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How many more, she demanded. How many more images of the dead should there be?
Through it all, he wept and denied, wept and was silent.
When she turned him over to holding, his eyes stayed on hers until he was led around the corner and away. But it was the look in Peabody’s eyes that caught her and had her waiting until they were alone.
“Problem, Officer?”
Observing the interrogation had been like watching a wolf toy and tear at a wounded deer. Peabody drew a breath, braced. “Yes, sir. I didn’t like your interview technique.”
“Didn’t you?”
“It seemed overly harsh. Cruel. Using his father, over and over again, directing him to look at the stills.”
Eve’s stomach was raw, her nerves scraped clean, but her voice was cool, her hands steady, as she gathered up the stills. “Maybe I should have asked him politely to please confess so we could all go home and get back to our comfy lives. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I’ll make a note to try it the next time I have a murder suspect in interview.”
Peabody wanted to wince, managed not to. “It just seemed to me, Lieutenant, particularly since the suspect had no representation—”
“Did I read
him his rights, Officer?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“Did he verify that he understood those rights?”
Peabody pulled back, nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”
“Can you estimate, Officer Peabody, how many interviews you’ve conducted on homicide cases?”
“Sir, I—”
“I can’t,” Eve snapped, and her eyes went from cool to hot. “I can’t, because there’s been too fucking many of them. You want to take a look at the stills again? You want to see this guy with his guts spilled out all over the tiles? Maybe it’ll toughen you up a little, because if my interview techniques upset you, Peabody, you’re in the wrong career.”
Eve strode to the door, then whirled back while Peabody stood where she was at rigid attention. “And I expect my aide to back me up, not question me because she happens to have a soft spot for witches. If you can’t handle that, Officer Peabody, I’ll approve your request for transfer. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Peabody let out a shaky breath as Eve’s boots clicked down the corridor. “Understood,” she said to herself and shut her eyes.
“A little rough on her,” Feeney commented when he caught up.
“Don’t you start on me.”
He only held up a hand. “Isis came in voluntarily. I put her in Room B.”
With a jerk of the head, Eve changed directions and pulled open the door of Room B.
Isis stopped her restless pacing and spun around. “How could you do this to him? How could you bring him here? He’s terrified of places like this.”
“Charles Forte is being held for questioning in the stabbing death of Louis Trivane, among others.” In contrast to Isis’s raised and furious voice, Eve’s was cold and flat. “He has not yet been charged.”
“Charged?” Her golden skin paled. “You can’t believe Chas had anything to do with a murder. Trivane? We don’t know any Louis Trivane.”
“And you know everyone Forte knows, Isis?” Eve set the file on the table, kept her hand on it as if to remind herself what was inside. “You know everything he does and thinks and plans?”
“We are as close as it’s possible for human bodies and minds and souls to be. There is no harm in him.” The temper drained out of her. Now her voice trembled. “Let me take him home. Please.”
Eve met the pleading eyes straight on, forced herself not to feel. “Did you know, being as close as it’s possible, that he’d decided to get equally close, bodily speaking, with Mirium?”
“Mirium?” Isis blinked once, then nearly laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
