The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [583]
“Give you a hand, Lieutenant?”
“Thanks.” She took the one Roarke offered, and stretched her left leg. “Might’ve pulled a little something on that kick. It was a little high for me.”
“Well placed, though I did enjoy the second maneuver.”
“First was for Peabody. Second was . . .”
“I know. For all of them.” He knew it embarrassed her, but he couldn’t help himself. He leaned down, kissed her. “You are my hero.”
“Get out.”
“Lieutenant?” One of the team called out from below. “You’re going to need to see this. Basement level.”
“On my way.”
It was a horror she’d never forget. No matter how many she’d already witnessed, how many were yet to come.
The basement had been converted, some years before from the look of it, into a small warren of rooms. His primary living space, Eve concluded, with some recent adjustments.
His office was tidily and efficiently set up. Three complete d and c units, a wall of discs, minifridgie, miniAutoChef. And lights so bright they almost burned the eyes.
He’d set up a personal fitness center, equipment, mirrors, a sparring droid nearly as big as he was. The lights seared.
In the third room, the walls were also mirrored, and the lights burned bright, bouncing their reflections everywhere. She could see the fitness area from that position.
It was his bedroom—a young boy’s room with toys on a shelf, Space Invaders paper on one of the walls. The bed was narrow and neatly made with a cover that boasted interplanetary warriors in full battle.
There was a chair, child-sized, fit with restraints. Wrist and ankle shackles. Tied on one of its arms was a bright red cloth.
She’d cast him into the basement, Eve thought. And despite the toys, the touches of youthful decor, had made it his prison.
He’d kept it as one.
But he’d made an addition.
There was a single long shelf bracketed into the wall. New from the looks of it, and the metal brackets shone clean and silver.
On it were fifteen clear jars filled with a pale blue liquid.
Floating in the pale blue were fifteen pairs of eyes.
“Fifteen,” Eve said and forced herself to look. “Fifteen.”
Eve stood with Roarke in Observation. Inside Interview A, Blue was shackled to the table—hand and foot.
He’d screamed like a madman—mad child—when they’d muscled him down, snapped them on. Had only calmed when, at his terrified demands, they’d boosted the lights in the room to full.
She imagined, if he got riled enough he could lift the whole shebang and do some damage.
“You’re not going in alone.” It wasn’t a question Roarke asked, it was a statement with the subtle edge of warning.
“I’m not stupid. It’s me, Feeney, and two uniforms built like Arena Ball tackles. You sure you want to watch this?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for worlds.”
“Patching it through to Peabody’s hospital room, so she and McNab can watch. They’ll put him away in an institution. Mental defectives. It’s not the cage I’d choose for him, but it’ll have to do.”
“You need him to tell you where the bodies are.”
She nodded. “He’ll tell me.”
After one last look, she moved out of Observation. Signaling to Feeney, she unlocked the door, stepped inside ahead of him and the two guards.
“Record on.” She recited the data, smiled. “Hello, John.”
“I don’t have to talk to you. Bitch.”
“No, you don’t have to talk to me.” She sat down, hooked an arm around the back of her chair. “And that’s Lieutenant Bitch to you. You don’t want to have a chat, we can send you back to a cage. You’re booked, John. All those murder charges. Rape, murder, mutilation. Got you cold, and you’re smart enough to known it. Crazy as a shithouse rat, maybe, but you’re not stupid.”
“You shouldn’t call him crazy, Dallas.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” She smirked at Feeney. “Probably got a bunch of sob stories to tell. Traumas and emotional scarring. Shrinks’ll eat that up. Me, I don’t give that shithouse rat’s skinny ass. You’re going down, John. Fact is, you are down. We got evidence flying out our butts on you. You go and leave us the eyes. What’s with that? What’s with the eyes, John?”
“Fuck you.