Apprentice in Death (In Death 43)

“Heard the MTs say he’d need surgery on his right eye—maybe the left, too.” Feeney shrugged. “Even then he ain’t getting it all back—some of that’s the funk. Got some burns on his lower calves where the boot leather seared into him. I’m not going to cry about it.”

“He was a good man once. I’m not going to cry about it, either,” Lowenbaum added. “But I’m goddamn sorry he lost the man he was.”

“The daughter’s still out there.” Eve pushed to her feet, ignored the low-level burn down her arm. “And there’s no evidence suggesting she has any trouble with steady hands or eyesight. We get him patched up, get him in a cage, break him.”

“It’s his daughter, Dallas. I don’t see how you can break him down enough to flip on her.”

“He’s a junkie,” she said flatly. “I’ll break him.”

—

But not that night. Eve argued with nurses, with doctors, and ultimately with the surgeon. Reginald Mackie would not and could not be released from the hospital for at least twelve hours.

“We removed sixteen shards of infrared lens out of his right eye and seven out of his left.”

“He killed seven people in two days.”

The surgeon huffed out a breath. Maybe his own eyes looked exhausted, but Eve didn’t give a shit.

“You do your job, Lieutenant, I do mine. I’m giving you the facts. His addiction has already compromised his vision, his retina, and his optic nerves. This trauma has left his corneas and his retinas damaged further. Once cured of his addiction, he would be a viable candidate for organ replacement, or at least additional surgery, but at this point we’ve done what can be done. He and his eyes need rest. We need to keep him under observation, as we’re concerned about more deterioration or infection.”

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, he should be. And he’s restrained and guarded. We have our own security backing up your officers. We’re fully aware of who he is, and what he’s done.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“I have no medical objection to that. His head is in a stabilizer. We don’t want him to move his head, jar his eyes in any way, for the next twelve hours. After that, I’ll examine him, and hopefully clear him for release to your custody.”

Accepting it was the best she’d get, Eve made her way to Mackie’s room. She moved through the two uniforms on the door, inside where she had two more keeping watch.

Mackie lay still, his head slightly inclined inside the cage-like stabilizer, his eyes covered with bandages. Tubes ran from him into machines, and the machines clicked and hummed busily.

God, she hated hospitals, had hated them since she woke up in one at the age of eight. Broken, battered, with no idea where she was, who she was.

But Mackie knew who and where.

She signaled to the uniforms to give her the room, then approached the bed.

“Record on,” she said clearly, and saw Mackie’s fingers flex in reaction. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, questioning Mackie, Reginald. Mackie, in case you missed it, you’ve been placed under arrest for multiple counts of murder, conspiracy to murder, possession of illegal weapons, armed assault on police officers, and a whole bunch of lesser charges. It’s what we could call a freaking cornucopia of charges. Also, in case you missed it, I’m going to reread you your rights.”

As she did, slowly, she watched him, watched his jaw tighten, his mouth firm, and those fingers tap, tap, tap on the sheets.

“Do you understand your rights and obligations in these matters? I know you’re awake and aware, Mackie,” she said after a beat. “And you know that you’ll be out of here and in a cage very soon. Stonewalling me gets you nowhere. We’ll find her.”

This time his thinned lips curved, just a little.

“Don’t think so? Think again. We’ll find her, and when we do, she’ll spend a lot more years in a cage than you have left. Fifteen years old? She could spend a hard century in a cage, off-planet. Never see the sun again. If you think her age will play in her favor, think again there, too. I put away one younger than she is. If I have to hunt her, I’ll make it my mission to see she spends every day of the rest of her life locked up like an animal.”

His hands shook, but he managed to lift the middle finger of his right hand.

“Gee, that stings. I guess you’re feeling pretty smug, lying there getting pain meds and something to cut down on the funk withdrawal. But that won’t last. I wonder if you’re thinking Willow’s on her way to Alaska. Yeah, that’s right,” she added when his hands fisted. “We know all about Alaska. We’d bag her, bag, tag, and toss her in that cage. But she’s not heading to Alaska, you idiot. She had a hit list of her own. Headed by her mother, her stepfather, her little brother.”

“Liar.” He croaked it out.

“She has blueprints of her school.”

“Get out.”