Echoes in Death (In Death #44)(3)

She looked up as Roarke walked toward her, with her field kit.

“I thought you’d want it.”

“I do, thanks. If she doesn’t come to by the time they’ve finished, I need her prints for ID. She’s going to be from that general area. She’s got the hands and skin of somebody with enough money to pay for good care, and no way she was walking for blocks. So she lives or works in the Carnegie Hill area, or was there when she was attacked.”

She looked back at the exam room doors. “From the blood on her you’d say she put up a fight, but I don’t see any defensive wounds. No blood or skin under her nails—at least not that shows on a visual.”

“You’re worried someone was with her, someone else was attacked.”

“I’ve got to put it as a possibility. If this one got away, the other—”

She broke off when the doors opened and the doctor stepped out. “Her vitals are stabilizing, and her core temperature’s up to ninety-six plus. The head wound’s the most severe of her injuries—which include multiple facial contusions and lacerations, abdominal bruising, some cuts that look like shallow knife wounds. She has a concussion. She was raped, more than once, and violently. You’ll have your kit there. The drunken walking and the slurred words are likely from the hypothermia and shock. We’re running a tox, but that’s most likely.”

“I need her prints. Not all her blood,” Eve reminded him before he could object. “Someone else might be out there in the same condition as she is. I ID her, maybe it leads us to saving another life tonight.”

“Sorry, didn’t think of it.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Double shift.”

“I hear that.”

“Sorry again. You probably saved her life getting her here so fast. Sure as hell saved her from brain damage. Dr. Nobel. Del Nobel.”

Eve accepted his hand. “Dallas. Lieutenant Dallas. Roarke.”

“Yeah, that got through about two minutes ago.” He shook Roarke’s hand in turn. “Nice dress,” he said to Eve.

“We were at a thing.”

“Hope your cleaners can get the blood out of it. Let’s get your ID. Somebody’s probably worried about her.”

They stepped back inside. “I want pictures of the injuries,” Eve said. But ID came first.

She moved to the side of the table, took her pad out of her kit, gently pressed the woman’s fingers to it.

“Okay. Strazza, Daphne, age twenty-four. Got an address about two blocks from where we found her. Married to…”

She glanced up, saw Del’s face. “You know her.”

“No, never met her. But I know her husband. Everybody in this hospital knows Anthony Strazza. Jesus. She’s Strazza’s wife?”

“Let’s keep that under wraps until I can … She’s waking up.”

Eve saw the long, dark lashes flutter. Then the eyes—almond shaped and strikingly, softly green—opened. Stared blindly.

Del held up a hand to stop Eve as he leaned over Daphne. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. Nobody’s going to hurt you. You’re safe now.”

Those eyes darted around the room. As her breathing began to rush and hitch, Del took her hand. “You’re okay,” he repeated. “I’m a doctor. You’re safe. I’m going to give you something for the pain.”

“No, no, no.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll wait on that.” His voice stayed calm, stayed easy. And though the monitors charted her vitals, Eve noted he laid his fingers on her wrist, taking her pulse the old-fashioned way. “I just want you to relax,” he continued, “to breathe slow. Can you tell us what happened to you?”

“I was dead. I think I was dead.”

Her gaze landed on Eve. “Were you there?”

Eve moved forward. “What do you remember?”

“I … went away. Or the world did.”

“Before that. Can you remember before that?”

“We had dinner, a dinner party. Dinner for fifty at eight, with cocktails beginning at seven-thirty. I wore the Dior with the crusted pearl trim. We had lobster medallions, seared scallop salad and winter squash soup, prime rib and fingerlings roasted with rosemary, with white and green asparagus. Croquembouche and coffee. The wines were—”

“That’s okay, what happened after dinner?”

“Our guests left at eleven-thirty. If I’d planned better, they’d have left at eleven. My husband has rounds in the morning. He’s very busy. He’s a surgeon, so respected, so talented. We’d normally go to bed after the guests left, and the house droids cleared up. We’d go to bed, and—”

Her breathing shortened again. This time Eve gripped her hand before Del could interfere. “You’re safe, but you need to tell me what happened when you went up to bed.”

“Someone in the house.” She whispered it, like a secret. “Not a guest. Not. Waiting. A devil, it’s a devil! His face is a devil. My husband … He fell. He fell and the devil laughed. I don’t know. I don’t know. Please. I don’t know.”

She began to sob, tried to curl up into herself.

“That’s it,” Del snapped at Eve. “She needs to rest. Give her some time.”