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“Yes, sir.” Peabody stiffened her shoulders. “Perfectly.” But she stood in place a moment longer when Eve strode off.
“She’s had a rough morning,” Feeney said sympathetically. “I got a quick scan of the first crime scene shots. It doesn’t get any rougher.”
“I know.” But she shook her head, watching as Charles Forte was led into the room behind the glass. “But it just doesn’t feel right.”
She turned away, headed around the corner, and stepped into the interview room just as Eve was reading Forte his rights.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand your rights and obligations?”
“No, no, I understand them. I don’t understand why I’m here.” There was puzzlement and a vague sense of disappointment as he turned his gaze toward Peabody. “If you’d wanted to speak with me again, you had only to ask. I would have met you, or come in voluntarily. It wasn’t necessary to send three uniformed officers to my home.”
“I thought it was necessary,” Eve answered shortly. “Do you want counsel or representation at this time, Mr. Forte?”
“No.” He shifted in agitation, tried to ignore the fact that he was inside a police facility. Like his father. “Just tell me what you want to know. I’ll try to help you.”
“Tell me about Louis Trivane.”
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Do you usually send your handmaids out to murder strangers?”
“What?” His face went white as he pushed himself to his feet. “What are you talking about?”
“Sit down.” Eve snapped the order out. “Louis Trivane was murdered two hours ago by Mirium Hopkins.”
“Mirium? That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible.”
“It’s very possible. I walked in while she was cutting out his liver.”
Chas swayed, then sank onto his chair. “There’s a mistake. It couldn’t be.”
“I think the mistake was yours.” Eve rose, wandered over, then leaned over his shoulder. “You should pick your weapons more carefully. When you use defective ones, they can turn on you.”
“I don’t know what you mean. May I have some water? I don’t understand this.”
Eve jerked a thumb to Peabody, signaling her to pour a glass. “Mirium told me everything, Chas. She told me that you were lovers, that you neglected to bring her Wineburg’s heart as promised, and that you’d allowed her to execute Trivane herself. Blood purifies.”
“No.” He lifted the glass in both hands and still slopped water over the edge as he tried to drink. “No.”
“Your father liked to slice people up. Did he show you how it was done? How many other defective tools have you used? Did you dispose of them after you’d finished with them? Keep any souvenirs?”
She continued to hammer at him while he sat, just sat, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
“Was this your version of a religious war, Chas? Eliminate the enemy? Cut out the demons? Your father was a self-styled Satanist, and he’d made your life a misery. You couldn’t kill him, you can’t get to him now. But there are others. Are they substitutes? When you kill them, are you killing him, hacking him to pieces because of what he did to you?”
He squeezed his eyes tight, began to rock. “God. My God. Oh God.”
“You can help yourself here. Tell me why, tell me how. Explain it to me, Chas. I may be able to cut you a break. Tell me about Alice. About Lobar.”
“No. No.” When he lifted his head, his eyes were streaming. “I’m not my father.”
Eve didn’t flinch, didn’t look away from the desperate plea in his eyes. “Aren’t you?” Then she stepped back and let him sob.
chapter nineteen
She worked him for an hour, relentlessly pushing, then backtracking, then shifting directions. She kept the death photos on the table, dealt out like grisly playing cards.
