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Eve shuddered once, then fought for life.
On her third trip up, she thought the surface was closer, and swimming down, she turned her head and got a watery view of Roarke coming up the ladder.
He'd taken time to pull off his shoes and jacket. When he reached the floor of the tank, he yanked her arm, jerked a thumb for her to go up. So they worked in tandem, one drawing in air, the other giving it while the water swirled down.
When she could stand, her head above water, she coughed violently. "Summerset," she managed.
"He won't go anywhere. For God's sake, Eve."
"I haven't got time to argue about it. Can you pick the locks on the restraints?"
Dripping, still gasping for air, he stared at her. Then he dug in his pocket for his penknife. "Here come your men."
"I'll deal with them. See what you can do down there."
She flipped her wet hair out of her eyes as four uniforms charged inside the club. "Dallas," she shouted. "Lieutenant Eve. Get some med-techs here, fast. Resuscitation equipment. Drowning victim. I don't know how long he was under, but there's no pulse. And someone turn that goddamn music off. Glove up. I want this scene preserved as much as possible."
The water was down to her knees now, and the air was making her shiver in her wet clothes. Her muscles ached from supporting the dead weight of the victim. She saw Roarke finesse the lock on the first shackle and shifted to adjust.
The minute the second ankle was free, she laid the body down in the few remaining inches of water and, straddling it, began pumping his chest.
"I want a CPR kit in here, some blankets." The last word echoed as the music shut abruptly off. Now she could hear her ears ringing. "Come on, come on, come back," she panted, then leaned forward and forced air into his mouth.
"Let me do it." Roarke knelt beside her. "You've got a crime scene to secure."
"The MTs." She continued to count the chest pumps in her head. "They'll be here any minute. You can't stop until they get here."
"I won't stop."
At her nod, he placed his hands over hers, picked up her rhythm. "Who is he, Roarke?"
"I don't know." He glanced up briefly as Eve got to her feet. "I just don't know."
It was a great deal harder climbing out of the tank than it had been getting in, Eve realized. She was winded by the time she reached the lip. She took a moment to catch her breath, to draw it into lungs that felt seared and scraped. Then she swung her leg over and started down.
Peabody was waiting at the bottom. "The MTs were right behind me, Dallas."
"He's pretty far gone. Don't know if they can bring him back." She looked through the glass, watched Roarke working steadily. "Take the uniforms. Form two teams and do a search. You won't find him, but look anyway. Secure all doors. Engage recorders."
Peabody looked over Eve's shoulder to where Summerset stood, hands at his sides, watching Roarke from the far end of the tank. "What are you going to do?"
"My job. You do yours. I want this scene secured and a sweep team ordered. Do you have a field kit with you?''
"I don't have a detective kit, just my street and scene bag."
"I'll use that." She took the bag Peabody offered. "Get started," she ordered, then signaled the emergency medical team that rushed in. "Inside the tank. Drowning victim, no pulse. CPR in progress for approximately ten minutes."
She turned away, knowing there was nothing more she could do there. Water squelched in her boots, dripped from her hair and face as she walked over to Summerset. Because her leather jacket weighed on her like a stone, she stripped it off and slammed it on the table.
"Goddamn it, Summerset, you're under arrest. Suspicion of attempted murder. You have the right to—''
"He was alive when I got here. I'm almost sure he was alive." His voice sounded thin and thoughtful. Eve recognized the symptoms of shock in it, and in his glassy eyes. "I thought I saw him move."
"You'd be smart to wait until I've told you your rights and obligations before you make any statement." She lowered her voice. "You'd be real smart to say nothing, not a fucking thing, until Roarke rounds you up his fancy lawyers. Now be smart and shut up."
• • •
But he refused the lawyers. When Eve walked into the interview room where he was being guarded by a uniform, Summerset sat stiffly and continued to stare straight ahead. "I won't need you," she told the guard. She came around the table and sat when the guard left the room. She'd taken time to change into dry clothes, warm up her system with coffee; and she had checked with the medical team that had brought the man identified as Patrick Murray back to life, and the doctors who were fighting to keep him that way.
