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“No racing in the corridors.”
He grinned at her. “Too late.”
“We’ll wait for Feeney before I start the briefing,” Eve began.
“We caught the morning report on 75, Lieutenant.” Peabody’s eyes were shadowed, and more than a little desperate when they met Eve’s behind McNab’s back. “I’d say we got a good start on the briefing.”
“I need coffee.” She gestured for Roarke to distract McNab, then jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. “You’ve got to hold up better than this,” she told Peabody the minute they were out of earshot. “He’s not stupid.”
“I know. I’m okay. It’s just, when I see him in that chair, I get a little shaky. There’s no change. They said he should start to feel a tingling, like you do when your foot’s asleep and starts to wake up. That would signal the nerves are coming back. But he’s not, they’re not.”
“Recovery time varies. I’ve taken a full body blast and had no appreciable numbness within minutes. And I’ve had a glancing stream hit my arm and put it down for hours.”
“He’s scared. He’s pretending he’s not, but he’s really scared.”
“If he can pretend he’s not, so can you. And if you want to do something about the people who put him in that chair—temporarily—then you need to pull it in and focus.”
“I know.” Peabody drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders. “I can handle it.”
“Good, then get started by handling the coffee.”
She walked back out, stopped cold when she saw Feeney in her office doorway. His face was a picture of misery, sorrow, and fury as he stared at the back of McNab’s chair.
Eve started to make a sound, anything that would snap him back, but before she could, he hit some internal switch. His face cleared.
“What’s all this?” He came in scowling at McNab. “This looks like malingering to me. Trust you to manage to get a toy out of it all.”
“Iced, huh?”
“First time you run over my foot, I’m flattening you. Baxter’s on his way in. Got coffee?”
“Yeah.” Eve nodded. “We got coffee.”
By nine-thirty, she’d given the team the basic details. By nine forty-five she’d filled in the gaps, and by ten she’d added a basic theory.
“At least one of the key people in this group has been personally affected by a crime, most likely a crime against a child. Most probably more than one of them. You need like minds to get something like this off the ground. They have superior and as yet unknown electronic abilities, and
must have some sort of medical consultant. It’s also likely they have contact of some sort with the police or with the judicial system. Or both.
“They’re organized, they’re articulate, and they’re media savvy.”
“When you’ve got a group like this,” Baxter said, “you’ve got those like minds. But you almost always have one or more who’s in it for the thrill, the blood, or because they’re just seriously wacko.”
“Agreed. You can start a search for serious wackos who fit another of the group’s profile. They will contact Nadine again,” she continued. “They want public attention, and approval.”
“They’re going to get it.” Feeney slurped at his coffee. “This is just the sort of thing that gets people riled up, arguing in the streets, making up T-shirts, taking sides.”
“We can’t stop the media train, so we do our best to steer it onto our tracks. Nadine wants to interview both you and McNab. You can blow,” she said before Feeney could do just that. “But you won’t be saying anything I didn’t already say or think. The point is, the department believes this will be helpful.”
“You think I’m giving this airtime?” Feeney slammed his cup down. “You think I’m going to go on-screen and yammer about what happened yesterday, talk about that boy?”
“What you’ll say will help people understand what happened with Halloway.” Roarke spoke quietly. “It will make them see him as he was—a good cop who was doing his job. Who was killed in the line of duty by a group of people who want to be perceived as guardians of justice. You’d make them see him as a person.”
“I’d like to talk about it.” McNab was strapped into the chair. It was something he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t just sitting, but secured in. So he wouldn’t slump down like a ragdoll, tumble out like a baby.
It burned in his belly along with the fear that he would be strapped in a chair the rest of his life. “If people listen they’d understand he wasn’t the one who put me down. It was whoever infected that unit he was working on. Halloway didn’t put me in here, and he doesn’t deserve anyone thinking he did. So I’d like to do the interview. I’d like to say what I have to say.”
“If that’s what you want.” Feeney picked up his coffee again, drank it to wash away the fist-sized lump in his throat. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
