He sucked air through his nose. "That is quite impossible. Mr. Brennen is away."
"Peabody, get this…citizen's name and ID number and arrange to have him transported to Cop Central for booking."
"Yes, sir."
"You can't arrest me." His shiny black boots did a quick dance on the sidewalk. "I'm doing my job."
"You're interfering with mine, and guess whose job the judge is going to think is more important?"
Eve watched the way his mouth worked before it settled in a thin, disapproving line. Oh yeah, she thought, he was Summerset to a tee, even though he was twenty pounds heavier and three inches shorter than the bane of her existence.
"Very well, but you can be sure I will contact the chief of police and security about your conduct." He studied her badge again. "Lieutenant."
"Feel free." With a signal to Peabody, she followed the doorman's stiff back to the entrance, where he activated his droid backup to man the post.
Inside the shining silver doors, the lobby of the Luxury Towers was a tropical garden with towering palms, flowing hibiscus and twittering birds. A large pool surrounded a splashing fountain in the shape of a generously curved woman, naked to the waist and holding a golden fish.
The doorman keyed in a code at a glass tube, silently gestured Eve and Peabody inside. Unhappy with the transport, Eve stayed rooted to the center while Peabody all but pressed her nose against the glass on the ascent.
Sixty-two floors later, the tube opened into a smaller garden lobby, no less abundant. The doorman paused by a security screen outside double arched doors of highly polished steel.
"Doorman Strobie, escorting Lieutenant Dallas of the NYPSD and aide."
"Mr. Brennen is not in residence at this time," came the response in a soothing voice musical in its Irish lilt.
Eve merely elbowed Strobie aside. "This is a police emergency." She lifted her badge to the electronic eye for verification. "Entrance is imperative."
"One moment, Lieutenant." There was a quiet hum as her face and ID were scanned, then a discreet click of locks. "Entrance permitted, please be aware that this residence is protected by SCAN-EYE."
"Recorder on, Peabody. Back off, Strobie." Eve put one hand on the door, the other on her weapon, and shouldered it open.
The smell struck her first, and made her swear. She'd smelled violent death too many times to mistake it.
Blood painted the blue silk walls of the living area, a grisly, incomprehensible graffiti. She saw the first piece of Thomas X. Brennen on the cloud-soft carpet. His hand lay palm up, fingers curled toward her as if to beckon or to plead. It had been severed at the wrist.
She heard Strobie gag behind her, heard him stumble back into the lobby and the fresh floral air. She stepped into the stench. She drew her weapon now, sweeping with it as she covered the room. Her instincts told her what had been done there was over, and whoever had done it was safely away, but she stuck close to procedure, making her way slowly over the carpet, avoiding the gore when she could.
"If Strobie's finished vomiting, ask him the way to the master bedroom."
"Down the hall to the left," Peabody said a moment later. "But he's still heaving out there."
"Find him a bucket, then secure the elevator and this door."
Eve started down the hall. The smell grew riper, thicker. She began to breathe through her teeth. The door to the bedroom wasn't secure. Through the crack came a slash of bright artificial light and the majestic sounds of Mozart.
What was left of Brennen was stretched out on a lake-sized bed with a stylish mirrored canopy. One arm had been chained with silver links to the bedpost. Eve imagined they would find his feet somewhere in the spacious apartment.
Undoubtedly the walls were well soundproofed, but surely the man had screamed long and loud before he died. How long had it taken, she wondered as she studied the body. How much pain could a man stand before the brain turned off and the body gave out?
Thomas Brennen would know the answer, to the second.
He'd been stripped naked, his hand and both his feet amputated. The one eye he had left stared in blind horror at the mirrored reflection of his own mutilated form. He'd been disemboweled.
"Sweet Jesus Christ," Peabody whispered from the doorway. "Holy Mother of God."
"I need the field kit. We'll seal up, call this in. Find out where his family is. Call this in through EDD, Feeney if he's on, and have him put a media jammer on before you give any details. Let's keep the details quiet as long as possible."
Peabody had to swallow hard twice before she was sure her lunch would stay down. "Yes, sir."