Memory in Death (In Death 22)

And that, Eve thought, was the biggest bullshit of all.

Celina took her seat, faced front. Her luxurious hair was worn back and up—sleek and almost prim. Instead of her preferred bold colors, there was a staid gray suit.

Just packaging, Eve noted. She knew what was inside it. Unless the jury was dirt stupid, they knew, too.

Reo stepped in, leaned down briefly. “She’s going to be fine. It’s good you’re here.” Then she walked to the front to take her place with the State’s team.

As the bailiff called for the court to rise, McNab bolted through the doors. His face was pink from cold and exertion, but was still a few shades calmer than the puce shirt he wore under a jacket with a blue and pink zigzag pattern so bright and busy it stung the eyes. On matching puce airboots, he nipped in beside Eve, spoke in a breathless whisper.

“Didn’t want me to sit with her—needed a minute. We thought we had ‘til Monday. Damn it.”

“She knows how to handle herself.”

There was no point telling him her stomach was tying itself into greasy knots. No point in telling him she knew what he saw in his head as they took their seats and the PA called Peabody.

He’d see himself running, with his heart slamming in his throat, hear himself shouting, “Officer down!” into his communicator as he flew down the steps of the apartment building to get to her.

Eve hadn’t been there, but she saw it, too. She hadn’t been there to see Peabody broken and bloody and crumpled on the street. But she could see.

She wanted every member of the jury to see it, too.

As directed, Peabody gave her name, her rank, her badge number. The PA was brisk with her—good strategy, in Eve’s mind. Treat her like a cop. He reviewed with her some of the testimony already given, and he and the lead for the defense did their little lawyer dance.

When she was asked to take them through the evening of the attack, she started out strong. The timing, the steps, the way she’d contacted her cohab partner, Detective Ian McNab, as she’d walked home from the subway. So when her voice broke, the jury heard it, they saw it. And they saw a woman’s struggle to stay alive, a cop’s fight to survive.

“I was able to deploy my weapon.”

“You were severely injured, and in a life-or-death struggle with a man who was considerably bigger than you, but you were able to reach your weapon?”

“Yes, sir. I got one off. He threw me, was throwing me. I remember being airborne, and firing. Then I hit the ground, and I don’t remember anything until I woke in the hospital.”

“I have here a list of the injuries you sustained, Detective. With the court’s permission, I’ll read them off for your verification.”

As it began, McNab’s hand groped for Eve’s.

She let him hold it through the recitation, through the verification, the objections, the questions. She said nothing when the defense began their cross, and McNab’s fingers tightened like thin wires on hers.

Peabody was shaky now, and the defense played on that. But that might be a mistake, Eve thought. Screwing with the victim, the only survivor in a series of hideous murders.

“According to your own testimony, Detective, and the statements and testimony of other witnesses to the attack, John Joseph Blue was alone when he assaulted you.”

“That’s correct.”

“Ms. Sanchez was not there at the time you were injured.”

“No, sir. Not physically.”

“According to prior testimony, Ms. Sanchez had never met or spoken with or had contact with the man who attacked you, with John Joseph Blue.”

“That’s not accurate. She had contact with John Blue. Psychically.”

“I would qualify the word contact. Ms. Sanchez had observed, through her gift, violent murders committed by one John Joseph Blue, to which he has confessed. Isn’t it true that Ms. Sanchez came to you voluntarily to offer her assistance in your investigation?”

“No, sir, it’s not.”

“Detective, I have reports in evidence that clearly state Ms. Sanchez volunteered her help, without any fee, to the investigating officers, and that her assistance was accepted. That, in fact, she was instrumental in identifying Blue, and thereby stopping him.”

While he’d spoken, Peabody lifted a water glass, drank deep. Her voice was steady again, a cop’s again when she continued. “No, sir, she did not give the investigative team or the department, or the victims or the city assistance. She, in fact, hindered the investigation by holding back key information in order to kill Annalisa Sommers, which was her primary objective.”