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"No, he didn’t. His grandfather did."
"There’s no difference." She turned a slow circle as she spoke, arms out. "He was, I was. He is, I am." Then spun, pointed at Eve with the tip of the knife. "And you, you’re no different than the cops who let me rot in there. You’re just another pig."
"Nobody pays me off. I finish what I start, and let me tell you something: this stops here."
"It never stops. I can’t get out, don’t you get it?" Maeve slapped a hand over her lips as if to hold back the gurgle of laughter that ended on a muffled sob. "Every day, every night, it’s the same thing. I can’t get away from it, and I go round and round and round, just like he wanted."
"Well, I’m going to help you get out of here. And you can spend every day, every night of the rest of your natural life in a cage. Might be a nice padded one in your case."
Maeve smiled now. "You can’t stop it. You can’t stop me, you can’t stop it. ‘You’re never leaving me.’ That’s what he said when he was walling me up in there. He made me, that’s what he said, and I wasn’t going anywhere. Ever. Fucking bastard killed me, cursed me, trapped me. What the hell are you going to do about it?"
"End it. Maeve Buchanan, you’re under arrest for the murder of Radcliff Hopkins. You have the right to remain silent - "
"You’ll pay for leaving me in there!" Maeve hacked out with the knife she held and missed by a foot
.
"Jesus, you fight like a girl." Eve circled with her, watching Maeve’s eyes. "I’m not an overweight dumbass, and you don’t have a gun this time. So pay attention. Stunner, knife. Stunner always wins.
You want a jolt, Maeve?"
"You can’t hurt me. Not in this place. I can’t be harmed here."
"Wanna bet?" Eve said, and hit Maeve with a low stun when the redhead charged again.
The knife skittered out of Maeve’s hand as she fell back, hit hard on her ass. There was another swipe of cold, this time like ice-tipped nails raking Eve’s cheek. But she pushed by it, yanking out her restraints as she dragged Maeve’s arms behind her back.
Maeve struggled, her body bucking as she gasped out curses. And the cold, whipped by a vicious wind, went straight down to the bone.
"This stops here," Eve repeated, breathless as what felt like frigid fists pounded at her back. "Radcliff C. Hopkins will be charged with murder one in the unlawful death of Bobbie Bray, posthumously. That’s my word. Period. Now leave me the hell alone so I can do my job."
Eve hauled Maeve to her feet as the wind began to die. "We’re going to toss in breaking and entering and assault on an officer just for fun."
"My name is Bobbie Bray, and you can’t touch me. I’m Bobbie Bray, do you hear me? I’m Bobbie Bray."
"Yeah, I hear you." Just as she heard the sudden frantic squawking of voices in her ear and the thunder of footsteps on the stairs.
"I couldn’t get to the stairs," Peabody told her. "All of a sudden the place is full of people and music. Talk about jeebies. My communication’s down, and I’m trying to push through this wall of bodies. Live bodies - well, not live. I don’t know. It’s all jumbled."
"We went to
the doors soon as communications went down," Feeney added. "Couldn’t get through them. Not even your man there with his magic fingers. Then all of a sudden, poof, corn’s back, locks open, and we’re in. Damned place." Feeney stared at Number twelve as they stood on the sidewalk. "Ought to be leveled, you ask me. Level the bastard and salt the ground."
"Maeve Buchanan rigged it, that’s all. We’ll figure out how." That was her story, Eve told herself, and she was sticking with it. "I’m heading in, taking her into interview. She’s just whacked enough she may not lawyer up straight off."
"Can I get a lift?"
Eve turned to Roarke. "Yeah, I’ll haul you in. Uniforms are transporting the suspect to Central. Peabody, you want to supervise that?"
"On it. Glad to get the hell away from this place."
When he settled in the car beside Eve, Roarke said simply, "Tell me."
"Maeve was probably already inside. We just missed her in the sweep. She had a jammer and a program hidden somewhere."
"Eve."
She huffed out a breath, cursed a little. "If you want to be fanciful or whatever, I had a conversation with a dead woman."
