“He really caught you a good one.” Eve crouched down to where Feeney sat under the ministrations of a med-tech. She pursed her lips as she examined the long, shallow gash that scored his cheek. “Been a while since you took one in the face, huh?”
“I don’t stick my nose in the knothole as often as other people. You and me, we’re going to go a round, Dallas. I taught you better than that. Adding a hostage—”
“Do I look like a hostage? I don’t recall getting locked to my desk chair with my own restraints lately.”
Feeney sighed. “Dumb luck that worked. And dumb luck—”
“Is a nice bonus to solid police work. Somebody told me that once.” She smiled at him, laid a hand over his. Under her touch, his hand turned so their fingers linked.
“Don’t think I owe you one. Not for dumb luck. And you make sure your man knows that—ah—business about banging and whatnot was just smoke.”
“I know he’s seething with a black jealousy and planning on whomping on you, but I’ll do what I can to calm him down.”
He nodded, but his grin faded as he looked away. “Caught us with our pants down, Dallas. Pants down around our goddamn ankles. I never saw it coming.”
“You couldn’t have. Couldn’t have,” she repeated quickly before he could speak. “He was sick, Feeney. Some virus, some infection. I don’t know what the hell. Morris is working on it. It’s the same deal that happened to the guy Trueheart took out. It’s in the computer. It’s got to be in the computer.”
Jesus, he was tired. Sick and tired. All he could do was shake his head. “That’s science fiction crap, Dallas. You don’t catch anything but eyestrain from a unit.”
“You put Halloway on Cogburn’s unit. By the end of the day he’s exhibiting the same symptoms as Cogburn. Deduction 101, Feeney, science fiction or not. There’s something in that thing, and it goes into quarantine until we’ve got some answers.”
“He was a good kid. He screwed off some, but he was a good kid, and a decent cop. I got on his ass this morning, but he needed a boot. Saw him sniping with McNab this afternoon and . . .”
Feeney rubbed his temples. “Oh Christ.”
“They’re taking care of McNab. He’s going to be okay. He’s tougher than he looks. He’d have to be, wouldn’t he?” She worked up a smile when she said it and ignored the sick dread in her belly.
“Four of my boys hurt, one of them dead. I’ve got to know why.”
“Yeah, we’ve got to know why.”
She glanced back at Halloway’s cube, at the old, broken-down data center on his work counter.
Absolute Purity, she thought.
She went back into Feeney’s office. Halloway’s body was already bagged. The blood that had burst from him was splattered like some mad drawing on the industrial beige wall.
She gestured to the MT who’d fixed her the tranqs. “What do you make of it?”
He looked down, as she did, at the body bag. “Some sort of rupture. Damned if I know. I’ve never seen anything like it, not without severe head trauma first. You need the ME’s take. Maybe a brain tumor, maybe an embolism, massive stroke. Awful damn young. Couldn’t hit thirty.”
“Twenty-eight.” He had a fiancée who was rushing back from a business trip in East Washington. Parents, and a brother, coming in from Baltimore.
And if she knew Feeney, Detective Kevin Halloway would be buried with all the honors due a badge who’d gone down in the line of duty.
Because that’s just what had happened, she thought as they carried the bag away. He’d been doing his job, and had died because of it.
She didn’t know how, she didn’t know why. But a young EDD man had died today, for the job.
“Lieutenant.”
She turned toward the door, and Whitney. “Sir.”
“I need your report as soon as possible.”
“You’ll have it.”
“What happened here . . .” He stared at the blood on the wall. “You have answers to that?”