You can take your cycle of abuse and your victim as victimzer traumatized bullshit and-" She stopped herself, tasted the acrid flavor of her own rage in the back of her throat. So she pressed her forehead to her updrawn knees. "Fuck it. That was over the top." "If you think I sympathize with him, or find any excuse for what he's done, you're wrong." "I don't think that. That rant came to you courtesy of personal neuroses." It was hard, it would be bitter. And it was time. Eve lifted her head.
"I expect you to go through the door with me, without hesitation. And I know you will, without hesitation. I expect you to stand with me, to walk through the blood, to handle the shit, and to put your personal safety and comfort second to the job. I know you will, not only because it's who you are but because, by God, I trained you." Peabody said nothing.
"It was different when you were my aide. A little bit different. But a partner's got a right to know things." "You were raped." Eve simply stared. "Where the hell did that come from?"
"Conclusion drawn from observations, association, logical speculation. I don't think I'm wrong, but you don't have to talk about it." "You're not wrong. I don't know when it started. I can't remember everything." "You were abused habitually?" "Abuse is a clean word, Peabody. Really, it's a soft word, and you people tend to use it so easy, to cover a lot of territory. My father beat me, with his fists or whatever was handy. He raped me, countless times. Once is plenty, so why count?" "Your mother?" "Gone by then. Junkie whore. I don't really remember her, and what I do remember isn't any better than him." "I want… I want to say I'm sorry, but people say that easy, too, to cover a lot of territory. Dallas, I don't know what to say." "I'm not telling you for sympathy." "No. You wouldn't." "One night, I was eight. They said I was eight. I was locked in this dump he'd brought us to. Alone for a while, and I was trying to squirrel some food. Some cheese. I was starving. So cold, so hungry, and I thought I could get away with it before he came back. But he came back, and he wasn't drunk enough. Sometimes, if he was drunk enough he'd leave me alone. But he wasn't, and he didn't." She had to stop, gather herself for the rest. "He hit me, knocked me down. All I could do was pray that was going to be all. Just a beating. But I could see it wasn't going to be all. Don't cry. I can't take it if you cry." "I can't take it without crying." But she used one of the stingy napkins to mop at her face.
"He got on top of me. Had to teach me a lesson. It hurt.
You forget after each time how much it hurts. Until it's happening again, and it's more than you can imagine. More than you can stand. I tried to stop him. It was worse if I tried to stop him, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't stand it, and I fought. He broke my arm." "Oh, God; oh, Jesus." Now it was Peabody who pressed her face to her knees. And wept, struggling to do so soundlessly.
"Snap!" She focused on the lake, on the calm water, and the pretty boats that glided over it. "It makes a snap, a thin, young bone. And I went crazy from the pain. And the knife was in my hand. The knife I'd been using on the cheese.
Fallen on the floor, and my fingers closed over it." Slowly, face drenched, Peabody lifted her head. "You used it on him." She swiped at her face with the backs of her hands. "I hope to holy God you ripped him to pieces." "I did. I pretty much did." There were ripples on the surface of the lake, Eve saw. It wasn't as calm as it looked with those little ripples spreading. Spreading.
"I just kept stabbing until… well, bathed in blood. There you go." She drew a shaky breath. "I didn't remember that part, or most of the rest until right before Roarke and I got married." The cops-" Eve shook her head. "He had me scared of cops, social workers, anybody who might've stepped in. I left him there, in that room. I don't know how, except I was in shock. I washed up, and I walked out, walked for miles before I crawled into an alley and passed out. They found me. I woke up in the hospital. Doctors and cops asking questions. I didn't remember anything, or if I did, I was too scared to say. I'm not sure which. I'd never had the ID process, so there was no record of me. I didn't exist until they found me in the alley. In Dallas. So they gave me a name." "You made the name."
"You see it affecting the job, you tell me." "It does affect the job. It's made you a better cop. That's the way I see it. It's made you able to face anything. This guy we're after, whatever happened to him, whether it was as bad as what happened to you, or somehow worse, he's used it as an excuse to kill, to destroy, and cause pain. You use what happened to you as a reason to find justice for people who've had it taken away from them." "Doing the job isn't heroism, Peabody. It's just the job." "So you always say. I'm glad you told me. It says you trust me, as your partner and as your friend. You can." "I know I can. Now let's both put it away, and get back to work." Eve rose, held her hand down. Peabody gripped it, held it a moment, then let Eve pull her to her feet.
As much to see Annalisa Sommers again as to grill Morris, Eve made another trip to the morgue.
She found him, removing the brains of a male cadaver. It was enough to put you off, she thought, even without the soy dog in her system. But Morris cheerfully gestured her in.
"Unattended death. Fair means or foul, Lieutenant?" Morris loved his guessing games, so she obliged by moving toward the body for a closer look. It had already started to decompose, so she put time of death at twenty-four to thirty-six hours before he'd been brought in and chilled. As a result, he wasn't pretty. She judged his age in the upper reaches of seventy, which meant he'd been robbed out of forty or fifty years on the average life expectancy table.
There was some bruising on his left cheek, and his eyes were red from broken blood vessels. Curious now, she walked around the body, looking for other signs.
"What was he wearing?"
"Bottom half of pajamas, and one slipper." "Where was the top half?" Morris smiled. "On the bed." "Where was he?" "In the Conservatory, with Professor Plum." "What?" Morris chuckled, waved a hand in front of his face. "Joke.
He was beside the bed, on the floor." "Signs of disturbance, forced entry?" "None." "He live alone?" "He did, indeed." "Looks like he stroked out, had a big-ass brain pop." Since Morris was sealed up, she gestured. "Open his mouth for me, peel the lips." Morris obliged, shifted aside so she could lean in. "But I'd talk to the domestic and find out if he or she's the one who gave dead guy the laced nightcap that popped his brain.
Reddish splotches on the gums and under the lips indicate he downed, and probably OD'd on, an illegal. Booster, or a derivative would be my guess before tox eval. Guy was going to self-terminate for any reason, he'd have finished putting his pajamas on and gotten into bed nice and comfy first. So means are foul. Where's Sommers?" "I don't know why they bother to keep me around here." But he was grinning as he slid the brain into a tray for scan and analysis. "I expect the tox eval will verify both our suspicions shortly. Sommers is done, and in a cold box. Her family and boyfriend came in together this morning. I was able to block them from seeing her, though it wasn't easy. I had to use official grounds." "The eyes aren't public yet, and I don't want them to be, not even to next of kin. Even family and lovers can leak to the media. More so if they're grieving or pissed. No access outside of need-to-know to any of the vies in this investigation." "You want to see her again." "Yeah." "Let me clean up a bit. Our gentleman friend will hold." He went to the sink to scrub blood, matter, and sealant from his hands. "Her body was more traumatized than the others." "Violence is escalating. I know." "So is his pace." Morris dried his hands, then removed his protective gear, dumping it in a hamper.