A fine legacy.
"He was a real man." Vin cleared his throat. "That one...was a real man."
They sat in silence together, he flat on the gurney, she on a plastic chair, their hands linked tightly - just as the man who had saved her life had put them together over his chest.
On the other side of the gray-and-blue curtain, people rush-rush-rushed along, their voices overlapping, their shoes shuffling by, their shoulders brushing the drape and causing it to swing from the metal hooks it hung from.
He and Gretchen, on the other hand, were motionless.
Death did that to a person, Vin thought. Stopped them in their place in the midst of the great tumble and scramble of their life, isolating them in still silence. In the instant it took hold, it changed everything, but its effect was like that of a car slamming into a wall - what was inside kept on going because the shit didn't know better...with the result being utter chaos: All the clothes the person had worn became some kind of history exhibit to be cleaned out by a weepy nearest-and-dearest...and their magazine subscriptions and account reports and dental reminders went from "correspondence" to "junk mail"...and the place where they lived went from being a home to a house.
Everything stopped...and nothing was what it had been.
God, when the news hit that someone you knew died, you got a small shot of what the deceased was getting a whole boatload of: You stopped short and pulled out of the business of life as the ringing of the bell resonated through your mind and your body. And because humans were a pain in the ass, usually the first thought was, No, it can't be.
Life, however, didn't come with a rewind button and it sure as f**k wasn't interested in opinions from the peanut gallery.
The curtain pulled back, revealing a stocky man with dark hair and dark eyes. "Vin diPietro?"
Vin jerked himself to attention. "Ah...yeah, that's me."
The man stepped inside and took out a badge. "I'm Detective de la Cruz from Homicide. How you doing?"
"Haven't thrown up in about ten minutes."
"Well, good for you." He nodded to Gretchen and gave her a little bow. "I'm sorry we have to meet again so soon...and under these circumstances. Now, can you guys give me a quick version of what happened? And listen, neither of you is under arrest - but if you'd rather talk with a lawyer present, I understand."
Mick Rhodes hadn't been called yet, and he'd no doubt advise against saying anything without him, but Vin was too tired to care - and anyway, it didn't hurt to be nominally cooperative when you'd acted within the bounds of the law.
Vin shook his head back and forth on the pillow. "No, it's fine, Detective. As for what went down...we were upstairs in the bedroom with..." For no good reason, an overriding instinct told him not to mention Eddie - one so strong that he felt powerless to resist it. "...with Jim."
The detective took out a little pad of paper and a pen, all Columbo-style. "What were you doing in the house? The neighbors said that usually there's no one in it."
"I own the place and I've decided to finally do it over for resale. I'm a real estate developer and Jim works...worked...for me. We were there discussing the project, you know, going through the rooms...I guess I'd left the front door open and we were upstairs when it all happened." As the detective nodded and made notes in his pad, Vin gave him a chance to get it all down. "We were in the bedroom, talking, and the next thing I know I hear this gun go off. It happened so damn fast...Jim jumped in front of her and took the bullet...I was by the dresser with my back to the door, and I went for my piece - which, by the way, is registered and I have a license to carry. I shot the guy with the gun and he went down."
More notations in the pad. "You shot him a number of times."
"Yeah, I did. He wasn't getting a chance to let loose any more rounds."
The detective backed through his notebook, the inked-up pages making a crackling sound. When he looked up again, he smiled briefly. "Right, okay...so why don't you try it again and tell me the truth this time. Why were you in that house?"
"I told you - "
"There was salt poured everywhere and incense in the air and the window upstairs in that bedroom had been broken. The sink on the second floor was filled with some kind of solution, and there were empty bottles of things like hydrogen peroxide all over - and the circle drawn on the floor in the middle of that bedroom you were in was also a nice touch. Oh...and you were found with your shirt off and no shoes on, which seems like an odd wardrobe if you were gum-flapping about business. So...although I'm inclined to believe you about the shooting part, because I can trace the paths of bullets as well as the next guy, you're full of crap about the rest of it."
Right, pin-drop time.
"I think we should tell him the truth, honey," Gretchen said.
Vin looked over at her and wondered, Exactly which truth would that be, dear?
"Please do," the detective said. "And look, I'll tell you what I believe, if it'll help. The guy you killed was named Eugene Locke, alias Saul Weaver. He's a convicted murderer who got out of prison about six months ago. He was renting the house next door and he was obsessed" - the detective nodded at Gretchen - "with you."
"This is what I can't understand...why - " Gretchen stopped. "Wait a minute, how do you know that? What did you find at his house?"
The detective looked away from his notes, focusing on a middle ground. "The man had pictures of you."
"What kind of pictures," she asked in a flat tone.
As Vin rubbed her hand, the detective met her eyes. "Wide-lens, telephoto stuff."
"How many."
"A lot."
Gretchen's palm tightened against his. "You find anything else?"
"There was a statue upstairs. One that actually had been reported stolen from St. Patrick's Cathedral - "
"Oh, my God, the Mary Magdalene," Gretchen said. "I saw it was missing from the church."
"That's the one. And I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but she looks a lot like you."
Vin struggled with the urge to kill the guy all over again. "Could this Eugene...Saul guy...whatever his name was, be responsible for those deaths and beatings in the alleys?"
The detective flipped through his book. "Since he's dead, and therefore there's no chance of maligning his reputation...I'll tell you that I think I can tie him to both incidents. Right now, the man who was wounded in the head last night is still hanging on. If he makes it, I believe he'll identify his attacker as having dark hair, because when we went through Locke's house, we found a men's brunet wig with fine traces of blood splattering on it. The CSIers are already running tests, and I believe that the residue is going to match one or all of our victims. We also have a shoe print from the first scene which happens to look a helluva lot like what Locke was wearing tonight.
"So, yeah, pulling this all together..." More with the flipping through, then another glance at Gretchen. "I'm thinking that Locke was targeting men you'd danced with or for at the club, and that explains those attacks. And it was a stroke of luck - or misfortune was more like it - that he happened to live in the house next to where you guys were tonight. Because he didn't know that place was yours, right?"
Vin shook his head. "I'd been there like one other time in the last month, and before that...I can't recall. And I don't think he knew my name to search the real estate records. Besides, how long had he lived next door?"
"Since he was released from prison."
"Yeah, she and I didn't meet but...three days ago."
De la Cruz made another note. "Okay, I've been candid. How about returning the favor...? You want to tell the truth about why you were there?"
Gretchen spoke up before Vin could. "Do you believe in ghosts, Detective?"
The man blinked a couple of times. "Ah...I'm not sure."
"Vin's parents died in that house. And he does want to do it over. The problem is...there's a bad spirit in it. Or was. We were trying to get it out."
Vin popped his brows. Holy crap. That was fantastic, he thought.
"Really?" the detective asked, his brown eyes going tennis-match between them.
"Really," Vin and Gretchen said together.
"No shit," the detective murmured.
"No shit," Vin replied. "The salt was supposed to create a barrier or some crap, and the incense was to clean the air. Listen, I'm not going to pretend I understand all of it..." Hell, he still wasn't clear on everything. "But I know what we did worked."