The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [509]
She moved forward, sat on the edge of the coffee table to face him. Jesus, she thought. Sweet Jesus, he was little more than a boy. “Do you trust your sister, Zeke?”
“Yes.”
“And she trusts me.” Eve heard the commotion in the foyer and rose. “That’ll be her now. Are you going to be able to hold it together?”
He nodded, got to his feet as Peabody burst in. “Zeke. God, Zeke, are you all right?” She nearly leaped into his arms, then yanked back to run her hands over him, face, shoulders, chest. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Dee.” He pressed his brow to hers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, it’s okay. We’ll take care of everything. We’ll take care of it all. We need to call a lawyer.”
“No. Not yet.”
Peabody whirled to Eve, eyes damp and terrified. “He needs representation. Jesus, Dallas, he’s not going in a cage, he’s not going into holding.”
“Suck it in, Peabody,” Eve snapped. “That’s an order.” The tears were already rolling, causing Eve to feel a slick sense of panic. Oh God, oh God, don’t fall apart on me. Don’t do it. “That’s an order, Officer. Sit down.”
She’d seen McNab out of the corner of her eye and didn’t stop to think why he was there. “McNab, take Peabody’s recorder. You’ll be acting as temporary aide in this matter.”
“Dallas—”
“This one isn’t for you,” Eve interrupted. “It can’t be. McNab?”
“Yes, sir.” He came over, leaned down to Peabody. “Hold on, okay? Just hang. It’ll be all right.” He took the recorder still pinned to her uniform collar, fixed it on the lapel of his wrinkled pink shirt. “When you’re ready, Lieutenant.”
“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, on scene at residence of B. Donald Branson, conducting interview with Zeke Peabody in regards to the suspected death of B. Donald Branson.” She sat on the coffee table again, kept her eyes directly on his, and read him his rights. Both of them ignored Peabody’s muffled moan.
“Zeke, tell me what happened.”
He drew a breath. “I better start at the beginning. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine.”
He did as Eve had told him, kept his eyes on hers, never wavered. He spoke of the first day he’d worked in the house, what he’d heard, his conversation with Clarissa afterward.
His voice trembled now and then, but Eve simply nodded and let him continue on. She wanted the emotion in his voice, the obvious distress in his eyes. She wanted it all on record while it was fresh.
“When I started back downstairs with her suitcase, I heard her scream. She was on the floor, crying, holding her face. He was yelling at her, drunk and yelling at her. He’d knocked her down. I had to stop him.”
Blindly, he reached out for his sister’s hand, gripped it tight. “I just wanted to get her out, away from him. No, that’s not true.”
He closed his eyes briefly. Leave nothing out, Eve had told him. “I wanted him to be punished. I wanted him to pay for what he was doing to her, but I knew I had to get her away where she’d be safe. He yanked her up, yanked her up by her hair. Hurting her, just to hurt her. I grabbed for her, shoved him back. And that’s when . . . that’s when he fell.”
“You stepped up to stop him.” It was the first time Eve had spoken since he started. And she kept her voice quiet, even, expressionless. “To get Clarissa away when he hurt her again. You shoved him and he fell? Is that correct?”
“Yes, he fell, fell backwards. I watched. It was like I’d frozen, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His feet went out from under him and he stumbled back, went down hard. I heard—oh God—I heard his head hit the stone. And then there was blood. I checked his pulse, and there was nothing. His eyes were open, fixed and open and his aura was gone.”
“His what?”
“His aura. His life force. I couldn’t see it.”
“Okay.” That was an area they could just leave alone. “What did you do then?”
“I told Clarissa we needed to call an ambulance. I knew it was too late, but it seemed right. And the police. She was shaking and terrified. She kept blaming herself.