Memory in Death (In Death #22)(78)

"Merry Christmas! Want a present? Got a present for you right here!"

He grabbed his crotch, and flipped out his penis. At some more sober yet equally crazed time, he'd painted it up like a candy cane.

Eve studied the red and white stripes.

"Gee, that looks delicious, but I don't have anything for you. Wait, yes, I do."

His wide grin faded when she held up her badge.

"Aw, c'mon."

"The reason I don't haul you in for lewd and lascivious behavior, for indecent exposure—though, hey, nice paint job—and for possibly having the foulest breath on or off planet, is I'm busy. If I decide I'm not busy enough, you're going to be spending Christmas in the tank. So blow."

"Aw, c'mon."

"And put that thing away before you scare some kid,"

"Santa, there you are." The nurse who'd come out earlier rolled her eyes at Eve, then got a good grip on Santa's arm. "Let's go over here."

"Want a present? I got a present for you right here."

"Yeah, yeah. That's all I want for Christmas."

Eve turned back as the doors opened. She grabbed the closest pair of scrubs.

"What's his status?"

"You the wife?"

"No, I'm the cop."

"Cab versus man, cab usually wins. But he's stable." The doctor veed his fingers, slid them up his nose to rub the inside corners of his eyes. "Broken arm, fractured hip, bruised kidney. Head trauma's the worst of it. But barring complications, he should do. He got off lucky."

"Need to talk to him."

"He's loaded up. We've got him stabilized. Going to send him up for some tests. Couple hours, maybe, things go right, he'll be able to hold a conversation." Curiosity washed over the fatigue in his eyes.

"Don't I know you? The cop, right? I've worked my magic on you before."

"Dallas. Probably."

"Yeah, Dallas. You get around. Look, I need to talk to the wife."

"Fine. I'm going to put a man on him. I don't want anyone talking to him but me until I clear it."

"What's the deal?"

"Material witness. I'm Homicide."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah! Icove case. Crazy bastards. Well, your material witness should live to sing. I'm that good."

She shifted, watching as they wheeled Bobby out. He'd left some of his skin on the street, she noted. What was left was white as bone. When they cut back the drugs, he was going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but he was breathing on his own.

"I'm going up with him, until the uniform reports."

"Suit yourself. Just stay out of the way. Happy holidays and so forth," the doctor added as he headed toward the waiting area.

* * *

Eve stood outside again, another floor, another door, while they ran their scanners and diagnostics.

And while she waited, the elevators opened. Zana rushed out, Peabody on her heels.

"The doctor said he was going to be okay." Tears had tracked through Zana's makeup, leaving their trail. She grabbed Eve's hands, squeezed.

"He's going to be okay. They're just running some tests. I was afraid... I was afraid—" Her voice hitched. "I don't know what I would've done. I just don't know."

"I want you to tell me what happened."

"I told the detective. I told her I—"

"I want you to tell me. Hold on."

She walked to the uniformed officer as he got off the elevator. "Subject is Bobby Lombard. Material witness, homicide. I want you with him every step. You check the room they put him in, you check ID on everyone—I mean everyone—who attempts access. He grunts the wrong way, I want to hear about it. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Satisfied, she went back to Zana. "Okay, we're going to find a place, have a seat. I want everything. Every detail."

"Okay, but... I just don't understand any of this." She chewed her lip, looking over her shoulder at the doors while Eve hauled her away. "Can't I just stay, wait until—"

"We're not going far." She hailed a nurse simply by holding up her badge.

"Good," he said. "I'm under arrest. That means I can sit down for five minutes."

"I need your break room."

"I have a vague recollection of the break room. Chairs, a table, coffee. Down there, make a left. Oh hell, you need a key card. Security's getting to be a bitch. I'll take you."

He led the way, keyed them in, then stuck his head in. "Okay, I smelled the coffee. It's not all bad." He headed off down the hall.

"Sit down, Zana," Eve told her.

"I've just got to move around. I can't sit still."

"I get that. Go over what happened."

"Just like I told you before. Like I told the detective."

"Repeat it."

As she did, Eve picked apart the details. "You got bumped, spilled coffee."

"On my coat." Zana picked up the coat she'd tossed in a chair. "It wasn't this bad. The first time. More spilled when Bobby... God, I can still see it."

"Was it a bump or a push?"