by Eileen Wilks
“Are the local police cooperating now?”
“They don’t have much choice. The Special Agent is Unit Twelve. Though the lieutenant—that’s Lieutenant Matthews—and Agent Yu argued about something. It was very polite, but they were clearly not agreeing. Then he left.”
“You don’t know the nature of their disagreement?”
“I couldn’t hear.” That was regret, surely, in her voice. “He took her aside for the discussion. Agent Yu wanted me to tell you something else.”
“Oh?”
“I guess you know who Ruben Brooks is? He had a heart attack earlier today.”
“What?” Automatically he gripped her shoulder, halting her. “Pardon me,” he said when she scowled up at him over that shoulder. He released her. “Is Ruben alive? Do you know if he’s alive?”
“He was when Special Agent Yu called.” Her voice was stiff. Since he could smell her reaction to his touch, he understood the cause of her discomfort. It was instinct for him to touch, but he’d need to restrain that instinct with her. “She said that Martin Croft will be handling the Unit while Brooks is incapacitated.”
He nodded absently. Croft was a good man and a good administrator, but he wasn’t Ruben Brooks. He tended to play things safe. To be fair, he had reason. Brooks could afford to gamble on a hunch, both because he had a good deal of political clout and because his gambles almost always paid off, thanks to his precognitive Gift.
Rule pried more information from her as they proceeded to the foot of the stairs and down two more hallways. And pry was the right word. He couldn’t tell if she disapproved of him because he was lupus, because he was a civilian, or if the disapproval she radiated was more about herself and the sexual buzz she did not want to feel. Still, Lily had told her to fill him in about Ruben, so she answered his questions.
It had been a major heart attack. No word yet on how much damage had been done to the muscle. Brooks had been in his office when it happened. Ida had responded with her customary efficiency, summoning an ambulance, summoning Croft, and putting an aspirin under Ruben’s tongue … possibly all at the same time, Rule thought. He’d met Ruben’s secretary a time or two.
Rule had never and would never experience a heart attack, but he knew pain. He knew how it felt for your body to turn into a hostile zone, as likely to kill as to sustain you. He knew how alien and terrible the tubes and beeping machines of ICU felt. And he knew what it was like to wait while someone you loved was tied to those tubes and machines. He ached for Ruben’s wife, Deborah. And as they turned down yet another hall, he began to tense up.
This was clearly not a patient section. Labs and storage, from what he saw and smelled. “Cobb is supposed to be a patient,” he said sharply. “Where are we going?”
“Um … the room he’s in … it was used for your people back when the government registered you.”
“Gado,” he said, disgusted. “They put him in the room where lupi were held so they could be injected with gado.” It might even be the same room where Cobb had been confined years ago when he was given the drug. “No wonder he’s refusing treatment.”
“No, no, he knows he isn’t here for that. They explained, so he knows.”
“I doubt very much he believes them.”
One more turn in the hall, and he saw Lily. She was at the end of the corridor, standing in front of a steel door with a small, barred window. She was talking with a uniformed officer. The instant he saw her, she turned her head—met his eyes—and started toward him.
Rule stepped up his pace and met her several feet from the door. He touched her arm. “I heard about Ruben. Are you all right?”
She waved that aside. “I called Nettie. She said it would take her too long to get to D.C. and the timing’s critical for this kind of thing. Most healers can’t do much about damage unless they get to the patient within an hour of the attack, but she knows someone, this healer who’s kind of a recluse. He’s good, he’s powerful, he’s not far from D.C., and he owes her a favor. She’s going to get him to go to Ruben. Ida’s making the arrangements. She has to make sure this guy isn’t seen by the press—he’s fanatic about his privacy. I don’t know his name. Nettie wouldn’t tell me his name. But she thinks he’ll do it.”
She was shaken. It was clear to him, maybe not to others. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but she’d call that unprofessional—which he translated as don’t look weak. He understood the need to conceal weakness in public, but the urge to hold and comfort was strong. He settled for squeezing her arm. “You’ve done all you can.”
