She wanted to shake him for being stupid, for disliking her so intensely he hadn't asked for help even when she would have had no choice but to give it. "Now, you claim to have gotten an anonymous call and end up on the scene of an attempted murder."
"It isn't a claim, it's a fact. I couldn't risk someone else I cared for being hurt." It was as much as he could bear to give, that one reminder of his daughter. "I wouldn't risk it. When the transmission came through, I acted as I thought I had to act."
It would have been easier if she hadn't understood. She eased back again. "The scene and method of this attempted murder follows the same pattern as the three more successful murders."
She reached down into the bag she'd brought in and took out a small glass jar. It wasn't Patrick Murray's eye that floated in it. The surgeons had hope they could reattach it. But the simulation carried the same impact.
She watched as Summerset stared at the small, floating organ, then turned her head away.
"Do you believe in an eye for an eye?"
"I thought I did." His voice trembled, then he steadied it. "I don't know what I believe."
Saying nothing, she reached down again and picked out the statue of the Madonna. "The Virgin. Marlena was innocent. She was pure."
"She was fourteen. Only fourteen." Tears swam in his eyes, paining them both. "I have to believe she's at peace. To survive I have to believe. Do you think I could do what's been done here, in her name?" He closed his eyes, desperate for control. "She was gentle, and unspoiled. I won't answer any more questions about her. Not to you."
She nodded and rose. But before she turned he caught the pity dark and deep in her eyes. He'd opened his mouth without any idea what he would say, when she spoke again.
"Are you aware that electronics play a primary part in said crimes, and that your incoming log is worth squat?"
Again he opened his mouth, closed it again. What kind of woman was it, he wondered, who could go from melting compassion to whiplash in less than a blink. This time he took a deeper drink. "The transmission came in, just as I've said."
Steady again, Eve came back, sat. The image of Marlena was ruthlessly blocked from her mind. "Did you attempt to contact Audrey Morrell and access her status?''
"No, I—"
"How did you travel to the Mermaid Club?"
"I took my personal vehicle and, following the instructions I was given, parked near the side entrance of the club on Fifteenth Street."
"How did you get in?"
"The side door was unlocked."
"What happened then?"
"I called out. No one answered, but the music was very loud. All the lights were on. I went into the lounge area. I saw him right away, in the tank. He—I think he was moving. I thought I saw his lips move. His eye—his eye was gone and his face was battered."
He began to lose color as he spoke, as the image played back in his head. "Water was still going into the tank. I didn't know how to shut it off. I started up the ladder, thinking I could pull him out. Then you came in."
"How were you going to pull him out when he was cuffed to the tank floor?"
"I didn't see that. I didn't see. I only saw his face."
"You knew Patrick Murray in Dublin?"
"I knew a number of people. I don't remember a Patrick Murray."
"Okay, let's try this again."
• • •
She worked him for two hours, and worked him hard. His story never shifted by an inch. When she stepped out of Interview, she signaled to Peabody. "Check and see if my new vehicle's come through and what slot I'll find it in. Let me know, then meet me there in five minutes."
"Yes, sir. He held up," she commented. "If I got hammered that hard in Interview, I'd probably confess just to get some peace."
He'd held up, she thought, but he'd looked ten years older when she'd finished with him. Old and ill and fragile. Her stomach rolled with guilt. "The only thing he did this morning was win a stupidity prize," Eve muttered as she marched down the corridor.