“Some. More questions than answers. We need Morris to examine Halloway immediately. I believe he’ll find similar neurological damage as he found in Cogburn. There are answers on Cogburn’s data unit, but it can’t be examined until some reasonable safety measures are devised. I do know Detective Halloway wasn’t responsible for what happened here.”
“I have to brief Chief Tibble and the mayor before we speak to the media. I’ll let you ride on that one, for now,” he added. “For the moment, the official word will be that Detective Halloway was suffering from some as yet undetermined illness that caused his aberrant behavior and resulted in his death.”
“As far as I know that’s exactly the truth.”
“I’m not worried about the truth when it comes to the official word. But I want it, the whole of it. This matter is your only priority. Any and all other investigations you have ongoing are to be passed on. Find the answers.”
He started out, then pivoted back. “Detective McNab regained consciousness. He’s moved up from critical to serious.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When she walked out of EDD, she spotted Roarke, leaning idly against a wall and working with his PPC.
Anyone less like a cop, less like a victim, she’d never seen. As far as the other element that frequented cop shops, he could still slide in, silkily though, to that dangerous group.
He looked up, held out a hand for hers.
“You couldn’t have done more than you did.”
“No.” She knew that, accepted that. “But he’s still dead. I put the murder weapon at his head. I didn’t know it, couldn’t be expected to know it, but that’s what I did. And I don’t even know what the weapon is.”
She rolled her shoulders. “Anyway, McNab’s awake and moved up to serious. I figure I ought to swing by and take a look at him before I head home.”
“Interview him?”
“I’l
l give him some stupid flowers first.”
Roarke laughed and had nearly lifted her hand to his lips when she jerked it down. Hissed.
“Darling, you really shouldn’t be so shy about public displays of affection.”
“Public’s one thing, cops’re another.”
“Don’t I know it,” he murmured and went with her to the garage level.
“I’ll ride along with you. One of us should see that Peabody gets a bit of food or has a shoulder.”
“I’ll leave that end to you.” Eve climbed behind the wheel. “You’re better at the ‘there-theres’ than I am.”
He touched the ends of her hair. Just needed to touch. “She held up very well.”
“Yeah, she hung.”
“It isn’t easy, when someone you care about gets hurt or is in danger of being hurt.”
She slanted him a look. “People want easy, they should hook up with an office drone not a cop.”
“Truer words. But actually, I was thinking how difficult it was for you to stand and watch Feeney being threatened with death for nearly an hour.”
“He was handling himself. He knows how to—” It rushed up through her, grabbed her by the throat with spikey claws. “Okay.” At the exit of the garage she stopped, dropped her head on the wheel. “Okay. Scared me. Jesus, Jesus. He knew just where to hold the damn weapon. Just the right point. One jerk and Feeney’s gone. Gone in a blink and there’s nothing you can do.”
“I know.” Roarke switched to auto, programmed in the address for the hospital, and leaning over rubbed the back of Eve’s neck as the vehicle streamed into traffic. “I know, baby.”
“He knew it. We looked at each other, and we both knew. It could be over so fast. No time to say anything, do anything. Damn it.”
She laid her head on the seatback, closed her eyes. “I wheedled him into taking that unit, bumping it up in line. I know, I know what happened, what could have happened, wasn’t my fault. But there it is anyway. He’s got a neck like a stupid rooster. It’s got bruises on it where Halloway kept jamming the weapon under his stupid droopy jaw. How many times did his life pass in front of his eyes? Never see his wife again, his kids, grandkids.”