Delusion in Death (In Death 35)

She considered a moment, then engaged her ’link.

“This is Nadine, make it quick. I’m in a production meeting.”

“You’re going to want to step out for a minute.”

A flicker of annoyance came first, then cleared. “I’ve got to take this. Keep going.”

Eve waited while Nadine walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. “Tell me you made an arrest.”

“We made an arrest. Wait. There’s going to be a statement and a media conference within the hour. I’m giving you a heads up on it. The data you dug up for me helped.”

“Give me a name, give me the official charges.”

“I’m not going to do that, Nadine. You know I can’t. What you can do is get on air, do your breaking news thing. According to a source within the NYPSD, police have arrested and charged a suspect in the mass murders committed at On the Rocks and Café West. An official statement is imminent. Details to follow or whatever.”

“You’re going to start writing my copy now?”

“It’s the best I can do for you. Don’t ask me for the one-on-one right now. I’ll just say no because I’m fucking tired; I want to tie this up and go home. Ask me later.”

“Was he acting alone? Give me that?”

“At this time, we have no reason to believe otherwise. He confessed. That’s big, Nadine. We apprehended, arrested, and charged an individual, and said individual confessed to perpetrating the incidents that led to the deaths of a hundred and twenty-seven people. You’re going to want to postpone that meeting, get this out, and get your camera-ready ass to Central.”

“You can bet your mass-murderer-catching ass I will. Talk later.”

“A lot later,” Eve added when the screen went blank.

She hadn’t lied about being tired, she thought. Now that it was done, every ounce of fatigue she’d shoved back since walking into On the Rocks wanted to push through and drop her like a stone.

It just had to wait, she decided. She wanted to write up the arrest report personally. And first, she wanted a look at the journals and papers the search team had secured and logged in.

She unsealed the box, initialed it, then sat to study the memorabilia of madness.

The religious rantings in the journal simply annoyed her. The way those thirsty for power, glory or the satisfaction of brow-beating others into their particular beliefs used God as a weapon of intimidation and fear perplexed her.

Not that they’d do it, but that anybody would listen.

If God actually took the time to go around smiting anyone, she’d like to see him start with the self-righteous pricks who inflated their own egos in his name.

But she supposed that was why God made cops.

Menzini had filled pages in tiny, crablike handwriting, pontificating about the chosen, detailing the ritual rapes of young girls, and calling them initiations or cleansings.

He rambled about his God-given mission to purge the unclean, sinners, the unworthy, his holy mission to prepare the way for the end of days. And his plans to repopulate the earth with the righteous after the purge.

He detailed his experiments, his frustrations with his lack of success. One lack of success had resulted in an explosion that had killed one assistant and blinded another.

That, too, was apparently God’s fault—or his will, anyway. And a test directed at Menzini, to help forge his determination.

“Yeah, it’s all about you, asshole.”

She glanced up when Peabody stepped in.

“I just got to the part where Menzini’s praising God for showing him the way to create the substance. He tested it on some prisoners, which included a sixteen-year-old boy. He dubbed the substance God’s Wrath, and was damn proud of it.”

“Sounds like Callaway came by it naturally. Jesus.” Horror covered Peabody’s face as it reddened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t bother me. He has this in him, but we’ve all got something. Even some daisy-sniffing Free-Ager like you has to have a rotted branch on the family tree somewhere. It’s what we do with it, about it, despite it.”