Visions in Death (In Death #19)(105)

It was his bedroom—a young boy's room with toys on a shelf, Space Invaders paper on one of the walls. The bed was narrow and neatly made with a cover that boasted interplanetary warriors in full battle.

There was a chair, child-sized, fit with restraints. Wrist and ankle shackles. Tied on one of its arms was a bright red cloth.

She'd cast him into the basement, Eve thought. And despite the toys, the touches of youthful decor, had made it his prison.

He'd kept it as one.

But he'd made an addition.

There was a single long shelf bracketed into the wall. New from the looks of it, and the metal brackets shone clean and silver.

On it were fifteen clear jars filled with a pale blue liquid.

Floating in the pale blue were fifteen pairs of eyes.

"Fifteen," Eve said and forced herself to look. "Fifteen."

———«»——————«»——————«»———

Eve stood with Roarke in Observation. Inside Interview A, Blue was shackled to the table—hand and foot.

He'd screamed like a madman—mad child—when they'd muscled him down, snapped them on. Had only calmed when at his terrified demands, they'd boosted the lights in the room to full.

She imagined, if he got riled enough he could lift the whole shebang and do some damage.

"You're not going in alone." It wasn't a question Roarke asked, it was a statement with the subtle edge of warning.

"I'm not stupid. It's me, Feeney, and two uniforms built like Arena Ball tackles. You sure you want to watch this?"

"I wouldn't miss it for worlds."

"Patching it through to Peabody's hospital room, so she and McNab can watch. They'll put him away in an institution. Mental defectives. It's not the cage I'd choose for him, but it'll have to do."

"You need him to tell you where the bodies are."

She nodded. "He'll tell me."

After one last look, she moved out of Observation. Signaling to Feeney, she unlocked the door, stepped inside ahead of him and the two guards.

"Record on." She recited the data, smiled. "Hello, John."

"I don't have to talk to you. Bitch."

"No, you don't have to talk to me." She sat down, hooked an arm around the back of her chair. "And that's Lieutenant Bitch to you. You don't want to have a chat, we can send you back to a cage. You're booked, John. All those murder charges. Rape, murder, mutilation. Got you cold, and you're smart enough to know it. Crazy as a shithouse rat, maybe, but you're not stupid."

"You shouldn't call him crazy, Dallas."

"Oh, yeah, right." She smirked at Feeney. "Probably got a bunch of sob stories to tell. Traumas and emotional scarring. Shrinks'll eat that up. Me, I don't give that shithouse rat's skinny ass. You're going down, John. Fact is, you are down. We got evidence flying out our butts on you. You go and leave us the eyes. What's with that? What's with the eyes, John?"

"Fuck you."

"Rape isn't f**king. Didn't your mother ever tell you that?"

He reared back, face contorting. "You shut up about my mother."

Got your trigger, she thought. "I don't have to shut up about anything. See, how it works is I'm in charge here. I'm the boss. I'm the woman who busted your balls and locked you up. You messed up my partner, John, so I'm not going to shut up until you squeal like a pig."

She slapped her hands on the table, shoved her face into his. "Where are they, John? Where are the rest of the bodies that go with the eyes?"

"Fuck you, whore bitch."

"Sweet-talking me isn't going to work."

"Come on, Dallas." Feeney patted her shoulder. "Ease back a little. Listen, John, you want to help yourself here. You got trauma, I can see that."

Eve made a rude noise.

"We saw the shackles, John. We saw how it must've been for you when you were a kid. I bet you've been through a lot, and maybe you didn't know what you were doing. Not really. You couldn't help it. But you need to help yourself now. You need to show us some remorse. You need to tell us where the others are, John. You do that, you volunteer that, and it's going to make a difference with the PA."

"She says you're going to lock me away for killing a bunch of whores. How's telling you where anything is going to help me?"

"Listen, the police officer's going to be okay."

"Her name's Peabody," Eve interrupted. "Detective Delia. She got one into you, didn't she, John. Gave you back some pain."

She arched her eyebrows when he drew one of his arms toward his chest. "Stings like a bitch, doesn't it, when the stream hits."

"Doesn't bother me." His gaze tracked to the mirror, and his shoulders relaxed again. "Look at me. I can take anything."

"Ran, didn't you? Ran like a rabbit."

"Shut up, you bitch! I did what I had to do."

"Let's calm down." Feeney gestured down with his hands, keeping the tone and rhythm of good cop in play. "The important thing for you, John, is Detective Peabody's all right. That counts a lot. Maybe we couldn't help you out if she'd taken a downturn, but she's okay. There are things we can do for you, John. You cooperate, you show remorse, you give us the information we need to bring some closure to the families of those other victims, we're going to put in some good words for you."