by J. D. Robb
“I appreciate the import of your investigation, Lieutenant, but this woman isn’t a tool.”
Eve kept her voice steady. “She’s not just a tool to me. But to the man who put her here, she’s less than that. She’s a game piece. Bryna Bankhead and Grace Lutz didn’t have a chance to tell anyone what happened to them.”
Whatever he saw in her face had him pushing open the door. “Just you,” he said. “And I’m staying with her.”
“That works for me. Peabody, stand by.”
A nurse monitored the machines and spoke in a soothing voice. Though Moniqua didn’t respond, Eve thought she heard something. Her eyes traveled back and forth as if measuring the glass box of the room. They flicked over Eve, passed on, then lingered on Michaels’s face.
“I’m so tired” was all she said, and her voice fluttered, soft as bird wings.
“You need to rest.” He stepped to the bed and covered her hand with his.
In that gesture, Eve’s confidence in him solidified. Moniqua wasn’t just a patient to him. She was a person.
“This is Lieutenant Dallas. She needs to ask you some questions.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I’m going to stay right here.”
“Ms. Cline.” Eve took the other side of the bed so that Moniqua lay between her and the doctor. “I know you’re confused, and you’re tired, but anything you can tell me will help.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You corresponded, through e-mail, with an individual you knew as Byron.”
“Yes. We met in a chat. Nineteenth-century poets.”
“You agreed to meet him last night, for drinks at the Royal Bar in The Palace Hotel.”
Her brow, pale as marble, creased. “Yes. At . . . nine-thirty. Was that last night? We’d been talking online for weeks, and . . . I met him. I remember.”
“What else do you remember?”
“I—I was a little nervous at first. We’d hit it off so well in cyber, but real life’s different. Still, it was just drinks, and in such a lovely setting. If it didn’t work out, what was the harm? But it did. He was just as I expected . . . Did I have an accident? Am I dying?”
“You’re doing very well,” Michaels told her. “You’re very strong.”
“You had drinks with him,” Eve continued, drawing her attention away from Michaels again. “What did you talk about?”
Moniqua’s face went vague again. “Talk about?”
“With Byron. When you had drinks with him last night.”
“Oh, ah, poetry. And art. Travel. We both like to travel, though he’s been so many more places than I have. We had champagne, and caviar. I’ve never had caviar before. I don’t think it agreed with me. I must have gotten ill.”
“Were you ill at the hotel?”
“No. I—no, I don’t think . . . I must have had too much to drink. I’m usually careful not to have more than one glass. I remember, I remember now. Feeling very strange, but good. Happy. He was so perfect, so attractive. I kissed him. Kept kissing him. I wanted to get a room in the hotel. That’s not like me.” Her fingers pulled weakly at the sheet. “I must’ve had too much to drink.”
“You suggested getting a room in the hotel?”
“Yes. He laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh, but I was so drunk, I didn’t care. Why did I drink so much? And he said . . . Take me home with you, and we’ll do things the poets write of.”
She closed her eyes. “Corny. But it didn’t seem corny then. He told me to pay the check. I wasn’t offended or surprised that he meant for me to pay, even though he’d made the date. I went in to freshen up, and all I could think was I was going to have amazing sex with this perfect man. And I could hardly wait to get my hands on him. We took a cab. I paid for that, too. And in the cab . . .”
The faintest color washed into her cheeks. “I think I must’ve dreamed all this. I must have dreamed it. He whispered a suggestion in my ear. What he wanted me to do.” She opened her eyes again. “I went down on him, in the cab. I couldn’t wait to. It wasn’t a dream, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t a dream.”
“What did he give me?” She groped for Eve’s hand, her fingers trying to squeeze, but only twitching. “What was in those drinks?”
Her hand moved, restlessly. Eve covered it. Gripped it. “I wasn’t drunk, was I? It was like being hypnotized.”
“You weren’t drunk, Moniqua, and you’re not responsible for anything you did. He drugged you. Tell me what happened when you got to your apartment.”
“She needs to rest now.” Michaels glanced at the monitors, back at Eve. “She’s talked long enough. You have to leave.”
“No.” Moniqua’s fingers moved in Eve’s hand. “He gave me something that made me do those things to him, with him, made me let him do those things to me? He nearly killed me, didn’t he?”
“Very nearly,” Eve agreed. “But you’re a hell of a lot stronger than he anticipated. Help me catch him. Tell me what happened in your apartment.”
“It’s hazy. I was dizzy, queasy. He put on music, lit candles. He had candles in his bag, and another bottle of champagne. I didn’t want anymore, but he wanted me to drink. I did exactly what he asked me to do. Every time he touched me, I wanted him to touch me again. He said it needed to be perfect. That he was going to prepare . . . set the stage. I should wait. I felt sick. I didn’t want to tell him I felt sick because he might not stay. So when he went into the bedroom, I went into the bath and was sick. After, I felt a little better. Steadier. I went into the bedroom. He had champagne by the bed, and dozens of candles lighted. There were rose petals all over the bed. Pink roses, like the ones he must have sent me at work a few days before. I’d never had anyone go to such trouble.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “It was so lovely, almost painfully romantic. I actually loved him, in that instant when I walked in and saw him, I was wildly, recklessly in love with him. He undressed me, said I was beautiful. It was all very gentle at first, very sweet and intimate. A fantasy, really. After a while, he handed me the glass. I told him I didn’t want more champagne, but he just looked at me, told me to drink it and I did. Then it wasn’t gentle. It was outrageous. Like going mad. Like becoming an animal. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Burning from the inside out, and my heart beating so fast it felt like it would explode. He was watching me. I can see his eyes now, watching me. He told me to say his name. But it wasn’t his name.”
