Creation in Death (In Death #25)(110)

“For you?”

“Yes. We were, well, the term would be ‘soul mates.’ While I could never play—she was an accomplished pianist—nor did I have a voice to offer, it was through her I gained my great love and admiration for music. It was by her I was saved.”

“How so?”

“My father considered me imperfect. Some difficulties with my birth, which caused, well, you could call it a defect. I had some trouble with controlling my impulses, and there were mood swings. He institutionalized me briefly, over my grandfather’s objections, when I was quite young. Then Edwina came into my life. She was patient and loving, and used music to help me remain calm or entertained. She was my mother and my partner, and my great love.”

“She was killed during the Urbans,” Eve prompted.

“Her time came during the Urbans. The human cycle is about time, you see, and will and individual acceptance.”

“But you turned her in,” Eve said. “You heard her talking with the man, the soldier she was in love with. Heard that she was planning to leave you. You couldn’t let her go, could you?”

Irritation flickered over his face. “How do you know anything about that?”

“You’re a smart guy, Bob. We’re smart guys, too. What did you do when you found out she was going to leave you?”

“She couldn’t leave me, she had no right. We belonged together. It was a terrible betrayal, unforgivable. There was no choice, none at all, in what had to be done.”

“What had to be done?” Feeney asked him.

“I had to go to my father, and my grandfather, and tell them that she’d betrayed us. That I’d overheard her planning betrayals with one of the men. That she was a traitor.”

“You made them think she was a spy. Betraying the cause.”

He spread his hands, all reason. “It was all the same, and a great tragedy for us all. She was taken, as the soldier was, down to my grandfather’s laboratory.”

“In the house where you took the women, here in New York. Down where you worked, where your grandfather tortured prisoners during the Urbans.”

“I learned a great deal from my grandfather. I watched as he worked with Edwina—he insisted on it. I understood so much as I watched. It made me strong and aware. Days, it took. Longer than it took for the soldier.”

He moistened his lips, took a small, tidy drink. “Men are weaker, my grandfather taught me. So often weaker than women. In the end, she asked for death. I looked into her eyes, and I saw all the answers, all the love, all the beauty that comes when the body and mind are stripped down to the core. I stopped time for her myself, my gift to her. She was my first, and all who’ve come after have only been reflections of her.”

“Why did you wait so long to look for those reflections?”

“The medication. My father was very insistent about my medication, and monitored me quite closely. The understanding, the clarity of mind needed for the work dulls with the medication.”

“But Corrine Dagby, here in New York nine years ago, she wasn’t your first.” Eve shook her head. “Not nearly. You had to practice, to perfect. How many were there before Corrine?”

“I learned from my grandfather, continued my education, and worked in the family business. I practiced on the dead under my grandfather’s tutelage. And I traveled. I first began serious practice nearly twenty years ago, after my father’s death. I had a great deal to learn and experience first. It took me another decade before I felt ready to begin the projects. I did document all the others, the failures, the near successes. You’ll find all that in my records.”

“Handy.” Eve glanced over at the knock on the door. Peabody poked her head in.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant. Can I see you just for a minute?”

“Yeah. Keep going,” she said to Feeney, then stepped outside.

“Roarke just tagged me. He asked if I’d tell you that he was able to finish the work he needed to deal with, and since it’s cleaned up, he was heading back down. He said he hoped to see you finish the interview.”

“Okay. I need you and McNab to check on this bastard’s ST. No point in taking his word that he’s got the go to clock out. Check all his personal data taken from the scene, wake up his lawyers in London. His doctors, if you find their data. I want confirmation he’s not stringing us on it.”

“Why would he—”

“Just get me confirmation, Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eve went back in, slid into a chair as Feeney pried more details out of Lowell.

“I meant to ask you,” she inserted, “how long Edwina Spring lasted. Her time.”

“My grandfather employed different methods, with longer rest periods than I’ve found necessary. Regardless, she was very strong, and had a high survival instinct. It was ninety-seven hours, forty-one minutes, and eight seconds. No one has ever reached her capacity. I believe you may have done so, which is why I wanted to end with you as I’d begun with her.”

“I wonder how long you’d last,” Eve commented, and rose as Peabody appeared at the door again.

Eve stepped out and eased the door closed behind them. “And?”

“I don’t get it. There’s no documentation supporting his claim. Nothing in his records, nothing in the official data banks, and McNab searched through them twice. I contacted the London lawyer—head of the firm, who was not pleased to be disturbed at home.”