She nodded, but the pleat remained between her brows. She glanced at Sjorensen. “Thank you for escorting Rule. Excuse us a moment.” She jerked her head at Rule—come on—and went through the nearest open door.
The room appeared to be used for storage of old office furniture. Lily stopped a few paces inside and looked at him. “You know what that room is where they’ve got him?”
His mouth tightened. “Yes.”
“It’s a bad place for him, but I see why they did it. They’ve got a violent lupus, a killer, but he’s wounded. The law says he gets medical treatment. Where else can they put him? But that’s a really small room.”
“You’ve looked in on him?”
“It’s small,” she repeated. “Eight by ten, maybe. No furniture, nothing he could break up to use as a weapon, so he’s lying on the floor. I don’t think he’s dealing with confinement well. That’s why I told Lieutenant Matthews he couldn’t go in with us. Too many people, too small a space.”
Ah. That’s what she’d argued about with the lieutenant earlier. “Is Cobb mobile? Agitated?”
She shook her head. “He’s just lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. According to the guard, that’s all he’s done since he came around. He’s not responsive. The only time he did speak was to tell the doctor not to touch him and to get out.” Her frown deepened. “I’m thinking you’d better go in first.”
That was both sensible and atypical. “You’re worried about something you haven’t mentioned.”
She lowered her voice. “They’ll have to shut us up in there with him. It’s a small room, Rule.”
Oh. He felt foolish. He admitted—to himself, not out loud—he was already a bit uncomfortable simply because he was underground. That was a relic of Dis, when he’d done a good deal of crawling around in small, underground spaces. He didn’t think Lily was aware of that mild, lingering discomfort, and didn’t intend to tell her. “I’ll be all right.”
“You’ll hold my hand.”
Appreciation and amusement bloomed into a smile. “I am always happy to hold your hand, nadia.”
Lily spoke briefly with Sjorensen, letting her know what they intended to do—some of what they intended, at least. The police officer guarding the door had the key. He gave that to Lily, but insisted on keeping his weapon out and ready. Lily didn’t roll her eyes, but her voice suggested she wanted to. “Just don’t shoot Rule.”
Rule turned his attention to the mantle coiled in his gut, preparing himself to use it, if necessary, to subdue Cobb.
Lily used the key. The lock clicked audibly. She opened the door and let Rule in.
TEN
LILY was right; the room was small. Painfully so. And it stank of terror, blood, and despair.
Fear is an acrid and distinct smell. Even humans were aware of it sometimes. Despair is a subtler scent, an amalgamation of flattened fear, guilt, and abject submission. The second he inhaled, Rule knew Raymond Cobb wouldn’t erupt in violence. He was already beaten.
Cobb lay on the floor, as Lily had said, a beefy man with bandages wrapped around his chest and abdomen, with a thin blanket covering him from the waist down. His hair was short and dark, graying at the temples. He had a square block of a head, his features crowded together beneath a high forehead.
He turned his head, met Rule’s eyes briefly, then closed his own. “Thank God. Thank God you came.”
“Our Rhej is
coming, also. She’ll be able to help you.” Rule didn’t speak directly of Cobb’s pain, which must be great. Others could have, but not the man’s Rho, not without giving insult.
Cobb made a soft sound, too breathy for a proper snort. “Waste of her time.”
“You can come in, Lily,” Rule said, and took two steps inside before sitting cross-legged on the floor. He put a hand on Cobb’s shoulder. The mantle recognized the man in a way he knew Cobb would feel, too, and take some comfort in.
Rule heard and felt Lily enter behind him. He heard—distinctly—the door shut and the lock click. The muscles across his shoulders cinched.
Lily moved up quietly and sat beside him, sliding her purse from her shoulder to the floor. She’d placed herself near Cobb’s feet, while Rule was near the man’s midsection. Even if Cobb confounded reality by attacking, Rule would be able to stop him.
She placed a hand on Rule’s thigh. The touch helped. He glanced at her. She nodded once: You take it for now.
Rule did his best to ignore the locked door behind him. “I can’t remember if you met my nadia at the gens subicio. You know who she is, though.”
