Midnight in Death (In Death #7.5)(5)

She broke transmission, turned to get the ‘link codes from Roarke, and found him watching her steadily. “What?”

“She means a great deal to you. If she meant less, you’d have handled that with more finesse.”

“I don’t have much finesse at the best of times. Let’s have the codes.” When he hesitated, she sighed and replied, “Okay, okay, fine. She means a lot, and I’ll be damned if he’ll get within a mile of her. Now give me the goddamn codes.”

“Already transferred to your unit, Lieutenant. Logged in, on memory. You’ve only to state the name of the party for transmission.”

“Show-off.” She muttered it, knowing it would make him grin, and turned back to contact the rest of the names on Palmer’s list.

When she was satisfied that the other targets were where they were supposed to be, and under guard, Eve turned to the case files Roarke had accessed.

She spent an hour going over data and reports, another reviewing her interview discs with Palmer.

“Okay, Dave, tell me about Michelle Hammel. What made her special?”

David Palmer, a well-built man of twenty-two with the golden good looks of the wealthy New England family he’d sprung from, smiled and leaned forward earnestly. His clear blue eyes were bright with enthusiasm. His caramel-cream complexion glowed with health and vitality.

Somebody’s finally listening, Eve remembered thinking as she saw herself as she’d been three years before. He’s finally got the chance to share his genius.

Her hair was badly cut—she’d still been hacking at it herself in those days. The boots crossed at her ankles had been new then and almost unscarred. There was no wedding ring on her finger.

Otherwise, she thought, she was the same.

“She was young, fit. An athlete,” Palmer told her. “Very disciplined, mind and body. A long-distance runner—Olympic hopeful. She knew how to block pain, how to focus on a goal. She’d be at the top end of the scale, you see. Just as Leroy Greene was at the bottom. He’d fogged his mind with illegals for years. No tolerance for disruptive stimuli. He lost all control even before the application of pain. His mind broke as soon as he regained consciousness and found himself strapped to the table. But Michelle…”

“She fought? She held out?”

Palmer nodded cheerfully. “She was magnificent, really. She struggled against the restraints, then stopped when she understood that she wouldn’t be able to free herself. There was fear. The monitors registered her rise in pulse rate, blood pressure, all vital physical and emotional signs. I have excellent equipment.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it. Top of the line.”

“It’s vital work.” His eyes had clouded then, unfocused as they did when he spoke of the import of his experiments. “You’ll see if you review the data on Michelle that she centered her fear, used it to keep herself alive. She controlled it, initially, tried to reason with me. She made promises, she pretended to understand my research, even to help me. She was clever. When she understood that wouldn’t help her, she cursed me, pumping up her adrenaline as I introduced new pain stimuli.”

“He broke her feet,” Eve said, knowing Roarke was watching behind her. “Then her arms. He was right about his equipment back then. He had electrodes that when attached to different parts of the body, or placed in various orifices, administered graduating levels of electric shock. He kept Michelle alive for three days until the torture broke her. She was begging for him to kill her toward the end. He used a rope and pulley system to hang her—gradual strangulation. She was nineteen.”

Roarke laid his hands on her shoulders. “You stopped him once, Eve, you’ll stop him again.”

“Damn right I will.”

She looked up when she heard someone coming quickly down the corridor. “Save data, and file,” she ordered just as Nadine Furst came into the room. Perfect, she thought, a visit from one of Channel 75’s top on-air reporters. The fact that they were friends didn’t make Eve any less wary.

“Out paying Christmas calls, Nadine?”

“I got a present this morning.” Nadine tossed a disc on the desk.

Eve looked at it, then back up at Nadine’s face. It was pale, the sharp features drawn. For once, Nadine wasn’t perfectly groomed with lip dye, enhancers, and every hair in place. She looked more than frazzled, Eve realized. She looked afraid.

“What’s the problem?”

“David Palmer.”

Slowly Eve got to her feet. “What about him?”

“Apparently he knows what I do for a living, and that we’re friendly. He sent me that.” She glanced back down at the disc, struggled to suppress a shudder. “Hoping I’d do a feature story on him—and his work—and share the contents of his disc with you. Can I have a drink? Something strong.”

Roarke came around the desk and eased her into a chair. “Sit down. You’re cold,” he murmured when he took her hands.

“Yeah, I am. I’ve been cold ever since I ran that disc.”

“I’ll get you a brandy.”

Nadine nodded in agreement, then fisted her hands in her lap and looked at Eve. “There are two other people on the recording. One of them is Judge Wainger. What’s left of Judge Wainger. And there’s a woman, but I can’t recognize her. She’s—he’s already started on her.”