There wasn’t a cop with a brain who didn’t. “It’s not a choice, is it?”
Mira kept her sigh to herself. “The termination of a subject, no matter the circumstances, is a traumatic experience for a police officer. If the trauma effects the emotions, the reactions, the attitude, the officer’s performance will suffer. If the use of full force was caused by a physical defect, that defect must be located and repaired.”
“I know the company line, doctor. I’m cooperating fully. But I don’t have to like it.”
“No, you don’t.” Mira neatly balanced the cup on her knee. “Lieutenant, this is your second termination. Though that is not an unusual amount for an officer with your length of duty, there are many who never need to make that decision. I’d like to know how you feel about the choice you made, and the results.”
I wish I’d been quicker, Eve thought. I wish that child was playing with her toys right now instead of being cremated.
“As my only choice was to let him carve me into pieces, or stop him, I feel just fine about the decision. My warning was issued and ignored. Stunning was ineffective. The evidence that he would, indeed, kill was lying on the floor between us in a puddle of blood. Therefore, I have no problem with the results.”
“You were disturbed by the death of the child?”
“I believe anyone would be disturbed by the death of a child. Certainly that kind of vicious murder of the defenseless.”
“And do you see the parallel between the child and yourself?” Mira asked quietly. She could see Eve draw in and close off. “Lieutenant, we both know I’m fully aware of your background. You were abused, physically, sexually, and emotionally. You were abandoned when you were eight.”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“I think it may have a great deal to do with your mental and emotional state,” Mira interrupted. “For two years between the ages of eight and ten, you lived in a communal home while your parents were searched for. You have no memory of the first eight years of your life, your name, your circumstances, your birthplace.”
However mild they were, Mira’s eyes were sharp and searching. “You were given the name Eve Dallas and eventually placed in foster care. You had no control over any of this. You were a battered child, dependent on the system, which in many ways failed you.”
It took every ounce of will for Eve to keep her eyes and her voice level. “As I, part of the system, failed to protect the child. You want to know how I feel about that, Dr. Mira?”
Wretched. Sick. Sorry.
“I feel that I did everything I could do. I went through your VR and did it again. Because there was no changing it. If I could have saved the child, I would have saved her. If I could have arrested the subject, I would have.”
“But these matters were not in your control.”
Sneaky bitch, Eve thought. “It was in my control to terminate. After employing all standard options, I exercised my control. You’ve reviewed the report. It was a clean, justifiable termination.”
Mira said nothing for a moment. Her skills, she knew, had never been able to more than scrape at Eve’s outer wall of defense. “Very well, lieutenant. You’re cleared to resume duty without restriction.” Mira held up a hand before Eve could rise. “Off the record.”
“Is anything?”
Mira only smiled. “It’s true that very often the mind protects itself. Yours refuses to acknowledge the first eight years of your life. But those years are a part of you. I can get them back for you when you’re ready. And Eve,” she added in that quiet voice, “I can help you deal with them.”
“I’ve made myself what I am, and I can live with it. Maybe I don’t want to risk living with the rest.” She got up and walked to the door. When she turned back, Mira was sitting just as she had been, legs crossed, one hand holding the pretty little cup. The scent of brewed flowers lingered in the air.
“A hypothetical case,” Eve began and waited for Mira’s nod.
“A woman, with considerable social and financial advantages, chooses to become a whore.” At Mira’s lifted brow, Eve swore impatiently. “We don’t have to pretty up the terminology here, doctor. She chose to make her living from sex. Flaunted it in front of her well-positioned family, including her arch-conservative grandfather. Why?”
“It’s difficult to come up with one specific motive from such general and sketchy information. The most obvious would be the subject could find her self-worth only in sexual skill. She either enjoyed or detested the act.”
Intrigued, Eve stepped away from the door. “If she detested it, why would she become a pro?”
“To punish.”
“Herself?”
“Certainly, and those close to her.”
To punish, Eve mused. The diary. Blackmail.
“A man kills,” she continued. “Viciously, brutally. The killing is tied to sex, and is executed in a unique and distinctive fashion. He records it, has bypassed a sophisticated security system. A recording of the murder is delivered to the investigating officer. A message is left at the scene, a boastful message. What is he?”