Chaos in Death

Ten

As Eve headed down to Homicide, Arianna sprang up from a bench in the corridor and rushed toward her. “Lieutenant Dallas, please, can you tell me what’s happening? The police came to my home this morning. They said Eton’s been murdered.”

“That’s correct.”

“God. But when? How?”

“Shortly before one this morning, in Dr. Rosenthall’s lab.”

“In Justin’s lab? But I don’t . . .”

She closed her eyes a moment. “How can this be happening? They said we needed to come here—Justin and I. They took him somewhere else, wouldn’t let me stay with him. They just said I had to wait. It’s been more than an hour.”

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long. I’m going to be talking to Dr. Rosenthall shortly.”

“But what happened? My God, this is a nightmare. Eton murdered, and in Justin’s lab.”

“Do you know why Dr. Billingsly would have been in Dr. Rosenthall’s lab at that time of night?”

“No. No. He shouldn’t have been. He’s not involved in Justin’s work. The killer must have been after Justin. After Justin.” Arianna rubbed a hand between her breasts back and forth. “He was going to work late, stay in his office again last night, but I asked him not to. I asked him to come home with me, stay with me. I wanted him with me, and I was upset enough that he gave in.”

“You left the Center together?”

“Yes, about eleven thirty, I think. I had a fund-raiser, and called Justin from the car when I left.”

“Did anyone stay in the lab?”

“I don’t know. Justin met me out front. We were together all night. I swear it. You can’t believe Justin had anything to do with this. I know people talk about Eton being jealous of him.”

“Was he?”

“Yes, but Justin isn’t bothered by it. We—God, it seems cruel now—we’d joke about it sometimes. Can I see him now? Do we need a lawyer?”

“He’s not under arrest, but I need to ask him a few questions. If he wants a lawyer present he can have one. Peabody, why don’t you take Ms. Whitwood to the lounge? She can wait there while we talk to Dr. Rosenthall. It shouldn’t be long.”

As long as it takes, Eve thought as she headed toward the first interview room.

Justin straightened in his chair when Eve entered.

“So it’s true,” he said, “about Billingsly. He’s dead.”

“Yes. Record on, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, in Interview with Dr. Justin Rosenthall on the matters of Darnell, Vix, and Bickford, case number H-45893, and Eton Billingsly, case number H-43898. I have to record this. Procedure.”

“I understand.”

“I’m also going to read you your rights.” As she did, Justin said nothing. “Do you understand your rights and obligations?”

“Yes. You think I killed them?”

She let the question hang a moment. He looked worn-out, she noted, as Arianna had.

“All the victims were connected to you and the Center. Billingsly was murdered in your lab.”

“In my lab?”

“Yes. There are questions that have to be asked, but first, I’d like a sample of your DNA.”

“My—all right, but it’s on file.”

“Just consider it a spot check.” She took out a swab.

When it was done, she went to the door, passed it off to the waiting uniform.

She sat at the table across from Justin. “What was Billingsly doing in your lab?”

“I have no idea. He shouldn’t have been there. He shouldn’t have been able to get in without my authorization. How did he?”

“He cloned your swipe card and had a recording of your voice.”

Justin simply stared at her. “He went that far? He disliked me—that’s not news—but I can’t believe he’d go as far as breaking into the lab. And for what?”

“Would he have business with your assistant or interns?”

“No, none I can think of. And he knew none of us were there. I saw him before I left, and he commented on the fact that I was actually going home.”

“You didn’t get along.”

“Not well.” Justin braced his elbows on the table, pushed his hands over his face, back into his hair. “That’s no secret, as he made it very clear he didn’t think I was good enough for Ari—and he was.”

“That must have pissed you off.”

“Some,” he admitted. “But frankly, I didn’t give Billingsly much thought. Arianna loves me; we’re about to be married. And my work occupies the rest of my thoughts at this stage.”

“What is this stage?”

“We’re about to begin the next round of testing.”

“Meaning?” Eve said as Peabody entered. “Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview. Go on, Doctor.”

“We’ve injected a test group of lab rats with specific addictive substances over a course of time.”

“You’ve made addicts out of rats?”

“Yes. We observe and monitor, chart, record. Now we’ll inject them with the serum, run them through tests. Once we—”

“You don’t test on human subjects.”

“No. That’s months off, maybe years. This isn’t a quick process. We can’t risk testing an unproven substance on a human being.”

“It must be tempting to push it some, to kick up the pace.”

“You don’t go into research to rush.”

“Do your assistants ever get antsy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Maybe your assistants want to take it up a notch, show off some, impress you.”

“They’re young. Sure, there’s some frustration, impatience—competition from time to time. But we have a very strict protocol, a timetable, procedures that must be followed not only for success but for safety.”

“Who has access to the serum?”

