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“Jesus, Peabody, she’s a mess.” She jammed her hands in her pockets as memories of the dream snuck back in her head.
You couldn’t save them all.
“They’ve got the brain doc messing around in her head, and another guy working on her arm. It must be bad, really bad if they started there instead of the leg. They’ve got that in a sterile cage—whatever they’re called. Her face looks like somebody went at it with a bat. They’re dealing with internal injuries on top of it, trying to tie off bleeders or whatever they do when things inside are bleeding out. It looked to me like she was busted up every-damn-where.”
She did a short circuit of the room. “I’ve seen a lot of beatings. I’m not sure that’s what this is.”
“What else could it be?”
Eve shook her head. “We need to see the medical data, talk to the doctors, get a better look at her. Until then, it’s just speculation.”
“I got the report on the blood samples. It’s all hers.”
“Yeah, it would be.”
“Lieutenant Dallas?” The floor nurse came to the doorway. “We have an office set up for you.”
“What’s the status on my victim?”
“There have been some complications, but she’s holding her own.”
“We’ll take shifts,” Eve said to Peabody. “I’ll come back for you.”
She followed the nurse down the long corridor, then to the right down another. “I got a look at her in observation,” Eve commented. “She does look like she fell off a cliff.”
“It’s really just an expression.”
“Maybe. You people took pictures. Bone and body and scans. I’d like to see them.”
“I’m not authorized.”
“You can get authorization. You got a look at her.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Your people are doing everything they can to save her. I’m doing everything I can to find the son of a bitch who did that to her. Her name’s Cilla Allen, but they call her Cill. She had her twenty-ninth birthday six weeks ago. A couple days ago one of her closest friends was murdered, and yesterday she or
dered food and flowers for his memorial. She cried for him. And last night or early this morning, the same person who killed her friend tried to kill her. The sooner I see what he did to her, the sooner I figure out how he did it, and who did it, the sooner I put the fucker away so he never hurts anyone else.”
The nurse opened a door. “I’ll get the authorization. This room is generally available for family members of surgical patients. You’re free to use the equipment.”
“Thanks.”
It was a small office and still nearly twice the size of hers at Central. It boasted a sleep chair, an AutoChef and Friggie that took credit swipes. The desk held a comp, a ’link, and a small vase of yellow flowers.
A window let in the summer light, but was filtered so as not to toss glare on the wall screen.
She charged another cup of lousy coffee, sat, and got to work.
It was probably crazy, what she was considering. No, it was crazy, she corrected, and still she started a search on numerous underground e and game sites.
The weirder the better, she decided.
She popped into the chat rooms McNab had given her, the message boards, and noted that Razor was still putting out feelers for the weapon—with no results.
Or none that showed, she thought.
She tried Mira, and was told by her chilly-voiced admin that the doctor was in session. Eve requested a ’link consult as soon as Mira was free.
