Memory in Death

Chapter 15

EVE SENT BAXTER BACK TO STAND WITH Trueheart, then paced in front of the treatment room doors as the sharp scents and harried sounds washed over her.

She hated hospitals, health centers, emergency treatment centers. Places, she thought, full of sickness and pain. Of death and misery.

Of waiting.

Had she put Bobby here? Had her need to push things forward put him in harm’s way? A personal need, she thought now. She wanted to slam the door on this part of her past, lock it away again. Not only for her own peace of mind, she admitted, but to prove she could. Because of that, she’d taken a risk—a calculated one, but a risk nonetheless.

And Bobby Lombard was paying the price.

Or was it just some ridiculous accident? Slippery, crowded streets, people in a hurry, bumping, pushing. Accidents happened every day. Hell, every hour. It could be just that simple.

But she couldn’t buy it. If she ran it through a probability program and it came up one hundred percent, she still wouldn’t buy it.

He was unconscious, broken and bloody, and she’d sent him out so she could sniff the air for a killer.

It could be him, even now, it could be Bobby who’d done murder. People killed their mothers. A lifetime of tension, irritation, or worse, and something snapped inside them. Like a bone, she thought, and they killed.

She’d killed. It hadn’t been only the bone in her arm that had snapped in that awful room in Dallas. Her mind had snapped, too, and the knife had gone into him. Over and over again. She could remember that now, remember the blood, the smell of it—harsh and raw— the feel of it wet and warm on her hands, her face.

She remembered the pain of that broken bone, even now through the mists of time. And the howling—his and hers—as she killed him.

People said that sound was inhuman, but they were wrong. It was essentially human. Elementally human.

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

God, she hated hospitals. Hated remembering waking in one, with so much of herself—such as it was—gone. Evaporated.

The smell of her own fear. Strangers hovering over her. What’s your name? What happened to you? Where do you live?

How could she know? And if she’d remembered, if her mind hadn’t closed up and hidden away, how could she have told them?

They’d hurt her to heal her. She remembered that, too. Setting the bone, repairing the tears and scars inside her from the repeated rapes. But they’d never found those secrets behind the wall her mind had built.

They’d never known that the child in the hospital bed had killed like a mad thing. And howled like a human.

“Dallas.”

She jerked herself back, but didn’t turn. “I don’t know anything yet.”

Peabody simply stepped up beside her. Through the porthole of glass, Eve could see the emergency team working on Bobby. Why, she wondered, did places like this have glass? Why did they want people to see what they did in those rooms?

Hurting to heal.

Wasn’t it bad enough imagining without actually seeing the splash of blood, the beep of machines?

“Go back and check with Baxter,” Eve said. “I want whatever witness statements he has. Names of the wits. I want to verify the cabbie’s license. Then send him and Trueheart back. I want that record into the lab. You stay with Zana. See what else you can get out of her for now.”

“Should we get uniforms for his room? For when they finish in there?”

“Yeah.” Think positive, Eve decided. He’d be moved to a room, and not the morgue.

Alone, she watched, made herself watch. And wondered what the girl she’d been—lying in a room so much like the one beyond the glass—had to do with what was happening now.

One of the med team rushed out. Eve grabbed her arm. “What’s his status?”

“Holding. The doctor will give you more information. Family members need to stay in Waiting.”

“I’m not family.” Eve reached for her badge. “Your patient is a material witness in a homicide. I need to know if he’s going to make it.”

“It looks good. He’s lucky. If getting hit by a cab a couple days before Christmas counts as luck. Got some broken bones, contusions, lacerations. Some internal bleeding we’ve stopped. He’s stabilized, but the head trauma’s the main concern. You’re going to need to talk to the attending.”

“His wife’s in Waiting, with my partner. She needs to be updated.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve got a material witness on that table in there. I’m at the door.”

Irritation flashed over the nurse’s face, then she brushed a hand through the air. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Eve stood by. She heard the rush and confusion of the ER behind her, the beeps and the pages, the clop of feet with somewhere urgent to go.

At some point someone began to call out “Merry Christmas!” in slurred, drunken tones, laughing and singing as he was carted off. There was weeping, wailing, as a woman was hurried down the hall on a gurney. An orderly streamed by with a bucket that smelled of vomit.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and she turned, only to have homemade brew and poor dental hygiene waft into her face. The man responsible wore a filthy Santa suit with a white beard hanging off one ear.

