Festive in Death (In Death #39)(98)

She slapped her hand on the file. “It’s all right here. Ziegler.” She dug out the crime scene photo. “Catiana.” Slapped hers beside it. “Natasha.” Added the last. “But you left Natasha breathing. And she’s going to bury you.”

His face glowed red. His eyes literally bulged. Eve half expected him to just explode, spewing flesh, brains, and fury all over the room.

Instead, he collapsed, wheezing, with sweat slicking those bright red cheeks.

“Get a medic!” McAllister ordered, and leaped to kneel beside him.

Eve glanced toward the two-way glass, turned to the door, wrenched it open. In seconds Mira rushed in.

“I’m a doctor. Lieutenant, some water?”

“Shit. Mira, Dr. Charlotte, entering Interview to treat suspect. Dallas, exiting Interview for—”

She broke off, took the bottle of water Roarke offered from the doorway.

“Correction, Dallas remaining in Interview.”

She cracked the water open, offered it to Mira.

“Slow your breathing, Mr. Copley. Look at me now, you’re having an anxiety attack. Slow your breathing. Sip some of this.”

“Can’t breathe.” He wheezed, staring out with eyes the size of moons. “Can’t.”

“Slowly. You need to take slow breaths. Lieutenant, send for a medic.”

“Already done,” Roarke told Eve when she reached for her comm.

“We’re going to get you some oxygen, Mr. Copley. That will help. We’re going to help you, and take you to the Infirmary.”

“His heart,” McAllister began.

“We’ll run all necessary tests, but this is a severe anxiety attack.”

“Dying. Chest . . .”

“You’re not dying,” Mira said calmly. “Look at me. Mr. Copley, look at me. I’m Dr. Mira. I want you to look at me, hear my voice.” She signaled for the med kit when the medic ran in. “Get his BP,” she murmured as she took out the oxygen mask, activated it. “I’m going to put this over your nose and mouth. Look at me, JJ. I want you to take slow breaths once I do. Slowly.”

“Two-ten over one-ten, Doc. Benzodiazepine in the kit.”

“Let’s wait a minute. JJ, I know your chest hurts, it’s difficult to get a breath. It will pass. Take those breaths, slow. That’s good, very good. You’re going to feel some relief in a moment. Breathe in. Let’s transport him down to the Infirmary.”

“Will do. BP one-ninety over ninety. It’s leveling down.”

“No one talks to him outside of my presence.”

“Get a grip, McAllister,” Eve advised.

“You badgered him into a heart attack! Don’t tell me to get a grip.”

“Ms. McAllister, is it?” In that same calm tone, Mira shut the lawyer down. “Your client hasn’t had a cardiac incident but an anxiety attack, which is passing. We will, of course, examine, test, and treat him.”

“I want him taken to the hospital immediately, and examined by his own physician.”

“Not going to happen,” Eve countered, “unless Dr. Mira deems it necessary. Out here,” she ordered when McAllister started to protest.

She stepped out, moved several feet away from the room. “Look, you and I both know the record will show he worked himself up into a rage that turned into a panic attack. Fricking apoplectic. Medical assistance was speedy, and medical treatment will continue. But he gets it in my house.”

“I’ll get a court order for his transfer to an outside medical facility.”

“Try it, go ahead. The record and Mira’s rep will hold. I’m taking him down for two murders and an attempted. I’ve got him cold, and his own wife’s adding the ice. He had a f**king panic attack. She’s been on the table getting her brain put back together for the last few hours, so don’t try to twist it.”

“You will not speak to him again without medical clearance.”

Eve shrugged. “I’ll wait.” Eve angled her head. “The other two partners are men, right?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“And out of town for the holidays, unavailable tonight in any case. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have you as his legal rep on this. He doesn’t respect you. You and I both know it. He’ll use you, until one of the male types gets here, but you’re a placeholder to him.”

“You’re insulting.”

“Me?” Eve watched another medical hustle a gurney toward Interview B. “You’ve got a strange way of defining insulting.”

Eve waited until they’d wheeled him out, with McAllister striding alongside the gurney like a guard dog.

Mira stepped to Eve. “I’ll go, oversee the tests, but I’m confident he suffered a panic attack. His BP is in the safe range now, and he’s breathing normally.”

“Sorry to mess up your evening.”

“Not at all. It’s part of the job, isn’t it? You won’t be able to continue the interview tonight. I couldn’t approve it, medically, and his lawyer will certainly do what she can to block it in any case.”

“Figured.”

“It was real. The panic attack. And that’s something to consider. His reaction to the extreme stress was both physical and emotional. Ziegler’s killer didn’t panic.”