by J. D. Robb
“She was killed during the Urbans,” Eve prompted.
“Her time came during the Urbans. The human cycle is about time, you see, and will and individual acceptance.”
“But you turned her in,” Eve said. “You heard her talking with the man, the soldier she was in love with. Heard that she was planning to leave you. You couldn’t let her go, could you?”
Irritation flickered over his face. “How do you know anything about that?”
“You’re a smart guy, Bob. We’re smart guys, too. What did you do when you found out she was going to leave you?”
“She couldn’t leave me, she had no right. We belonged together. It was a terrible betrayal, unforgivable. There was no choice, none at all, in what had to be done.”
“What had to be done?” Feeney asked him.
“I had to go to my father, and my grandfather, and tell them that she’d betrayed us. That I’d overheard her planning betrayals with one of the men. That she was a traitor.”
“You made them think she was a spy. Betraying the cause.”
He spread his hands, all reason. “It was all the same, and a great tragedy for us all. She was taken, as the soldier was, down to my grandfather’s laboratory.”
“In the house where you took the women, here in New York. Down where you worked, where your grandfather tortured prisoners during the Urbans.”
“I learned a great deal from my grandfather. I watched as he worked with Edwina—he insisted on it. I understood so much as I watched. It made me strong and aware. Days, it took. Longer than it took for the soldier.”
He moistened his lips, took a small, tidy drink. “Men are weaker, my grandfather taught me. So often weaker than women. In the end, she asked for death. I looked into her eyes, and I saw all the answers, all the love, all the beauty that comes when the body and mind are stripped down to the core. I stopped time for her myself, my gift to her. She was my first, and all who’ve come after have only been reflections of her.”
“Why did you wait so long to look for those reflections?”
“The medication. My father was very insistent about my medication, and monitored me quite closely. The understanding, the clarity of mind needed for the work dulls with the medication.”
“But Corrine Dagby, here in New York nine years ago, she wasn’t your first.” Eve shook her head. “Not nearly. You had to practice, to perfect. How many were there before Corrine?”
“I learned from my grandfather, continued my education, and worked in the family business. I practiced on the dead under my grandfather’s tutelage. And I traveled. I first began serious practice nearly twenty years ago, after my father’s death. I had a great deal to learn and experience first. It took me another decade before I felt ready to begin the projects. I did document all the others, the failures, the near successes. You’ll find all that in my records.”
“Handy.” Eve glanced over at the knock on the door. Peabody poked her head in.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant. Can I see you just for a minute?”
“Yeah. Keep going,” she said to Feeney, then stepped outside.
“Roarke just tagged me. He asked if I’d tell you that he was able to finish the work he needed to deal with, and since it’s cleaned up, he was heading back down. He said he hoped to see you finish the interview.”
“Okay. I need you and McNab to check on this bastard’s ST. No point in taking his word that he’s got the go to clock out. Check all his personal data taken from the scene, wake up his lawyers in London. His doctors, if you find their data. I want confirmation he’s not stringing us on it.”
“Why would he—”
“Just get me confirmation, Peabody.”
“Yes, sir.”
Eve went back in, slid into a chair as Feeney pried more details out of Lowell.
“I meant to ask you,” she inserted, “how long Edwina Spring lasted. Her time.”
“My grandfather employed different methods, with longer rest periods than I’ve found necessary. Regardless, she was very strong, and had a high survival instinct. It was ninety-seven hours, forty-one minutes, and eight seconds. No one has ever reached her capacity. I believe you may have done so, which is why I wanted to end with you as I’d begun with her.”
“I wonder how long you’d last,” Eve commented, and rose as Peabody appeared at the door again.
Eve stepped out and eased the door closed behind them. “And?”
“I don’t get it. There’s no documentation supporting his claim. Nothing in his records, nothing in the official data banks, and McNab searched through them twice. I contacted the London lawyer—head of the firm, who was not pleased to be disturbed at home.”
“Aw.”
“Yeah. He did the privacy dance. I explained that his client was under arrest for multiple murders, and hauling out this ST claim to avoid trial and incarceration. Pulled the commander into it. Legal guy claimed Lowell had secured certification, but he couldn’t produce the documentation either. Went a little nuts about it. He’s spouting about holding interviews and so on, but he doesn’t have any pull in the U.S. of A.”
“That’s all I need.”
“But—”
“Going to wrap this up now, Peabody. Good job.”
Eve walked back in, closed the door in Peabody’s face. “Just to summarize,” Eve began. “You have confessed, with full understanding of your rights and obligations, having waived any counsel or representation, to the crimes heretofore documented?”
“‘Crimes’ is your word, but yes, I have.”
“How long did the medicals estimate you had left?”
“No more than two years, with the last several months extremely painful, unpleasant, and demeaning even with medication. I prefer a quiet and controlled end to my time.”
“I bet you do. But you know, you’re not going to get it. You don’t have any ST certification on record. Bob.”
“I certainly do.”
“Nope—and your fancy Brit lawyers can’t produce one either.” She laid her palms on the table, leaned over into his face. “No record means we’re under no obligation to take your word for it, under no obligation to accommodate your easy out. A couple of years isn’t as much as I’d like, but you’ll be spending it in a box. You’ll be spending some of it in pain, in distress, in despair.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “I have certification.”