“Merry Christmas! Want a present? Got a present for you right here!”

He grabbed his crotch, and flipped out his penis. At some more sober yet equally crazed time, he’d painted it up like a candy cane.

Eve studied the red and white stripes.

“Gee, that looks delicious, but I don’t have anything for you. Wait, yes, I do.”

His wide grin faded when she held up her badge.

“Aw, c’mon.”

“The reason I don’t haul you in for lewd and lascivious behavior, for indecent exposure—though, hey, nice paint job—and for possibly having the foulest breath on or off planet, is I’m busy. If I decide I’m not busy enough, you’re going to be spending Christmas in the tank. So blow.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“And put that thing away before you scare some kid,”

“Santa, there you are.” The nurse who’d come out earlier rolled her eyes at Eve, then got a good grip on Santa’s arm. “Let’s go over here.”

“Want a present? I got a present for you right here.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s all I want for Christmas.”

Eve turned back as the doors opened. She grabbed the closest pair of scrubs.

“What’s his status?”

“You the wife?”

“No, I’m the cop.”

“Cab versus man, cab usually wins. But he’s stable.” The doctor veed his fingers, slid them up his nose to rub the inside corners of his eyes. “Broken arm, fractured hip, bruised kidney. Head trauma’s the worst of it. But barring complications, he should do. He got off lucky.”

“Need to talk to him.”

“He’s loaded up. We’ve got him stabilized. Going to send him up for some tests. Couple hours, maybe, things go right, he’ll be able to hold a conversation.” Curiosity washed over the fatigue in his eyes. “Don’t I know you? The cop, right? I’ve worked my magic on you before.”

“Dallas. Probably.”

“Yeah, Dallas. You get around. Look, I need to talk to the wife.”

“Fine. I’m going to put a man on him. I don’t want anyone talking to him but me until I clear it.”

“What’s the deal?”

“Material witness. I’m Homicide.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah! Icove case. Crazy bastards. Well, your material witness should live to sing. I’m that good.”

She shifted, watching as they wheeled Bobby out. He’d left some of his skin on the street, she noted. What was left was white as bone. When they cut back the drugs, he was going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but he was breathing on his own.

“I’m going up with him, until the uniform reports.”

“Suit yourself. Just stay out of the way. Happy holidays and so forth,” the doctor added as he headed toward the waiting area.

* * *

Eve stood outside again, another floor, another door, while they ran their scanners and diagnostics. And while she waited, the elevators opened. Zana rushed out, Peabody on her heels.

“The doctor said he was going to be okay.” Tears had tracked through Zana’s makeup, leaving their trail. She grabbed Eve’s hands, squeezed.

“He’s going to be okay. They’re just running some tests. I was afraid… I was afraid—” Her voice hitched. “I don’t know what I would’ve done. I just don’t know.”

“I want you to tell me what happened.”

“I told the detective. I told her I—”

“I want you to tell me. Hold on.”

She walked to the uniformed officer as he got off the elevator. “Subject is Bobby Lombard. Material witness, homicide. I want you with him every step. You check the room they put him in, you check ID on everyone—I mean everyone—who attempts access. He grunts the wrong way, I want to hear about it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, she went back to Zana. “Okay, we’re going to find a place, have a seat. I want everything. Every detail.”

“Okay, but… I just don’t understand any of this.” She chewed her lip, looking over her shoulder at the doors while Eve hauled her away. “Can’t I just stay, wait until—”

“We’re not going far.” She hailed a nurse simply by holding up her badge.

“Good,” he said. “I’m under arrest. That means I can sit down for five minutes.”

“I need your break room.”

“I have a vague recollection of the break room. Chairs, a table, coffee. Down there, make a left. Oh hell, you need a key card. Security’s getting to be a bitch. I’ll take you.”

He led the way, keyed them in, then stuck his head in. “Okay, I smelled the coffee. It’s not all bad.” He headed off down the hall.

“Sit down, Zana,” Eve told her.

“I’ve just got to move around. I can’t sit still.”

“I get that. Go over what happened.”

“Just like I told you before. Like I told the detective.”

“Repeat it.”

As she did, Eve picked apart the details. “You got bumped, spilled coffee.”

“On my coat.” Zana picked up the coat she’d tossed in a chair. “It wasn’t this bad. The first time. More spilled when Bobby… God, I can still see it.”

