Immortal in Death

"Lieutenant, anything my client says under physical and mental duress is inadmissible."

Eve studied the weeping woman and reached for the 'link. "Get the MT's in here," she ordered. "And arrange for hospital transport for Ms. Fitzgerald. Under guard."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"What do you mean you're not charging her?" His eyes went dark with shock and temper as Casto erupted, "You got a fucking confession."

"It wasn't a confession," Eve corrected. She was tired, dead tired and sick of herself. "She'd have said anything."

"Jesus Christ, Eve. Jesus Christ." In an attempt to walk off fury, Casto paced up and down the antiseptic tiled corridor of the health center. "You aced her."

"The hell I did." Wearily, Eve rubbed at a headache in her left temple. "Listen to me, Casto, the shape she was in, she'd have told me she personally drove nails into the palms of Christ if I'd promised her a fix. I charge her on the basis of that, her lawyers will tear it apart in pretrial."

"You're not worried about pretrial." He passed the tight-lipped Peabody on his stride back to Eve. "You went for the jugular, just like a cop's supposed to in a murder case. Now you've gone soft. You're fucking sorry for her."

"Don't tell me what I am," Eve said evenly. "And don't tell me how to run this investigation. I'm primary, Casto, so back the hell off."

He measured her. "You don't want me to go over your head with this decision."

"Threats?" She angled her body up on the balls of her feet, like a boxer ready to dance. "You go ahead and do what you have to do. My recommendation stands. She gets treatment, though Christ knows how much good that's going to do her in the short term, then we reinterview. Until I'm satisfied she's coherent and capable of judgment, she won't be charged."

Eve could see he was making an effort to pull himself back. And she could see it was costing him. She didn't give a damn.

"Eve, you've got motive, you've got opportunity, you've got the personality capacity tests. She's capable of the crimes in question. She was, at her own admission, under the influence and predisposed to hate Pandora's guts. What the fuck do you want?"

"I want her to look me in the eye, clear in the eye, and tell me she did them. I want her to tell me how she did them. Until then, we wait. Because I'll tell you something, hotshot. No way she acted alone. No fucking way she did all of them with her own pretty hands."

"Why? Because she's a woman?"

"No, because money isn't her big pull. Passion is, love is, envy is. So maybe she did Pandora in a fit of jealous rage, but I don't buy her doing the others. Not without help. Not without a push. So we wait, we reinterview, and we get her to finger Young and/or Redford. Then, we have it all."

"I think you're wrong."

"So noted," she said briskly. "Now, go file your interdepartmental complaint, take a walk, or blow it out your ass, but get out of my face."

His eyes flickered, the temper in them ripe and ready. But he stepped back. "I'm going to go cool off."

He stormed off, with barely a glance at the silent Peabody.

"Your pal's ru

Peabody could have said the same went for her commanding officer, but she held her tongue. "We're all under a lot of pressure, Dallas. This bust means a lot to him."

"You know what, Peabody? Justice means a little more to me than a pretty gold star on my record or some fucking captain's bars. And if you want to go run after lover boy and stroke his ego, no one's stopping you."

Peabody's jaw twitched, but her voice was even. "I'm not going anywhere, Lieutenant."

"Fine, just stand here and look martyred because I – " In midtirade, Eve stopped, sucked in her breath. "I'm sorry. You're a goddamn handy target at the moment, Peabody."

"Is that part of my job description? Sir."

"You always have a fine comeback. I could learn to hate you for that." Calmer, Eve laid a hand on her aide's shoulder. "I am sorry, and I'm sorry to put you in a tight spot. Duty and personal emotions never mix well."

"I can handle it. He was wrong to come at you that way, Dallas. I can understand how he feels, but it doesn't make him right."

"Maybe not." Eve leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. "But he was right about one thing, and it's eating at me. I didn't have the stomach for what I did to Fitzgerald in interview. I didn't have the stomach while I was doing it, while I was hearing myself hammer at her, twist her up when she was suffering. But I did it, because that's my job, and going for the jugular when the prey's wounded is exactly what I'm supposed to do."

Eve opened her eyes and stared hard at the door behind which Jerry Fitzgerald was mildly sedated. "And sometimes, Peabody, the job just fucking sucks."

"Yes, sir." For the first time, Peabody reached out and touched a hand to Eve's arm. "That's why you're so good at it."

Eve opened her mouth, surprised when a laugh popped out. "Goddamn, Peabody, I really like you."

"I like you, too." She waited a beat. "What's wrong with us?"

Cheered a little, she slung an arm around Peabody's sturdy shoulders. "Let's go get something to eat. Fitzgerald's not going anywhere tonight."

On that, Eve's instincts proved to be wrong.

The call woke her at a little before four A.M., out of a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep. Her eyes were gritty, her tongue thick from the wine she'd indulged in to be marginally sociable with Mavis and Leonardo. She managed a croak as she answered the 'link.

"Dallas. Christ, doesn't anyone ever sleep in this town?"

"I often ask myself the same question." The face and voice on the 'link were vaguely familiar. Eve struggled to focus, to roll through her memory discs.

"Doctor… hell, Ambrose?" It slid back, layer by layer. Ambrose, spindly female, mixed race, head of chemical rehab at the Midtown Rehabilitation Center for Substance Addiction. "You still there? Is Fitzgerald coming around?"

"Not exactly. Lieutenant, we have a problem here. Patient Fitzgerald is dead."

"Dead? What do you mean dead?"

"As in deceased," Ambrose said with a bland smile. "As a homicide lieutenant, I imagine you're familiar with the term."

"How, damn it? Did her nervous system give out, did she jump out a fucking window?"

"As near as we can determine, she overdosed herself. She managed to get her hands on the sample of Immortality we were using to determine the proper treatment for her. She took all of it, in combination with a few of the other goodies we have stashed here. I'm sorry, Lieutenant, she's gone. We can't bring her back. I'll fill you in on the details when you and your team arrive."

"Damn right you will," Eve snapped and broke transmission.

Eve viewed the body first, as if to ensure herself there hadn't been a horrible mistake. Jerry had been laid on the bed, her color-coded hospital gown draped to midthigh. Sky blue for addict, first stage treatment.

She was never going to get to stage two.

Her beauty was back, oddly eerie, in the bone-white face. The shadows were gone from under her eyes, the strain from around the mouth. Death was the ultimate calmer, after all. There were faint burn marks on her chest where the resuscitating team had worked on her, a light bruising on the back of her hand where the IV had pinched. Under the doctor's wary eye, Eve examined the body thoroughly, but found no signs of violence.

She'd died, Eve supposed, as happy as she would ever be.

"How?" Eve demanded shortly.