Origin in Death (In Death 21)
Page 4
"Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. Detective Peabody. We need to speak with her."
"Yes, I know. I know you've tried to speak with her before, and again, my apologies." His voice and manner were as groomed as the rest of him. "Her attorney's with her now. She's awake and stable. She's a strong woman, Lieutenant, but she's suffered severe trauma, physically and emotionally. I hope you can keep this brief."
"That'd be nice for all of us, wouldn't it?"
He smiled again, just a twinkle of humor, then gestured. "She's on medication," he continued as they walked down a wide corridor accented with art that highlighted the female form and face. "But she's coherent. She wants this interview as much as you do. I'd prefer it wait at least another day, and her attorney . .. Well, as I said, she's a strong woman."
Icove passed the uniform stationed at his patient's door as if he were invisible. "I'd like to attend, monitor her during your interview."
"No problem." Eve nodded to the uniform, stepped inside.
It was luxurious as a suite in a five-star hotel, strewn with enough flowers to fill an acre of Central Park.
The walls were a pale pink, sheened with silver, accented with paintings of goddesses. Wide chairs and glossy tables comprised a sitting area where visitors could gather to chat or pass the time with whatever
was on-screen.
Privacy screens on a sea of windows ensured the media copters or commuter trams that buzzed the sky were blinded to the room inside, while the view of the great park filled the windows.
In a bed of petal pink sheets edged with snow-white
lace, the famous face looked as if it had encountered a battering ram.
Blackened skin, white bandages, the left eye covered with a protective patch. The lush lips that had sold millions in lip plumper, lip dye, lip ice, were swollen and coated with some sort of pale green cream. The luxurious hair, responsible for the production of bottomless vats of shampoo, conditioner, enhancements, was scraped back, a dull red mop.
The single visible eye, green as an emerald, tracked over to Eve. A sunburst of color surrounded it.
"My client is in severe pain," the lawyer began. "She is under medication and stress. I-"
"Shut up, Charlie." The voice from the bed was hoarse and hissy, but the lawyer thinned his lips and shut up.
"Take a good look," she invited Eve. "The son of a bitch did a number on me. On my face!"
"Ms. Ten-"
"I know you. Don't I know you?" The voice, Eve realized, was hissy and hoarse because Lee-Lee was speaking through clamped teeth. Broken jaw-had to hurt like a mother. "Faces are my business, and yours... Roarke. Roarke's cop. Ain't that a kick in the ass."
"Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Detective Peabody, my partner."
"Bumped hips with him four-no five years ago. Rainy weekend in Rome. Holy God, that man's got stamina." The green eye sparked a moment with bawdy humor. "That bother you?"
"You bump hips with him in the last couple years?"
"Regretfully, no. Just that one memorable weekend in Rome."
"Then no, it doesn't. Why don't we talk about what happened between you and Bryhern Speegal in your apartment night before last?"
"Cocksucking bastard."
"Lee-Lee." This gentle admonishment came from her doctor.
"Sorry, sorry. Will doesn't approve of strong language. He hurt me." She closed her eyes, breathed slowly in and out. "God, he really hurt me. Can I have some water?"
Her lawyer grabbed the silver cup with its silver straw and held it to her lips.
She sucked, breathed, sucked again, then patted his hand. "Sorry, Charlie. Sorry I told you to shut up. Not at my best here."
"You don't have to talk to the police now, Lee-Lee."