“Was it a bump or a push?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A bump, I guess. So many people. In part of my head I was thinking it was so exciting. Being out, the crowds, the windows, the noise. We had the soy dogs, and the packages. We should’ve gone back. I know Bobby wanted to. But—”

“You didn’t. Did Bobby say anything? Did you see anything, before he fell?”

“No… I was fussing with my coat, looking down and thinking how I hoped it would come out. I think he held a hand out, like he was going to take the coffee so I could deal with the stain. Then he was falling. I—I grabbed for him,” she managed, as her voice began to break. “Then the horn, and the squealing. It was horrible.”

Her shoulders shook as she dropped her face in her hands. Peabody stepped up with a cup of water. Zana took a sip and a couple of shuddering breaths. “People stopped to help. Everyone says how New Yorkers are cold and kind of mean, but they’re not. People were nice, they were good. They tried to help. The police came up. The ones who came with us. Bobby was bleeding, and he wouldn’t wake up. The MTs came. Do you think they’ll let me see him soon?”

“I’ll check.” Peabody turned toward the door, stopped. “Do you want some coffee?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever drink another cup.” Zana dug in her pocket, pulled out a tissue. And buried her face in it.

Eve left her there, stepped out with Peabody.

“I didn’t get any more out of her either,” Peabody began. “She’s clueless about the fact that it may have been a deliberate attack.”

“We’ll see what Bobby says. The record?”

“Baxter was taking it to the lab personally and I got the homers off the coats.”

“Good thinking.”

“I’ve got his list of wits, and copies of statements taken on-scene. The cabbie’s holding at Central. His license is valid. Been hacking for six years. Few traffic bumps. Nothing major.”

“Head down there now. Get his initial statement, and his particulars for follow-up. Spring him. Write it up, copy to me, copy to Whitney.” Eve checked the time. “Shit. Nothing more to be done. I’m sticking here until I interview Bobby. Get it wrapped back at the house, then go home. Merry Christmas.”

“You sure? I can wait until you report in.”

“No point. If there’s anything, I’ll let you know. Finish packing, go to Scotland. Drink… what is it?”

“Wassail. I think it’s wassail, especially over there. Okay, thanks. But I’ll consider myself on call until the shuttle takes off tomorrow.

“Merry Christmas, Dallas.”

Maybe, she thought, and looked back toward the break room as Peabody walked away. But some people were going to have the crappiest of holidays.

She waited an hour while Bobby was tested, transferred, and set up in a room. When she walked in, he turned his head, tried to focus with glassy eyes that were rimmed with red. “Zana?” he said in a voice slurred with drugs.

“It’s Dallas. Zana’s fine. She’ll be here in a minute.”

“They said…” He licked his lips. “I got hit by a cab.”

“Yeah. So how’d that happen?”

“I dunno. It’s mixed up. I feel really weird.”

“It’s the meds. The doctor says you’re going to be fine. Got some broken bones, and took a good crack on the head. Concussion. You were waiting for the light. To cross the street.”

“Waiting for the light.” He closed his bruised eyes. “Packed in on the corner like, what is it, sardines. Lots of noise. Zana made a noise. Scared me.”

“What kind of noise ?”

He looked up at her. “Like, ah…” He sucked in his breath. “Sorta. But she just spilled some coffee. Coffee and dogs and bags. Arms loaded. Gonna get a hat.”

“Stick with me here, Bobby,” she said as his eyes fluttered closed again. “What happened then?”

“I… she gave me that smile. I remember that smile—like, ‘Oops, look what I did now.’ And I dunno, I dunno. I heard her scream. I heard people yelling, and horns blasting. I hit something. They said it hit me, but I hit, and I don’t remember until I woke up here.”

“You slip?”

“Musta. All those people.”

“Did you see anyone? Did anyone say anything to you?”

“Can’t remember. Feel weird, out of myself.”

His skin was whiter than the sheets that covered him, so that the bruises and scrapes seemed to jump out—and slapped straight into her guilt.

Still, she pressed. “You’d been shopping. You bought a tree.”

“We had the tree. Cheer ourselves up some. What happened to the tree?” His eyes rolled, then refocused on her. “Is this really happening? Wish I was home. Just wish I was home. Where’s Zana?”

Useless now, Eve decided. She was wasting her time and his energy. “I’ll get her.”

