Chaos in Death (In Death #33.5)(32)

“Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview. He could use that. Have a drink, Ken, take a little time to think. The way I look at it, things just got out of hand, out of your control. You had a really bad reaction to the serum.”

“I’m not saying anything else.” But he took the tube, cracked it, guzzled.

And when she came back in, Eve thought, she’d take the tube—and have his DNA.

“Think about it,” Eve suggested. “Interview pause. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, exiting the room.”

“He looks sweaty, shaky,” Peabody began outside the door. “He looks like—”

“An addict jonesing for a fix. He’s scared, too. He’s either going to crack or lawyer up—that could go either way. Let’s get a search warrant for his apartment. We’ve got enough for that. He’s got logs and records. That stupid cape, the gloves, the shoes, maybe the knife and scalpel.”

“Maybe we should have Rosenthall observe the next round. Like you said, if he gets into the science, Rosenthall could tell us what it means.”

“Good idea. Go get him, take him to an observation room. I’m going to give Dickerson another couple minutes.”

She could use a drink herself, Eve thought, and gave Vending a hard eye. The machines didn’t always cooperate with her.

“Let me do that.” Roarke plugged in credits, ordered her a tube of Pepsi.

“Thanks. Come to watch the show?”

“It’s usually worth the price of admission.”

“I’ve got Dickerson sweating in the box. Literally. I think he’s been taking the serum—or a version of it. And I think he dosed himself real good two nights in a row. It’s got him strung out. I’m about to go in for the second round. Peabody’s bringing Rosenthall into Observation, in case we need an interpreter for the science.”

“I’ll go find them.”

He gave her a tap on the chin, then strolled off—as at home in the cop shop as she was, she thought.

She cracked the tube, took a long drink, then walked back to the interview room. When she stepped in, Dickerson was standing in the far corner, facing the wall. His shoulders shook.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, reentering Interview. Jesus, Ken, man up.”

“That’s Dr. Chaos to you.”

She arched her eyebrows at the rough sound of his voice. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Have a seat, Doc, and we’ll—”

He turned. She’d thought little could genuinely surprise her at this stage of her life and career, but she froze in shock.

His face rippled in front of her eyes. Sickly green, it twisted itself until the jaw locked at a grotesque angle. His teeth sharpened; his eyes protruded and bulged in their sockets, and began to gleam red.

“And I’m not a man.”

She heard the snap and crack of migrating bones as his spine seemed to warp. “I’m a god.”

She pulled her weapon. “What you are is under arrest.”

He leaped at her. She got a stream off, was sure she struck midbody, but he was so fast. She had a fraction of a second to prepare, and used the force of his body ramming hers to go down, kick up, and send him flying over her and into the wall.

He careened off, bloodied, and nimble as a spider. This time when she fired, he jerked. Then he smiled.

“Oooh, it tickles! I’m so much stronger now.”

“So I see. But not pretty. You’re smart.” He would attack again, she thought. There was too much animal in him not to. “You’re in the middle of Cop Central. Even if you get through me, you won’t get out. You’ll die here.”

“I can’t die. But you can. You’re an insect to me. All of you. Weak and breakable.”

“He’s still in you. The weak and breakable Dickerson.”

“Not for much longer. He cried over the girl, but he enjoyed killing Billingsly. He’ll enjoy killing you. We’re going to carve out your heart, and eat it.”

She fired again, kept firing. It slowed him, caused him to stumble, but he came on.

The door burst open. Roarke rushed in, steps ahead of Peabody and a swarm of cops. Chaos whirled, snarled—jittered from the stun streams.

“Go down, you f**k!” Eve shouted.

“Allow me.” Face cold and fierce, Roarke rammed his fists into the twisted face. Right, left, right again.

Blood streaming, body spasming, Chaos went down.

“Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ.” Eve muttered the oaths—prayers—as she snapped on restraints. “I want leg irons,” she called out. “Now. Peabody, keep your weapon on him.”

“Believe me,” her partner responded.

“I want him shackled, in a cage, before he comes to. Isolation. Let’s move!”

“Are you hurt?” Roarke gripped her hand as she rose.

“No. I’ve got to get him contained. I’ll be back. And hey, thanks for the assist,” she added as she moved aside to let some of the men lift Chaos.

Roarke watched her go, then glanced down at his raw knuckles. “Ah, well.”

Epilogue

Eve found him waiting in her office, settled in her ratty visitor’s chair with his PPC. He set it aside when she came in, and with one look at her face, went to the AutoChef, programmed coffee for both of them.