“What name was it?”
“Kevin. He told me his name was Kevin. Then it was as if things inside me, my head, my body, ripped. And everything stopped. I couldn’t move or see or hear. Buried alive.” Now she wept. “He buried me alive.”
“No, he didn’t.” Eve leaned over before Michaels could move in. “You’re here and safe and alive. He’s never going to touch you again. Moniqua, he’s never going to touch you again.”
She turned her face weakly to the pillow as the tears flowed. “I let him inside me.”
“No, you didn’t. He violated you. He forced you.”
“No, I let—”
“He forced you,” Eve repeated. “Look at me. Listen to me. He took your choice away, and he raped you. His weapon was a drug instead of a knife or his fists, but it was still a weapon. Putting rose petals on the bed doesn’t make what he did any less criminal. But you beat him. And I’m going to put him away for you. I know someone you can talk to, who’ll help you through this.”
“I never told him to stop. I didn’t want him to.”
“You’re not responsible. This wasn’t about sex. Rape never is. This was about him controlling you. You couldn’t stop him last night, but you can now. Don’t let him control you now.”
“He raped me, and then he left me to die. I want him to pay for making me feel like this.”
“Leave that part to me.”
Eve felt slightly ill when she stepped out again. It was brutal, always brutal, for her to interview rape victims. To look
at them and see herself.
She took a moment, bracing a hand against the outer doors, waiting to settle again.
“Lieutenant?”
She straightened, turned to Michaels.
“You did very well with her. I’d expected you to push for more detail.”
“I will, next time. I’ve got to dig out my rubber hose. Can’t recall where I left it.”
He offered a slow, half smile. “I didn’t expect her to live. Medically, her chances were slim to none. But that’s one of the rewards of my profession. The small miracles. She still has a rough road ahead, physically and emotionally.”
“You can contact Dr. Charlotte Mira.”
Impressed, he angled his head. “Dr. Mira?”
“If she can’t treat Moniqua personally, she’ll give the case to the best rape therapist available. You guys work on giving her back her physical and emotional health. I’ll work on giving her justice.”
She pushed through the doors, signalled to Peabody, and kept going. She wanted out of the hospital almost as much as she wanted to breathe.
“Sir.” Peabody jogged to keep pace. “Everything all right?”
“She’s alive, she’s talking, and she’s given us the bastard’s first name. Kevin.”
“Solid. But I was talking about you. You look a little whipped.”
“I’m fine. I just hate fucking hospitals,” she muttered. “Maintain the guard on Moniqua, and the checks on her condition. Make a note to contact Mira and ask her to consult with Michaels over her therapy.”
“I didn’t think Mira took private consults.”
“Just make a note of it, Peabody.” She kept her breathing shallow until she shoved through the hospital doors and strode outside. “Christ! How do people stand being in those places? I’ve got a personal call to make. Step aside, will you? Call Moniqua’s status into the commander and tell him my report will be forthcoming.”
“Yes, sir. There’s some benches just over there. Why don’t you make that call sitting down?” Because you’re white as a sheet, she wanted to say. But knew better.
Eve walked over to sit in a little area of green the city planners liked to call microparks. The trio of dwarf trees and scatter of flowers were jammed into a narrow island between parking lots. But she supposed it was the thought that counted.
Still, she wished they’d thought to plant something with fragrance. She wanted the stench of hospital out of her system.
She wasn’t sure where to tag Roarke. She tried his personal line first, was switched to voice mail so she disconnected. She put the next through to his midtown offices and hit on his admin.
“I need to locate him.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. He’s on a holo-transmission, if you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment. How are you?”
Right, Eve thought. Courtesy and conversation, a duo she often neglected. “Fine, thanks. How are you, Caro?”
“Very well. Delighted the boss is back, though it seems we’re busier yet when he’s in the cockpit. I’ll just beep in and let him know you’re on the line.”
Waiting, Eve tipped her face back to the sun. It was always cold in hospitals, she thought. The kind of cold that crept into her bones.
“Lieutenant.” She focused her attention on Roarke’s voice, on his face on-screen. “What’s wrong?” he queried.
“Nothing. Need a favor.”
“Eve. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Really. Moniqua Cline regained consciousness. I just finished questioning her. She’s going to tough this out, but it’s hard on her.”
“And on you.”
“I know some of what’s going through her head. I know some of what she’s going to feel in the middle of the night.” She shook it off. “That’s not why I called, and you’re in the middle of a transmission.”
“It can wait. A benefit of being in charge. What can I do for you?”