Eve stepped out. Zana stood in the corridor, wringing her hands. “Can I go in? Please. I’m not going to upset him. I’ve got myself settled down. I just want to see him.”

“Yeah, go on in.”

Zana straightened her shoulders, put a smile on her face. Eve watched her go in, heard her say, in cheerful tones, “Why, just look at you! You got some way of getting out of buying me a hat.”

While she waited, she tried the lab. Bitched when she was informed she couldn’t have what she wanted until the twenty-sixth. Apparently Christmas overrode even her wrath.

She might not be able to make a dent there, but Central was another matter. From there, she ordered up uniforms in rotation to stick with Zana at the hotel, with Bobby at the hospital, twenty-four hours.

“Yes,” she snapped. “That includes Christmas.”

Irritated, she tagged Roarke. “I’m going to be late.”

“Aren’t you cheerful. What are you doing in the hospital?”

“It’s not me. Fill you in later. Things have just gone to shit, so I have to shovel it clear before I clock out.”

“I have a considerable amount to clear myself in order to take time off. Why don’t I meet you somewhere for dinner? Get back to me when you’ve made a path.”

“Yeah, okay. Maybe.” She glanced over as Zana came out. “Gotta go. Later.”

“He’s tired,” Zana said, “but he was joking with me. Said how he was off soy dogs for life. Thanks for staying. It helped to have somebody here I know.”

“I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

“Maybe I could stay with Bobby. I could sleep in the chair by his bed.”

“You’ll both do better if you’re rested. I’ll have a black-and-white bring you back in the morning.”

“I could take a cab.”

“Let’s take precautions now. Just to be on the safe side. I’ll put a cop back on the hotel.”

“Why?”

“Just a precaution.”

Zana’s hand shot out, gripped Eve’s arm. “You think somebody hurt Bobby? You think this was deliberate?”

Her voice rose several octaves on the question, and her fingers dug through to skin.

“There’s nothing to substantiate that. I’d just rather be cautious. You need to pick up anything for back at the hotel, we’ll get it on the way.”

“He slipped. He just slipped, that’s all,” Zana said definitively. “You’re just being cautious. You’re just taking care of us.”

“That’s right.”

“Could we see if they have a store, like a gift shop here? I could get Bobby some flowers. Maybe they even have a little tree. We bought one today, but I think it got smashed.”

“Sure, no problem.”

She fought back impatience, went downstairs, into the gift shop. Waited, wandered, while Zana appeared to agonize over the right flowers, and the display of scrawny tabletop trees.

Then there was the matter of a gift card, which meant more agonizing.

It took thirty minutes to accomplish what Eve figured she could have done in thirty seconds. But there was color back in Zana’s cheeks as she was assured the flowers and tree would be delivered upstairs within the hour.

“He’ll like seeing them when he wakes up,” Zana said as they walked outside. With the wind biting, she buttoned her stained coat. “You don’t think the flowers are too fussy? Too female? It’s so hard to pick out flowers for a man.”

What the hell did she know about it? “He’ll like them.”

“Gosh, it’s cold. And it’s snowing again.” Zana paused to look up at the sky. “Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas. That’d be something. It hardly ever snows where we are in Texas, and if it does, it usually melts before you can blink. First time I saw snow, I didn’t know what to think. How about you?”

“It was a long time ago.” Outside the window in another nasty little hotel room. Chicago, maybe. “I don’t remember.”

“I remember making a snowball, and how cold it was on my hands.” Zana looked down at them, then tucked them in her pockets out of the chill. “And when you looked outside in the morning, if it had snowed at night, everything looked so white and clean.”

She waited by the car while Eve unlocked the doors. “You know how your stomach would get all tied up with excitement, because maybe there’d be no school that day?”

“Not really.”

“I’m just babbling, don’t mind me. Happens when I’m nervous. I guess you’re all ready for Christmas.”

“Mostly.” Eve maneuvered into traffic, resigned herself to small talk.

“Bobby wanted to have his mama’s memorial before the end of the year.” As if she couldn’t keep her hands still, Zana twisted the top button of her coat. “I don’t know if we can do that, now that he’s hurt. He thought—we thought—it’d be good to do it before. So we’d start off the new year without all that sorrow. Are we going to be able to go home soon?”

