“You’ve no right, no authority to carry and draw a weapon.”
Roarke stared at Skinner’s furious face, then grinned. “What weapon? On your belly, Hayes, hands behind your head. Do it!” he ordered when Hayes shot Skinner a look. “Even on low these things give a nasty little jolt.” He lowered the sight to crotch level. “Especially when they hit certain sensitive areas of the anatomy.”
Though his breathing was now labored, Skinner gestured toward Hayes.
“To the warning. You step back from my wife. Step well and cleanly back, or you’ll find the taste of me isn’t to your liking.”
“Will you have me beat to death in a stairwell?”
“You’re a tedious man, Skinner,” Roarke said with a sigh as he backed to the door. “Flaming tedious. I’d tell your men to have a care how they strut around and finger their weapons. This is my place.”
Despite its size, Eve found the living area of the suite as stifling as a closed box. If she were on a case like this in New York, she would be on the streets, cursing at traffic as she fought her way to the lab to harass the techs, letting her mind shuffle possibilities as she warred with Rapid Cabs on the way to the morgue or back into Central.
The sweepers would tremble when she called demanding a final report. And the asses she would kick on her way through the investigation would be familiar.
This time around Darcia Angelo got to have all the fun.
“Peabody, go down and record Skinner’s keynote, since he’s playing the show must go on and giving it on schedule.”
“Yes, sir.”
The morose tone had Eve asking, “What?”
“I know why you’re leaning toward him for this, Dallas. I can see the angles, but I just can’t adjust the pattern for them. He’s a legend. Some cops go wrong because the pressure breaks them inside, or because of the temptations or just because they were bent that way to begin with. He never went wrong. It’s an awful big leap to see him tossing aside everything he’s stood for and killing one of his own to frame Roarke for something that happened when Roarke was a kid.”
“Come up with a different theory, I’ll listen. If you can’t do the job, Peabody, tell me now. You’re on your own time here.”
“I can do the job.” Her voice was as stiff as her shoulders as she started for the door. “I haven’t been on my own time since I met you.”
Eve set her teeth as the door slammed, and was already formulating the dressing-down as she marched across the room. Mira stopped her with a word.
&
nbsp; “Eve. Let her go. You have to appreciate her position. It’s difficult being caught between two of her heroes.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“Sit, before you wear a rut in this lovely floor. You’re in a difficult position as well. The man you love, the job that defines you, and another man who you believe has crossed an indelible line.”
“I need you to tell me if he could have crossed that line. I know what my gut tells me, what the pattern of evidence indicates. It’s not enough. I have data on him. Most of it’s public domain, but not all.” She waited a beat while Mira simply continued to study her, calm as a lake. “I’m not going to tell you how I accessed it.”
“I’m not going to ask you. I already know quite a bit about Douglas Skinner. He is a man devoted to justice—his own vision of it, one who has dedicated his life to what the badge stands for, one who has risked his life to serve and protect. Very much like you.”
“That doesn’t feel like much of a compliment right now.”
“There is a parting of the ways between you, a very elemental one. He’s compelled, has always been compelled, to spread his vision of justice like some are compelled to spread their vision of faith. You, Eve, at your core, stand for the victim. He stands for his vision. Over time, that vision has narrowed. Some can become victims of their own image until they become the image.”
“He’s lost the cop inside the hype.”
“Cleanly said. Peabody’s view of him is held by a great many people, a great many in law enforcement. It’s not such a leap, psychologically speaking, for me to see him as becoming so obsessed by a mistake—and the mistake was his own—that cost the lives of men in his command that that failure becomes the hungry monkey on his back.”
“The man who’s dead wasn’t street scum. He was a young employee, one with a clean record, with a wife. The son of one of Skinner’s dead. That’s the leap I’m having trouble with, Dr. Mira. Was the monkey so hungry that Skinner could order the death of an innocent man just to feed it?”
“If he could justify it in his mind, yes. Ends and means. How worried are you about Roarke?”
“He doesn’t want me to worry about him,” Eve answered.
“I imagine he’s much more comfortable when he can worry about you. His father was abusive to him.”