Seduction in Death (In Death #13)(98)

"I don't -- "

"Did you receive the Revised Miranda warning, Kevin?"

"Yes, but -- "

"Do you understand your rights and obligations as contained in that warning?"

"Of course, but -- "

She made a mildly impatient sound, held up a finger. "Don't be in such a hurry." She stared at him, went silent. When he licked his lips, opened them, she wagged a finger at him again. And watched a single line of sweat drip down his temple. "Hot in here," she said conversationally. "They're working on the climate control. Must be pretty miserable under that wig and face putty. You want to ditch them?"

"I don't know what you -- "

She merely reached over, gave the wig a quick jerk, then tossed it to Peabody. "I bet that feels cooler."

"It's not a crime to wear hair alternatives." He raked unsteady fingers through his short-cropped hair.

"You wore a different one the night you killed Bryna Bankhead. Another still the night you tried to kill Moniqua Cline."

He looked Eve dead in the eyes. "I don't know those women."

"No, you didn't know them. They were nothing to you. Just toys. Did it amuse you to seduce them with poetry and flowers, with candlelight and wine, Kevin? Did it make you feel sexy? Manly? Maybe you can't get it up unless the woman's drugged and helpless. You can't get a boner unless it's rape."

"That's ridiculous." A ripple of anger passed over his face. "Insulting."

"Well, pardon the hell out of me. But when a guy has to rape a woman to get off, it tells me he can't do the job otherwise."

His chin lifted a fraction. "I have never raped a woman in my life."

"I bet you believe that. They wanted it, didn't they? Once you slipped a little Whore into their wine, they were practically begging you for it. But you only did it to loosen them up." Eve rose, walked around the table. "Just priming the pump. Guy like you doesn't have to rape women. You're young, handsome, rich, sophisticated. Educated."

She leaned over from behind him, put her mouth close to his ear. "But it's boring, isn't it? Guy's entitled to a little extra zip. And women? Hell, they're all whores under the skin. Like your mother, for instance."

He cringed away from her. "What are you talking about? My mother is a highly regarded and highly successful businesswoman."

"Who got knocked up in a lab. Did she even know your father, I wonder? Did it matter to her once she was revved to go? How much did they pay her to drop the suit and complete the pregnancy? She ever tell you?"

"You have no right to speak to me this way." His voice was thick with tears.

"Were you looking for Mommy in those women, Kevin? Did you want to f**k her, punish her, or both?"

"That's disgusting."

"There, I knew we'd hit a point of agreement. In the end she sold herself, didn't she? No difference, really, between her and those other women. And all you did was bring out their true natures. They were cruising for it on the web. Got what they asked for. And then some. Is that what you and Lucias figured?"

He jerked, and his breath hitched. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not going to listen to any more of this. I want to see your superior."

"Whose idea was it to kill them? It was his, wasn't it? You're not a violent man, are you? Bryna, that was an accident, wasn't it? Just bad luck. That might help you out some, Kevin. Might help you out a little with Bryna being accidental. But you'll have to work with me on that."

"I told you. I don't know any Bryna."

She whirled until her face was pushed into his. "Your pants are on fire, ass**le. Look at me. We've got you cold. All the goodies in your little black bag, the illegal substance you slipped into the wine. We had you under surveillance, fully recorded from the time you stepped into the park. Heard you talking to your pal about the points you were going to rack up. And you're real photogenic, Kevin. I bet the jury thinks so, too, when they see the disc of you slipping the illegal into the wine. I bet they'll be so goddamn impressed they'll give you, oh, I'd say three life sentences -- no possibility of parole -- on an off planet penal colony. A nice concrete cage to call your own."

She hammered it at him while he stared at her with horror creeping over his face. "Three squares a day. Oh not the squares you're used to," she added, fingering the material of his shirt. "But they'll keep you alive. A long, long time. And you know what happens to ra**sts in prison? Especially pretty ones. They'll all try you out, then they'll fight over you and try you out some more. They'll f**k you half to death, Kevin. And the more you beg them to stop, the more you plead, the harder they'll ram into you."

She straightened, stared into the two-way glass, into the nightmare that lived in her own eyes. That, crawled in her own belly.

"If you're lucky," she said, "somebody named Big Willy will make you his bitch and keep the others off you. Feeling lucky, Kevin?"

"This is harassment. This is intimidation."

"This is reality," she snapped. "This is fate, this is destiny. This is your goddamn kismet, pal. You trolled for women in online chats. Poetry chats. That's where you found Bryna Bankhead. You developed a relationship with her while using the name Dante. And working with your friend and fellow creep, Lucias Dunwood, you arranged to meet her."