“Cop,” Cobb said without opening his eyes. His voice was hoarse and soft. He would be trying to inhale as shallowly as possible with that wound in his chest. “FBI cop.”
“That’s right. I require you to answer her questions fully and honestly.” He put a whisper of the mantle behind that order, just enough to make it clear he meant exactly what he said.
Cobb nodded fractionally. “I have a request to make of my Rho.”
Rule’s throat tightened. He feared he knew what that request was. “You may make it after you have answered Lily’s questions.”
Lily took a recorder out of her purse, set it on the floor, and turned it on. “Special Agent Lily Yu of Unit Twelve, MCD, Federal Bureau of Investigation, interviewing suspect Raymond Cobb.” She gave the date and time and recited the Miranda warning. “Mr. Cobb, this is an official interview. It is being taped. Do you understand your right to counsel?”
“My Rho’s here. He’s my counsel. Get on with it.”
“You’re wounded. Your doctor is unsure of your ability to withstand questioning, due to your nature and your refusal to allow him to examine you. If at any time you feel unable to continue, or if you require medical help, let me know and we will end the interview.” She paused. “For the record, Rule Turner is present at this interview, acting as counsel for Raymond Cobb. I am delegating the initial questioning to him, due to his position as Rho of Raymond Cobb’s clan.”
Cobb’s eyes popped open in the same startlement Rule felt. He glanced at her. She gave another small nod.
Rule looked down at the man who’d killed so suddenly and wantonly. He kept it simple. “Ray, what happened?”
“I don’t know.” Cobb’s eyes were a muddy brown. He fixed his gaze on Rule’s chest, emphasizing his submission. “It was … I was fine. Annoyed with that jerk Reynolds, but that’s nothing new. He’s a …” Cobb stopped. Swallowed. “He was a prick. Maybe he still is, if there’s an afterlife. So I was kinda pissed, but not paying that much attention. All of a sudden my stomach cramped—a real monster of a cramp, like someone squeezed my guts. I thought, what the hell?”
“Was it like bane sickness?”
“I dunno. No nausea, and there was just that one huge cramp, but I guess it was kinda like it. Then …” His voice flattened. “Then I picked up Reynolds and broke his neck. Then Sonja … Sonja …” Tears gathered in his eyes. “I killed Sonja. I don’t—I can’t—there were more. I don’t remember it all, but there were more. I didn’t … after Sonja, I almost came back. I knew I’d killed her and I—I tried, but it was too much. I couldn’t stop, but I threw people instead. I didn’t break their necks, but I threw them hard.” His voice sank. “I guess I killed more than Reynolds and Sonja.”
“One more, with ten injured,” Rule said. “What was too much?”
“The rage. The rage.” His faded to a whisper. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Lily spoke. “Was it the fury, Ray?”
Cobb’s gaze flicked to Rule. Rule nodded, telling him it was okay to speak of it on the record.
“It must have been. It was different than I remember, but it’s been a long time, so maybe I don’t remember right. The fury, yeah … only it wasn’t about enemies or winning. It was just … rage.”
Lily took up the questioning now, asking more specific questions: Who was nearby when the rage hit? What had he eaten, what had he drunk? Had he felt threatened? Had he specifically wanted to kill Reynolds?
He’d eaten three hamburgers and a handful of fries. He’d drunk two or three Cokes … no, not out of a can, but from one of those red plastic cups. Someone had put booze in the last one … sure, his human friends did that sometimes. They didn’t know he was lupus, so they teased him about being a teetotaler. He hadn’t finished it. He didn’t like the taste of bourbon.
He didn’t remember who all was nearby, other than Sonja and Reynolds. He’d just killed whoever was closest. There’d been nothing to him at that time but rage—no memories, no thoughts, no fears.
Lily said, “Yet you almost came back after you killed Sonja.”
“Almost.” His eyes were haunted. “Wasn’t horseshoes, was it? Almost doesn’t count.”
Rule spoke quietly. “What about your wolf, Ray? The moon’s three quarters full. Your wolf was close, but you didn’t Change. Was your wolf enraged, too?”
