. Dallas is the one who lives for pain.”
He smiled at her, set his pressure syringe.
“She’s losing blood,” Eve snapped. “Are you just going to let her bleed out on the floor?”
“Just keep the pressure on,” he said mildly. “Too bad about that jacket. Looks like nice fabric. I’m going to pull out the invasive object. On three, Peabody, okay?”
“One, two, three.”
The MT met Eve’s eyes, and mouthed: Hold her down.
Eve felt it in her gut, felt the sharp shock of the blades slicing out of Peabody’s flesh. Felt it in the quick jerk of her aide’s body against her restraining hands.
Blood flowed over her fingers, warm and wet.
Then she was nudged out of the way, while the MT worked on the wound.
Twenty minutes later she was pacing the ER waiting room. She’d nearly decked the doctor who’d ordered her out of the treatment area. Had restrained herself only because she figured the medical had to be conscious to work on Peabody.
McNab burst through the doors in a limping run, with Roarke right behind him.
“Where is she? What are they doing for her? How bad is it?”
“She’s in treatment. They’re patching her up. It’s just like I told you, McNab. She’s got a deep puncture in her shoulder, but it missed the major arteries. They don’t think there’s any muscle damage. They’re going to clean it up, give her some blood and fluids, sew her up. Then they’ll probably spring her.”
She saw him stare down at her hands. She hadn’t taken time to wash the blood off. Cursing herself, she shoved them into her pockets.
“Which treatment room?”
“B. Around the corner to the left.”
He rushed off, and Eve scrubbed her hands over her face. “I can’t stay in here,” she muttered and hurried outside.
“Is it more serious than you told McNab?” Roarke asked her.
“I don’t think so. The MT seemed solid. He said it was too serious to treat and release on-scene, but not major. She lost a lot of blood.”
She stared down at her hands.
“You lost a bit yourself.” He traced his fingers over her jaw where Geller’s nails had swiped.