“It’s locked in the lab, in an environmentally controlled case. No one but myself and Pachai have access. You don’t think Billingsly tried to—”

“The case was open,” Eve told him. “And empty.”

“Empty?” Looking stricken, Rosenthall rubbed at his temple. “The serum’s gone? God. God! We’re so close. A competing lab? Espionage? Would Billingsly have done that?”

“Your two interns can’t access the serum?”

“No. Well, that’s not completely accurate. Ken’s worked late with me several nights, and I gave him the code. I change it every three days. I’d have changed it this morning, in fact. We can re-create the serum. But the time lost . . .” He shook his head. “But I don’t understand what this has to do with the murders, with Jen and the boys. I can’t believe they’d be involved in some plot to steal or sell the work.”

“That’s okay. I understand. Interview end. If you’d just wait here a minute. Peabody?”

“You’re cutting him loose?” Peabody asked when they stepped out.

“I want you to take him to the lounge, ask him and Arianna to wait. I might need him to talk to Dickerson, interpret some of the science stuff when we get to it. Then do a round with Gupta. He may have something to add here, and he knows you now.”

“Okay. You’re taking Dickerson alone?”

“I’ll start on him. When you think you’ve got all you can get from Gupta, take him to the lounge, then come in to Interview.”

“Check.”

“And bring Dickerson a drink.”

Peabody sighed. “Because I’m good cop.”

“So far.” Eve walked down to the next interview room, entered.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve,” she began and completed the documentation. “Hey, Ken, you look a little wrung out.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time. Like two hours.”

A little sweaty, Eve observed. Hollow-eyed and very pale. “These things take time.” She read him his rights, watched those hollow eyes widen.

“I’m a suspect? Why are you saying all that?”

“For your protection, Ken. Just procedure. You know about procedure. Do you understand your rights, your obligations?”

“Yes, but I don’t understand why—”

“Four people are dead, Ken, and you knew all of them.”

“I’m not the only one who—”

“We’re talking to the others. So what did you think of Billingsly?” she continued, conversationally. “An asshole, right?”

“I don’t really have an opinion. I didn’t know him, really.”

“Take my word. Asshole. Anybody who tries to horn in on another man’s woman, especially when she’s not interested, is an asshole.”

She smiled when she said it, watched his eyes skitter away. “I nearly forgot.” She took out a swab. “I need some spit. DNA check.”

“I—I don’t have to do that.”

“Seriously? It’s just some spit, Ken.”

“I don’t have to do that unless you have a warrant. That’s my right.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “Now, about assholes.”

“Should I get a lawyer?”

“Do you want one? Fine with me. It’ll take more time. Probably a couple more hours.” She started to rise.

“It’s okay, for now. I just want to get out of here.”

“Can’t blame you. Like I said, you look wrung out. Up late?”

“I didn’t sleep well. It’s hard, with what happened.”

“I bet. You liked Jen.”

“Everybody liked Jen.”

“But you really liked her. You got her a job.”

“It was no big deal.”

“Come on, take some credit. An addict with barely a month’s recovery under her belt before you asked your uncle to give her a break. Then you do her another solid and help her addict friend get a job. She owed you.”

“I was just trying to help.”

“Did she pay you back?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think she did, not when she had her eye on Pachai—and he had his on her. That must’ve stung.”

He scratched at his arms as if something crawled along his skin. “She was just a friend.”

“Because that’s the way she wanted it. And Pachai, what did he do for her? He didn’t get her and her addict friend jobs. His uncle didn’t give her food to take home. He comes from money, though. Isn’t that always the way? Gets to be Rosenthall’s head guy—over you. You worked harder, I bet. Put in more hours. You’re smarter—I can tell. You’ve got ideas, don’t you, Ken? Ideas about the serum.”

She leaned forward. No visible scratches, she thought. But he’d left his hair down, over the back of his neck.

“I bet you put in lots of your own time on that project. Off the books, so to speak. Busting your ass. Rosenthall’s so conservative, such a stickler for protocol, procedure. But you’ve got balls. You’re willing to take some risks. Did Jen find out you were taking one?”

He kept scratching, swallowing, looking anywhere but at Eve. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She came in the lab a lot, didn’t she? Making excuses to drop in so she could see Pachai. Flirted with him right in front of you. Did she come by when you were working alone one night? Off the books. Did you let her in?”

“We’re not allowed to work in the lab off hours unless Dr. Rosenthall’s there.”

“Rules.” Eve waved them away. “Real innovation says screw the rules. Real progress is risky, takes gambles. And Rosenthall’s poking along with his yes-man Gupta getting all the attention—and the girl. It’s not right. But you can show them you’re better, smarter. Did she catch you at it, or did you tell her? Had to brag about it. But she still didn’t want you. In fact, she threatened to tell on you if you didn’t stop. To tell Rosenthall you were experimenting with his work, testing it, and not on rats.”

