Purity in Death (In Death #15)(9)

"Well then." He shifted toward her, sliding his hands unerringly over her br**sts. "Since you've all this energy . . ."

"What're you talking about? I'm sleeping here."

"You're not, not with your mind racing around loud enough to wake the dead. Why don't I just give you a hand with all that energy?"

As he pulled her against him, she chuckled. "I've got news for you, ace. That's not your hand."

***

Thirty-six blocks away, Troy Trueheart lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. No one shared his bed to offer comfort or distraction. All he could see, printed on the dark, was the face of the man he'd killed.

He knew he should take a departmentally approved tranq. But he was afraid to sleep. He'd see it all again in his dreams.

Just as he could see it all as he lay awake.

The splatter of blood and bone and worse all over the walls of that dank hallway. Even here in his tidy apartment, he could smell it. The way the heat ripened the stench of blood, of gore. He could hear the screams, the woman's no more than a howl of terror and awful pain. And the man's. Louis K. Cogburn. The man's screams like a wild animal's mad from the hunt. The voices of other tenants shouting out from behind locked doors. Calls booming up into the windows from the street.

And his own heart raging in his chest.

Why hadn't he called for backup? The minute he'd heard the woman calling for help, he should have called for backup.

But he'd rushed inside, thinking only to protect and serve.

He'd shouted back-he had, at least he had shouted as he'd rushed up those stairs for someone to call 911. No one had. He realized that now. No one had or cops would have come long before Lieutenant Dallas.

How could people stand behind locked doors and do nothing while their neighbor was crying for help? He would never understand it.

He'd seen the man in the hallway far beyond anyone's help. He'd seen that, felt his stomach lurch, and the blood roar into his head in a buzzing white noise that was the sound of fear. Yes, he'd been afraid, very afraid. But it was his job to go through the door. The open door, he thought now, go through it and into the screams and the blood and the madness.

What then? What then?

Police! Drop your weapon! Drop the weapon now.

His stunner was in his hand. He'd drawn it on the way up. He was sure of that. The man. Louis K. Cogburn. He had turned, the bloody bat hitched in both hands like a batter at the plate. Tiny eyes, Trueheart thought now. Tiny eyes almost disappearing in a thin face that was red from rage and secondhand blood.

Darker blood, fresher blood leaked from his nose. Just remembered that, he thought. Did it matter?

He'd charged. A madman in Jockey shorts who'd moved like lightning. The bat had come down on his shoulder so fast, so hard. Stumbled back, nearly lost the stunner. Terror, bright as blood.

The man. Louis K. Cogburn. He'd whirled back toward the woman. She was down, dazed, weeping. Helpless. The bat swung up, high. A death blow.

But then he jittered. His eyes-oh God, his eyes-demon red, went wide, jumped inside his skull. His body jolted, jolted like a puppet dancing on string as he ran by. Out in the hall.

He danced, still dancing. Then he fell, sort of folded up and dropped, faceup to stare at the ceiling with those awful red eyes.

Dead. Dead. And I'm standing over him.

I killed a man today.

Trueheart buried his face in his pillow, trying to erase the images that wanted to play in his brain. And he wept for the dead.

***

In the morning, Eve put in a call to Chief Medical Examiner Morris and tried not to sound too snarly when she was forced to leave a message on his voice mail. If necessary, she'd make time to go down to the morgue and speak with him personally.

In fact, that was just what she was going to do-and get another look at Cogburn's body.

As much at it irked, she put a call into Don Webster in Internal Affairs. This time she didn't bother to play down the annoyance when she was transferred to voice mail.

"The Rat Squad's got some cushy hours. Us real cops are already on duty. Give me a call, Webster, when you toddle in for your day of riding the desk and sniffing up dirt on fellow officers."

Probably not smart to annoy him, she thought as she broke transmission. Then again, if she tried to sweet-talk Webster, he'd know she was up to something.

"Lieutenant." Cap in hand, Trueheart stood in her doorway. "You sent for me."

"That's right, Trueheart. Come in. Close the door."

She wasn't crossing any lines by calling him to her office prior to Testing. She was primary on the case.

That was her story, she thought, and she was sticking to it.

"Sit down, Trueheart."

He looked every bit as pale and hollow-eyed as she'd expected. Somehow he managed to stay at attention even seated. She programmed her AutoChef for two coffees, black, whether he wanted one or not.

"Rough night?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're going to have a rougher day. Testing's no walk on the beach."

"No, sir. I've heard."

"You better be up for it. Look at me when I speak to you, Officer." She snapped it out, watched his head come up and his weary eyes focus. "You put on the uniform, you pick up the badge, you holster the weapon and you take on everything that means. Was your termination of Louis K. Cogburn justifiable?"