Couldn’t keep them, Eve thought. Could stall, but couldn’t reasonably demand they stay in New York once Bobby was cleared for travel. “We’ll see what the doctors say.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever come back here.” Zana looked out the side window. “Too much has happened. Too many bad memories. I guess I’ll probably never see you again either, after we go.”

She was silent a moment. “If you find out who killed Mama Tru, will Bobby have to come back?”

“I’d say that depends.”

Eve went into the hotel, up to the room to satisfy herself nothing had been disturbed. She asked for and received a copy of lobby security, posted her man, and escaped.

She went back to Central and found two gaily wrapped boxes on her desk. A glance at the cards told her they were from Peabody and Mc-Nab. One for her, one for Roarke.

Unable to drum up enough Christmas spirit to open hers, she set them aside to work. She wrote her report, read Peabody’s, and signed off on it.

For the next half hour, she sat in the relative quiet, studied her murder board, her notes, and let it all circle.

Before she left, she hung the prism Mira had given her.

Maybe it would help.

She left it shimmering dully against the dark window as she pulled out her ‘link, tucked the presents under her arm, and left the office. “I’m clear.”

“What are you hungry for?” Roarke asked her.

“That’s a loaded question.” She held up a hand, acknowledging Baxter, and stopped. “Let’s keep it simple.”

“Just as I thought. Sophia’s,” he told her, and rattled off an address. “Thirty minutes.”

“That’ll work. If you get there first, order a really, really big bottle of wine. Big. Pour me a tumbler full.”

“Should be an interesting evening. I’ll see you soon, Lieutenant.”

She pocketed her ‘link, turned to Baxter.

“Don’t suppose I could tag along, share that really, really big bottle.”

“I’m not sharing.”

“In that case, can I have a minute? Private?”

“All right.” She walked back to her office, called for lights. “I’ll spring for coffee if you want it, but that’s my best offer.”

“I’ll take it.” He went to the AutoChef himself. He was still wearing his soft clothes, Eve noted. Light gray sweater, dark gray pants. He’d gotten some blood—Bobby’s blood, she imagined—on the pants.

“I don’t know what to think,” he told her. “Maybe I was too loose. Maybe I’m just fucking losing it. I’ve gone over it in my head. I wrote it up. I still don’t know.”

He took out the coffee, turned. “I let the kid take point. Not blaming him, it was my call. I sent him down for dogs, for Christ’s sake. Figured they were just getting theirs, and it put him in a decent position. And screw it, Dallas, I was hungry.”

She knew guilt when she saw it, and at the moment, it was like looking in a mirror. “You want me to ream you for it? I’ve got some left.”

“Maybe.” He scowled into the coffee, then downed some. “I’m listening to them, and there’s nothing. Just chatter. Can’t get a full visual, but he’s tall enough I can see the back of his head, his profile when he turns to her. I moved forward when she spilled the coffee, then I relaxed again. If they’re at noon, Trueheart’s at ten o’clock. I’m at three. Then she’s screaming in my ear.”

Eve sat on the edge of her desk. “No vibe?”

“None. Blimps are blasting overhead. One of those street-corner Santas ringing his damn bell. People are streaming by, or crowding in to get the light.”

He drank more coffee. “I pushed in, soon as she screamed. I didn’t see anybody take off. Bastard could’ve stood there. Could be one of the wits, far as I know. Or he could’ve just melted back. It was a freaking parade on Fifth today. And some people slipped, tumbled.”

Her head came up, lips pursed. “Before or after?”

“Before, during, after. Putting it back, I see this woman—red coat, big blonde ‘do. She slips a little. Right in back of where Zana was standing. That’d be the initial bump. Spilled coffee. I can see the male sub turn. I hear him ask her what happened. Anxious. Then he relaxes when she says she got coffee on her coat. So do I. Then he pitches forward. Chaos ensues.”

“So maybe we’re both beating ourselves up because the guy lost his footing.”

“Coincidences are hooey.”

“Hooey.” At least she got a short laugh out of it. “Yeah, they are. So we’ll run the record backward and forward. He’s tucked up. Nobody’s getting near him. So’s she. We’ll run it when the damn lab stops playing Christmas carols. No point slapping ourselves, or me slapping you, until we know if this is the one in a million that actually is coincidence.”

“If I screwed this up, I need to know.”

She smiled thinly. “On that, Baxter, I can promise you. I’ll let you know.”