He began to shiver now, as if cold even while the sweat dribbled down his temples. “You’re making all this up.”

“Am I? Scientists keep records. We’re going to get a search warrant for your apartment, and we’re going to find yours. We’re going to find the pipe you used to beat Coby Vix to death with. Then—”

“You can’t find the pipe at my place because . . .”

“Why is that, Ken?”

“I’m not talking anymore.”

“Suit yourself.” Eve sat back, watched him sweat a few moments until Peabody came in with a tube of ginger ale.

“Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview. He could use that. Have a drink, Ken, take a little time to think. The way I look at it, things just got out of hand, out of your control. You had a really bad reaction to the serum.”

“I’m not saying anything else.” But he took the tube, cracked it, guzzled.

And when she came back in, Eve thought, she’d take the tube—and have his DNA.

“Think about it,” Eve suggested. “Interview pause. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, exiting the room.”

“He looks sweaty, shaky,” Peabody began outside the door. “He looks like—”

“An addict jonesing for a fix. He’s scared, too. He’s either going to crack or lawyer up—that could go either way. Let’s get a search warrant for his apartment. We’ve got enough for that. He’s got logs and records. That stupid cape, the gloves, the shoes, maybe the knife and scalpel.”

“Maybe we should have Rosenthall observe the next round. Like you said, if he gets into the science, Rosenthall could tell us what it means.”

“Good idea. Go get him, take him to an observation room. I’m going to give Dickerson another couple minutes.”

She could use a drink herself, Eve thought, and gave Vending a hard eye. The machines didn’t always cooperate with her.

“Let me do that.” Roarke plugged in credits, ordered her a tube of Pepsi.

“Thanks. Come to watch the show?”

“It’s usually worth the price of admission.”

“I’ve got Dickerson sweating in the box. Literally. I think he’s been taking the serum—or a version of it. And I think he dosed himself real good two nights in a row. It’s got him strung out. I’m about to go in for the second round. Peabody’s bringing Rosenthall into Observation, in case we need an interpreter for the science.”

“I’ll go find them.”

He gave her a tap on the chin, then strolled off—as at home in the cop shop as she was, she thought.

She cracked the tube, took a long drink, then walked back to the interview room. When she stepped in, Dickerson was standing in the far corner, facing the wall. His shoulders shook.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, reentering Interview. Jesus, Ken, man up.”

“That’s Dr. Chaos to you.”

She arched her eyebrows at the rough sound of his voice. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Have a seat, Doc, and we’ll—”

He turned. She’d thought little could genuinely surprise her at this stage of her life and career, but she froze in shock.

His face rippled in front of her eyes. Sickly green, it twisted itself until the jaw locked at a grotesque angle. His teeth sharpened; his eyes protruded and bulged in their sockets, and began to gleam red.

“And I’m not a man.”

She heard the snap and crack of migrating bones as his spine seemed to warp. “I’m a god.”

She pulled her weapon. “What you are is under arrest.”

He leaped at her. She got a stream off, was sure she struck midbody, but he was so fast. She had a fraction of a second to prepare, and used the force of his body ramming hers to go down, kick up, and send him flying over her and into the wall.

He careened off, bloodied, and nimble as a spider. This time when she fired, he jerked. Then he smiled.

“Oooh, it tickles! I’m so much stronger now.”

“So I see. But not pretty. You’re smart.” He would attack again, she thought. There was too much animal in him not to. “You’re in the middle of Cop Central. Even if you get through me, you won’t get out. You’ll die here.”

“I can’t die. But you can. You’re an insect to me. All of you. Weak and breakable.”

“He’s still in you. The weak and breakable Dickerson.”

“Not for much longer. He cried over the girl, but he enjoyed killing Billingsly. He’ll enjoy killing you. We’re going to carve out your heart, and eat it.”

She fired again, kept firing. It slowed him, caused him to stumble, but he came on.

The door burst open. Roarke rushed in, steps ahead of Peabody and a swarm of cops. Chaos whirled, snarled—jittered from the stun streams.

“Go down, you fuck!” Eve shouted.

“Allow me.” Face cold and fierce, Roarke rammed his fists into the twisted face. Right, left, right again.

Blood streaming, body spasming, Chaos went down.

“Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ.” Eve muttered the oaths—prayers—as she snapped on restraints. “I want leg irons,” she called out. “Now. Peabody, keep your weapon on him.”

“Believe me,” her partner responded.

“I want him shackled, in a cage, before he comes to. Isolation. Let’s move!”

“Are you hurt?” Roarke gripped her hand as she rose.

“No. I’ve got to get him contained. I’ll be back. And hey, thanks for the assist,” she added as she moved aside to let some of the men lift Chaos.

Roarke watched her go, then glanced down at his raw knuckles. “Ah, well.”