Echoes in Death (In Death #44)(14)

“I don’t see O’Connor sneaking out of his house, sneaking back into theirs, laying into the wife—you can see he’s soft on her. Like paternally. Can’t see him killing Strazza and walking around taking goodies. But they gave me a picture. We’re swinging by the hospital first. I guarantee the two doctors won’t be far behind us.”

“What’s the picture?”

“Strazza was an asshole, disliked if respected. And very likely a big, fat liar. Claimed his parents cut him off, which I don’t buy. And his ex-wife had one too many affairs. A guy like Strazza? It would only take one. We’re going to want to talk to the ex, and the parents. Get some finer details on the picture.”

“I hate when the vic’s an asshole.”

“Happens.”

“Yeah, happens. And it widens the suspect pool.”

“It can. Caterer was likely Jacko’s. Check on that, and get us a list of who worked the party.”

“Can do.” Peabody pulled out her ’link as Eve drove to the hospital.

Two cups of coffee helped, but Eve wondered if she could just get a shot of straight caffeine. It was a hospital, after all. She hated shots, but she’d suffer through it for a good, strong jolt.

She badged her way to the ER desk, and after some dithering got the section and floor where Daphne Strazza had been relocated. Worked her way there, to that desk, badged again.

Yeah, she’d take the shot.

“I have to contact Dr. Nobel,” the nurse told her.

“Fine by me, but we’re going to her room now. Which way, or I’ll just swagger around with my badge and weapon until I find the uniform on her door.”

“Down this corridor and to the right. She’s in 523.”

“Got it.”

“I’m not sure I can pull off a swagger,” Peabody commented as they started down.

“Not in those sissy boots.”

“They’re not sissy boots.”

“They’re pink and have fluff. That’s the definition of sissy.”

She spotted the uniform in a chair outside 523, playing on his PPC. He heard her non-sissy boots on the tile and rose, sliding the PPC into his pocket as he came to attention.

“Lieutenant. No one but medical staff in or out. The nurse checked her about ten minutes ago. She’s awake.”

“Good. Stand by, Officer. We’ll order in your relief.”

Eve and Peabody walked in.

Daphne lay in the bed, her upper body slightly elevated. Her color looked nearly normal, and medical treatment had eased a lot of the bruising and swelling on her face. She stared blankly out the window until Eve moved into her field of vision.

Daphne blinked. “I … know you.”

“I’m Lieutenant Dallas. I brought you in.”

“Yes. With the man. He has blue eyes. I remember his blue eyes.”

“Hard to forget. This is my partner, Detective Peabody.”

“Oh.” Daphne shifted her gaze. “Hello.”

“Mrs. Strazza.” Eve pulled her attention back. “I regret to inform you, your husband was killed early this morning.”

Daphne continued to stare. “Killed? But he’s very important.”

“His body was found in the bedroom where you were attacked.”

Daphne lay still, but her breathing quickened. The monitor beeped faster. “But…” She turned her head, eyes still wide but dry, staring toward the window. “I wasn’t dead. I thought … My husband is dead.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Strazza,” Peabody said.

“My husband’s dead. Something terrible happened. Do you know what happened?”

“Do you?”

Daphne closed her eyes. Her hands lay still on the white sheets, as if she were asleep. “It’s like looking through a curtain. In some places it’s thin, and I can see. In others it’s thick, and I can’t. I feel as if I could float away, just float away.” She opened her eyes again. “Am I floating?”

“It’s the meds.”

“It feels good to float. It feels free. I can’t see my husband. Not through the curtain, not when I float. I can’t see what happened to him. Maybe he’s not dead. He’s very important. He’s very strong. He’s a very skilled surgeon. He’s—”

“I’m sorry,” Eve interrupted. “I identified his body.”

“His body,” Daphne whispered.

“What do you see? What do you remember?”

“The devil. But it’s not the devil. It’s a man. How can the devil be a man? I think a man can be a devil.”

“What does the devil look like?”

“His face is red, burning red, and there are little horns here.” She touched the top of her forehead. “He has a terrible smile. I think his eyes are red, but then I think they’re yellow. The lights are flashing, red and yellow. Someone’s screaming. Someone’s laughing. Anthony? No, my husband’s not laughing. He’s not screaming. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can.” Eve laid a hand on Daphne’s shoulder as the woman jerked up gasping. “You can breathe. No one’s hurting you now.”

“But it hurts. It hurts.” The tears came now, spilling out of those wide eyes. “You can’t go away because he brings you back. I had sex with the devil, and it burns, it tears. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.”