When Eve didn’t rise, Peabody walked over, poured two cups of water. “My dad used to love these old cartoon vids. I remember this one, where this talking cat was crazy. Totally bonked. Anyway, to show it, they had these little birds flying around his head and chirping.”
She drank her water while Eve stared at her own. “Anyway, that’s what I’d see with him. Little birds flying around his head, except it’s too sad and too awful for little birds.”
“Sometimes, you do the job, you close the case, but the door just doesn’t shut for you. I guess this is going to be one of those. Roarke was right. He’s just pathetic. It’s easier when they’re vicious or greedy or just downright evil. Pathetic leaves the door open a crack.”
“You should go home, Dallas. We should all go home now.”
“You’re right.” She rubbed her eyes like a tired child.
But she wrote up the report first, and filed it, hoping to close the door a little more. The department shrinks, and whatever private ones Gerry might eventually engage, would have a field day with him.
But he would never step out of that secured room again.
She detoured by the hospital to look in on Trueheart. He was sleeping like a baby, with the monitors recording the steady beat of his pulse. In the chair beside the bed, Baxter was slumped and snoring.
Quietly, she moved into the room, stood beside the bed for a moment just looking at Trueheart. His color was good, she decided, his breathing even.
Tied to the bed guard was some sort of novelty balloon that looked like giant female breasts.
Leaning down she gave Baxter’s shoulder a quick shake and his snoring cut off with a shocked snort. He jerked awake and his hand went automatically to his weapon.
“Stand down, Detective,” she whispered.
“Kid okay?” He pushed up in the chair. “Shit. I was out.”
“Tell me. The rhinoceros snoring’s going to wake Trueheart up. Go home, Baxter.”
“I was just going to sit with him awhile, make sure . . . Guess I conked.”
“Go home,” she repeated. “Catch a few hours horizontal. They’re going to release him mid-morning. You can come back and take him home. I’ll clear your personal time.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Appreciate it. He did good, Dallas.”
“He did good.”
“Stevenson?”
“He’s away.”
“Well.” Baxter got to his feet. “I guess that’s that.”
“That’s that,” she agreed, but when Baxter was gone, she sat and kept watch another hour herself.
She drove home as the sun came up. The storm had passed, and the light was almost gentle, almost pretty over the city. She supposed there was a metaphor in there somewhere, but she was too damn tired to dig it out.
But the light grew stronger as she turned toward home, and stronger yet as she passed through the gates. It showered over the house, the great house out of a sky that decided to be bright and summer blue.
It was cooler, she noted as she stepped out of the car. Cooler than it had been in days. Weeks. Maybe years. Damn if there wasn’t a nice little breeze kicking up.
She walked inside, peeled off her jacket, and just let it drop.
Roarke came out of the parlor. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
“Pretty nice day out there.”
“It is.” He crossed to her, skimmed a finger down the dent in her chin, studied her tired eyes. “How are you?”
“Been better, but I’ve been a hell of a lot worse. Trueheart came out of it—they’ll release him today. He’s none the worse for wear, and Baxter was hovering over him like a mother duck. It’s kind of cute.”