Visions in Death (In Death 19)
Page 38
“I don’t know. My connection must be with the victim. Maybe Elisa didn’t see him clearly.”
“Possible. Maybe you could try again, with the ribbon.”
“I don’t know what difference it would make. Maybe if you left me alone with it,” she began as Peabody took out an evidence bag.
“I can’t do that. Chain of evidence.”
“It doesn’t give off anything. Not for me, in any case.” Still, Celina reached out for it when Eve unsealed the bag.
When her fingers closed over it, her eyes went huge and blind. She dropped it to the floor, as if it had burst into flame. And her hand closed over her own throat as she choked.
While Eve only eyed her narrowly, Peabody sprang up, took Celina firmly by the shoulders and shook. “Snap back!” she ordered.
“Can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can. It’s not you. Take the air in, let it out. There, in and out again.”
“Okay. Okay.” She let her head fall back, closed her eyes as a single tear slid down her cheek. “Give me a minute.” She kept breathing, kept her eyes shut. “You’re a cold bitch, Dallas.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Testing me. The first ribbon was a blind, meant nothing. Just a test.”
“Bought it yesterday. Sealed up before I bagged it.”
“Smart. Thorough.” She had her breath back, and her color—and what might have been respect in her eyes. “Well, I suppose if I’d been murdered, I’d want a cold bitch looking for my killer.” Frowning, she looked at the ribbon Eve had picked up off the floor. “I wasn’t prepared. That’s why it hit so hard. I can prepare myself, to an extent anyway.”
She held out her hand, and Eve let the ribbon flow into her palm.
“She suffered. Terror and pain. She doesn’t see his face, not really. She’s dazed and afraid and hurt, but she fights him. God, he’s strong. Big, tough, strong. It’s not his face. I think it’s not his face. The rape is quick, almost mercifully quick. He’s in her, panting, pounding, when she feels this tighten around her neck. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows she’s going to die. And she thinks: Vonnie. She thinks last of her child.”
“Tell me about him.”
She sat straighter, breathed slower. “He hates her. Fears her. Reveres her. But not her. So much rage, so much hate, rage, excitement. It’s hard to get more than that. It’s like blows raining down on my psyche. It’s hard to get through the madness. But I know he’s done this before.”
“Why does he take her eyes?”
“I . . . She needs to be in the dark. I don’t know, except he wants her in the dark. I’m sorry.” She handed the ribbon back to Eve. “It’s hard, and I can’t handle the ribbon for long. It’s too much. I can do it in short sessions.”
Eve nodded, noting the sheen of perspiration covering Celina’s face. “I see that. I need you to come with me to the crime scene.”
Celina pressed a hand to her belly. “I’d like to change first.”
“We’ll wait.”
After Celina had gone upstairs, Peabody let out a low whistle. “You gotta admit, she’s got stones.”
“Yeah. She stands up.”
“And from where I’m sitting, she’s the real deal.”
“Looks like.”
Restless, Eve got up. She liked the space, not just the amount of it, but the use of it. She admired the way Celina had held out her hand for the murder weapon.
“Is it the civilian or the psychic aspect you don’t like?”
Eve flicked a glance over her shoulder at Peabody’s question. “Little of both. I don’t like attaching civilians to an investigation, and don’t bother reminding me how often Roarke ends up that way. It’s bad enough he does, bad enough I’m getting used to it. And the psychic thing. How much good is that really going to do?”