Ray blinked in dull surprise. “I dunno. There wasn’t enough of me present to notice if my wolf was in on the rage, and I didn’t think of it. Changing, I mean.”
He was clearly tiring, his pain mastering him. Rule glanced at Lily. “He’s spent. He’ll keep answering as long as you keep asking because I told him to, but I think he needs to rest.”
“ All right.” The vee between her brows told him she was as little satisfied with what she’d learned as he was. “Mr. Cobb, we’ll prepare a statement—a confession—from the transcription of this interview. I’ll bring it to you to sign in the morning.”
Cobb nodded weakly. But his grip wasn’t weak when he reached for Rule. “She’s through. You said I could make my request when she was through.”
“Yes.” Rule glanced at the recorder, lifting his eyebrows to ask silently if it could be turned off.
Lily considered the request briefly, then clicked the recorder off.
“I’ve shamed the clan.” Cobb was hoarser than ever, but his eyes had lost their film of despair. They burned. “I have to be put down. I understand that. Whatever went wrong with me, I have to be put down. But I can’t live in a cage. They’ll turn me off, shoot me full of that goddamned drug, and lock me away. I can’t do that. I can’t live in a cage, not hearing the moon. Maybe I deserve to, for killing Sonja, but I … something broke in me. I didn’t—I wouldn’t—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I ask for final mercy from my Rho.”
It was what Rule had expected. He nodded slowly. “Your Rho grants—”
“Wait a minute,” Lily said sharply. “Wait. Is he asking you to kill him?”
“He isn’t asking for anything illegal.”
“Because he’ll Change first. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? No.”
Cobb’s gaze flicked to her, then away, dismissing her. He was over seventy and Leidolf. It didn’t occur to him that a female could have any say in this.
Rule knew better, but this time Lily couldn’t have her way. Pity, regret, fury, fear—all crowded up in his gut, in his throat. They burned the way ice does, a cold sear. “I don’t tell you how to do your duty. You won’t tell me how to do mine.”
“You are not offing my witness. I don’t care whether he’s furry or not.”
“I am honor-bound to grant his request unless I believe he deserves to suffer. I don’t believe that.”
“Forget it.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll stop you. If you try, I’ll stop you, and if I can’t, I’ll char
ge you with interfering with a witness.”
Rule’s eyebrows lifted. “You would put me in a cage?”
“I can’t—hell.” Her phone was chiming the opening bars of “The Star Spangled Banner.” That ought to mean it was Ruben, but with him hospitalized it must be Ida or Croft. She bent and dug the phone out of her purse. Lousy timing, but if there was news about Ruben, she’d want to hear it. “Yu here.”
“Lily, I have news. You aren’t going to like it.”
It was Croft. Rule spoke quickly and subvocally to his clansman: Wait. I need to hear this.
“How is he?” Lily demanded, as if she could force Croft to make it good news after all. “How’s Ruben?”
“It isn’t about Ruben. I’m sorry. I should have made that clear. Ruben’s pretty much the same—still in ICU. Ida says you’ve got some high-powered healer coming in to see what he can do, but he isn’t there yet. No, this is about the Cobb case. I have to pull you off it.”
“What?”
“The director’s taking too much heat. Political heat. He’s told me to pull you.”
“The Unit isn’t under the—”
“Ruben isn’t. I’m not Ruben. I can’t call up the president and tell him his appointee is making trouble and to please back him off—not when you don’t have clear jurisdiction. Unless you’ve found something to change the picture?”
“No.” She grudged it, but she gave him the truth. “But I do have a confession. One the police weren’t going to get because he wouldn’t talk to them.”
“That’s good. That’s going to help. It will make the director’s concerns about a conflict of interest less—”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“That’s his reason for pulling you. ‘The inherent conflict of interest,’ he said. And you have to see his point. You took Rule with you. I understand why, but I can’t explain, and Rule is—”
“Lupus, yes.” She bit off each word. “So is the suspect. And if Rule were black, would it be considered a conflict of interest if I investigated a case involving a black suspect?”