“You’ve got nothing. And you are no longer free to apply for ST. You’ve been charged and you have willingly confessed to multiple homicides. Your out just slammed shut.”
“You’re lying.” His lips trembled. “You’re trying to upset me, to trick me.”
“You go ahead and think that. You go on thinking that for the next two years. You get to live, and every second you get to live, you’re going to suffer.”
“I want…I want my lawyers.”
“Sure. You can have an army of goddamn lawyers. They’re not going to help you.” Her eyes were fierce now, not the flat, objective eyes of the cop, but the fierce, burning eyes of justice. “You’re going to know pain. You’re going to choke out your last breath in pain.”
“No. No. It’s my time, it’s all worked out. I need my music, my pills.”
“Bob, you need to die a long, slow, agonizing death.” She straightened. “Why don’t you haul him down, Feeney. He can go cry to his lawyers before he starts learning what it’s like to live in a cage.”
“I’ve been waiting for nine years to do this.” Feeney hauled Lowell to his feet. “I’m betting on medical science,” he said as he dragged Lowell to the door. “Couple of years? They might find a fix. That would be sweet.” He glanced over his shoulder, sent Eve a strong smile. “That would be goddamn sweet.”
EPILOGUE
WHEN EVE STEPPED OUT, COPS POURED OUT OF OBSERVATION, out of the conference room where the monitors had been set up. She saw Roarke with them before Baxter elbowed through, and shocked her speechless by hauling her off her feet and
planting a noisy kiss on her mouth.
“Jesus Christ, are you out of your tiny mind?”
“Somebody had to do it, and he always gets to.” He jerked his thumb at Roarke. “I’m already punchy so don’t hit me. You either,” he said to Eve as he dropped her back on her feet. “Call me a sucker, but I get emotional at happy endings.”
“I’m going to be calling you in the nearest hospital if you try anything like that again. All of you who aren’t on regular shift, go home. Dismissed, get the hell…Commander.”
“Excellent job, all of you. I suggest you follow the lieutenant’s orders. Go home, get some sleep. The department is goddamn proud of every one of you. Lieutenant.”
“Sir. I’ll have the paperwork finished and filed within the hour.”
“No, you’ll get the hell out. You’ll go home. I’ll see the paperwork is dealt with.”
“Sir—”
“That’s an order.” He took her hand, shook it. “And consider that I’m going to give you a very large break and handle the media.”
“Yes, sir.”
She didn’t object when Roarke slung an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t I drive you home, Lieutenant.”
“Yeah, you could do that. Peabody, I don’t want to see you here before ten tomorrow.”
“I am so all over that. Dallas—”
“Don’t even think about hugging me. Is there no end to the humiliation my men dole out?”
“Aw,” Peabody said, but was grinning as Eve walked away.
She dropped off like a stone the minute she was in the car. Roarke drove with one hand on the wheel, one hand over hers. Halfway home, he switched to auto and let his own exhausted mind rest.
The lights of home were like stars, shining. He took his hand from hers to press his own fingers to his eyes, then climbed out to go around and open her door. But when he reached down to lift her, she batted a hand at his arm.
“No. I can walk.”
“Thank Christ, because I think trying to haul you up at this point would have both of us on our asses in the bloody driveway. Here.” He gripped her hand, gave her a tug. And the two of them stood a moment in the cold, bleary with fatigue.
“We just have to get inside, get upstairs, and fall into bed,” she decided. “We can do that.”
“All right then. Here we go.”
They wrapped arms around each other’s waists, held each other up as they walked to the front door, and through.
“Look at the pair of you.” Summerset stood like a black cloud in the foyer. “Stumbling in like drunks, and I’d say in need of a good wash and a decent meal.”
“Up yours, fuckface.”
“As always, such a command of the language.”
“Have to stand with my wife on this one,” Roarke said. “Or fall, as may very well be the case any moment. Though the fuckface was a bit harsh. Let’s take the elevator, darling. I’m too bleeding tired for the stairs.”
Summerset shook his finger at Galahad, who stood up to follow as they passed. “I think not,” he said quietly to the cat. “Let’s leave it just the two of them, shall we? And now that the children are home safe and sound, we’ll have a little snack before bed.”
“Bed,” Eve said as they stumbled out of the elevator. “I think I can actually smell bed—but in a good way.” She began to let things fall—her coat, then her jacket, her weapon—on her way to the bed, as Roarke did exactly the same.
“I have something to say.”
“Better make it quick,” she warned, “because I think I’m already asleep.”
“I’ve worked with you before, watched, understood—to some extent—what you do. But I haven’t really gone the gamut, as with this time. Beginning to end, and most of the steps between.” He fell into bed with her. “You’re an amazing woman, Lieutenant, my darling Eve.”
“You’re not so shabby yourself.” She turned to him, and with the lights still on looked into his eyes. “I’m not going to ask how you pulled off what I asked you to pull off.”
“It’s a bit complicated to explain at the moment in any case.”
“We had him, we stopped him, and Ariel Greenfeld’s safe. But there wouldn’t have been justice, not even a shadow of real justice, if you hadn’t done it.” She laid her hand on his cheek. “We did good work.”
“So we did.” Their lips pressed together briefly. “Now let’s have ourselves an eight-hour vacation.”
“To quote Peabody,” she said, voice already slurring, “‘I’m so all over that.’”
“Lights off,” he ordered.
In the dark, with her hand on his cheek, they slid into sleep.