“Question. Is it possible for you to monitor a standard account, monitor any e-mail, block same?”
“Private citizens who attempt any of the above are in violation of e-privacy laws and subject to fines and/or imprisonment.”
“Which means you can.”
“Oh. I assumed the question was rhetorical.” He smiled at her. “Who do you want me to monitor?”
“Stefanie Finch. She’s a potential target. At the moment she’s in the air somewhere between the U.S. and England on shuttle runs. When she lands, I want to tell her who and what she’s been playing with in hopes I can enlist her help to reel these guys in. But I don’t know how she’ll react, and she’s going to have too much time to fiddle around before I have her under control. I can’t chance her going off on a rip and tipping her cyber-pal.”
“So you want to block all her transmissions and cyber-activities?”
“That’s the ticket. I don’t want anything she sends getting through until I’m sure of her cooperation and I have a warrant to put a filter on her transmissions. The warrant’s not going to cover us until she’s back in New York.”
“You know how it excites me whenever you ask me to slip through one of the loops in the law.”
“Remind me later why I married a pervert.”
“I’ll be happy to.” His smile spread because color had come back into her face.
“How soon can you have it done?”
“I have some things to finish up here. Best to do this little task at home on the unregistered. Give me two hours. Oh, Lieutenant? I don’t suppose this bit of business goes into my report as expert consultant, civilian.”
“Kiss ass.”
“As long as it’s yours, darling.”
Chapter 14
When Eve finally ran Theodore McNamara to ground, she was shown into his office by a bird of a woman who chirped about the doctor’s demanding schedule and the need to keep the audience brief.
“The doctor really has no time for an extra appointment today. As you know, Dr. McNamara has just returned from a very important consult session on Tarus II.”
“He’s about to have a very important consult session on Planet Earth,” Eve returned. For her own amusement, Eve lengthened her stride so the woman was forced to trot to keep up as they navigated the short breezeway that connected McNamara’s office to the main building at J. Forrester. Outside the glass a medi-copter banked left for landing on the heliport of the adjoining hospital facilities.
She saw a half dozen medical personnel waiting for the transport, and imagined the noise was horrendous. But inside the breezeway the air was silent, cool, and faintly floral.
It appeared Dr. McNamara had disconnected himself from the petty pains and troubles of those his facility served.
The breezeway opened into the office area done in stark white. Walls, rugs, consoles, chairs, even the uniforms of the drones who went silently about their business were unrelieved white.
It was, Eve thought, like walking inside an eggshell.
They passed through a set of glass doors that whisked open silently at their approach, and moved down yet another corridor. At the end loomed a set of glossy white doors. The woman knocked with a kind of fearful reverence.
The doors slid apart, but the woman stood where she was. “Lieutenant Dallas and aide, Dr. McNamara.”
“Yes, yes. See that we’re not disturbed. Ten minutes. Come in, Lieutenant. My time is very valuable.”
He sat in front of a wall of glass at a desk so massive and white it resembled an ice floe. It stood on a platform three steps above the rest of the office so that McNamara peered down, an eagle on his perch, at lesser mortals.
His hair was white—a sleek, close-cut cap that hugged his skull. He had a long, hollowed face dominated by dark, impatient eyes that scowled beneath the white peaks of his brows. His black suit was a slash of power against the frigid white of the room.
“Golly,” Peabody said under her breath, “it’s the great and powerful Oz.”
“State your business,” he demanded. “I’m a busy man.�
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And one who liked to intimidate, Eve mused. They were not invited to sit, but even standing she was forced to look up to meet his gaze.
“You’d have saved us both time if you’d returned the transmissions I sent to you on Tarus II.”
“The consult session was my priority. I am not attached as a medical consultant to the NYPSD.”
“Which makes you a civilian, and gives me the authority to continue this interview at Cop Central, which I will enforce if necessary. Now, we can continue this pissing contest or you can agree to cooperate.”
“You’re in my office. It appears I am cooperating.”
Annoyed, Eve strode up the steps to the platform. She saw cold fury wash over his face as he was forced to tip his head back. “Peabody. Stills.”
Though she knew it was small of her, Peabody enjoyed watching her lieutenant screw up the power structure of the room. “Yes, sir.” She passed the photos up.
Eve laid them on the pristine surface of the desk. “Do you recognize any of these women?”
“I do not.”
“Bryna Bankhead, Grace Lutz, Moniqua Cline. Ring any bells?”
“No.”
“Funny as their names and faces have been all over the media the last few days.”
His stare never wavered. “I’ve been off planet, as you know.”
“Last I heard they had media transmissions on Tarus II.”
“I don’t have time for gossip and media blathering. Nor for guessing games. Now, Miss Dallas, if you’d tell me what it is you wish to discuss—”
“Lieutenant Dallas. You were involved in a research project partnered by J. Forrester and Allegany Pharmaceuticals that involved experimentation with certain controlled substances.”
“Research on sexual dysfunction and infertility. Successful research,” he added, “that resulted in two landmark medications.”
“The project was aborted due to cost overruns, lawsuits, and rumors of substance abuse and sexual misconduct by project staff.”