Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“It’s the first time you’ve testified as a victim. It’s different. You know it’s different.”

She passed Eve a tube of Pepsi, and took a long pull from the water as they walked. “It wasn’t even Celina who hurt me. I don’t know why I’m so spooked.”

“She was part of it. She had foreknowledge and did nothing. She’s charged with accessory for a reason, Peabody. You go in, you lay out what happened, you don’t let the defense shake you. Then you walk away from it.”

You could walk away from it, Eve thought, but you never really got away. Peabody would remember every moment of that attack. She’d remember the pain and the fear. Justice might be served, but even justice couldn’t wipe away the memories.

She went out the main doors. However crappy the day, the short walk would settle Peabody down. “You’re a cop,” she began, “and you took a hard hit in the line. That matters to juries. You’re a woman.” Eve slid her hands into her pockets, out of the cold rain. “Whether or not it should apply, that matters to juries, too. The fact that this big, crazy son of a bitch—one who’d killed and mutilated multiple women—kicked you around… it matters big time.”

“He’s sewed up.” And that was a huge relief. “Too damn crazy to stand trial. He’ll be locked up in an institution for the mentally defective, violence sector, ‘til he croaks.”

“Your job here is to make what Celina didn’t do matter. To help the prosecution prove she was responsible.”

“They’ll get her cold on Annalisa Sommers’s murder, the one she did he

rself. She’ll go up for that. Maybe it’s enough.”

“Enough for you?”

Peabody stared straight ahead, chugged more water. “I’m working on it being enough.”

“Then you’re doing better than I am. You made it through, others didn’t. She watched. Every one of the dead after she linked psychically with John Blue is on her. Every minute you spent in the hospital, in recovery. Every bad moment you’ve had about it is on her, too. I damn well want her to pay.”

As they walked up the courthouse steps, Peabody swallowed hard. “Hands are shaking.”

“Toughen up” was all Eve said.

Once they were through security, she could have badged her way into the courtroom. Instead she waited with Peabody while APA Cher Reo made her way over.

“We’ve got a short recess,” Reo began. “You’ll testify next.”

“How’s it going in there?” Eve asked.

“She’s got good lawyers.” Reo glanced back toward the double doors. She was pretty and blonde, with perky blue eyes and a faint Southern drawl. She was also tough as titanium. “We’re both playing the psychic card, in different ways. Their stand is that the images Celina received—the murders, the violence—resulted in trauma, diminished capacity. They’ve got their experts swearing to it, and as a result they’re trying to hang all the responsibility on Blue. He’s crazy, he invaded her mind, and there you go.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, yes.” Reo fluffed at her hair. “On our end we have her snuggled up safe in bed at home, watching Blue torture and mutilate and kill, which gave her the bright idea to do the same, with his MO, to her former lover’s fiancée. Under the guise of working with the cops, she held back while women were murdered, and while a NYPSD detective was critically injured. A decorated officer, who courageously fought back and was intimately involved in closing the case.” Reo put a hand on Peabody’s arm, gave it a little rub in what Eve recognized as a woman-to-woman support gesture. “You want to go over it again? We’ve got a few more minutes.”

“Maybe. Okay, maybe.” Peabody turned to Eve. Her eyes were a little too bright, her smile a little too tight. “You can go on in. I’ll get one more briefing from Reo, then I might want to throw up. I’d do that better alone.”

Eve waited until Reo took Peabody into a conference room, then she pulled out her communicator and tagged McNab. “Where are you?”

“On my way.” His pretty face and the long blond tail he wore bobbed on her screen. “Three blocks south. I had to hoof it. Who the hell let all these people out on the street?”

“There’s a recess, nearly over. You’ve got a few minutes. I’ll be in the back. Save you a seat.”

She clicked off, walked in, and sat, as she had countless times in the course of her career. Halls of justice, she thought as she studied the bench, the gallery, the reporters and those who piled in out of curiosity. Sometimes—she liked to think most times—justice was served here.

She wanted it for Peabody.

They’d dunked the ball of the case in the net for the arrest, for the indictment. Now the ball was passed to the lawyers, to the judge, and to the twelve citizens who sat on the jury. She studied them when they filed in.

A moment later, Celina Sanchez was led in with her legal team.

Their eyes met, held with that quick, buzzing connection between hunter and prey. It all came back, all the bodies, all the blood, the waste, and the cruelty.

For love, Celina had said at the end of it. She’d done it all for love.