“You’d already changed it once, as Hastings’s assistant. Were you already planning your . . . gallery?”
“I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, I was. But lots of artists take a professional name, and I was just trying that one on. I took Javert’s name because I really admired him.”
“When you took the job at the club,” she prompted, “you had your plan in place.”
“Oh yeah. But for the club, I thought I’d just keep it simple—my name, I mean. Audrey is Mom’s middle name, so it was kind of an homage to her. I’m kinda thirsty? Can I get a drink?”
“Sure.” She gestured to Peabody. “How’d you pick the data club?”
“Oh, I used to hang there sometimes. A lot of the college kids come into the club. Almost all of them pass through sooner or later, so taking a job tending bar was a good way to observe and select. And the data club made sense. I could get the word out on my work efficiently, privately.”
“How?”
“I’d just slip back in after I’d done the portraits and discarded the shell. Slip the data disc to the dj, or dump it into an in-basket. Nobody pays attention. I knew Nadine Furst would get the story out. She’s really good, you know?”
When Peabody offered him water, he took it gratefully. “And 75 has the best ratings in the city. I did my research.”
“Bet you did.”
Drinking, he nodded. “You’ve seen my work now. My studio, my gallery.” Dressed in the ugly orange NYPSD jumpsuit, his ankle chained to the table, the harsh lights from the overhead in Interview Room A spilling over him, he looked proud.
“Yes, Gerry, I’ve seen it.”
“So, you understand now. I did research on you, too. You’re smart and creative. You have strong light. It’s not pure, but it’s strong. You’ll let me finish, right? You have to let me finish the work. One more portrait and I’ll be immortal. People will see. We never have to die. No one ever has to lose someone they love, ever again. No one has to suffer or have pain.”
“Gerry, I’m going to ask you again, just so we’re really clear. Do you understand your rights and obligations?”
“Oh yeah. Sure.”
“And you’ve waived your right to legal representation during this interview.”
“I just want to tell you what it all means. I don’t want people to think I’m some kind of monster. I’m not. I’m a savior.”
“And you did willingly take the lives of Rachel Howard, Kenby Sulu, and Alicia Dilbert?”
“I preserved their light,” he corrected. “Forever.”
“To do so, you took the aforementioned individuals to your studio on Greenwich, took them there in a drugged state that you induced, and there caused the death of their mortal bodies by inserting a knife into their hearts.”
“I didn’t want to hurt them, that’s why I gave them the medicine they gave my mom. It made her sleep easy, took away the pain.”
“You also took Officer Troy Trueheart to that same location tonight, in the same condition with the same purpose in mind.”
“Yes, to shed their mortal bodies.” Relief washed over her face as he nodded. “Their shells. And by taking their portrait so near the instant of death, I took their light into myself, joining it to mine, preserving it, and giving them immortality. They live in me,” he told her. “With the last light joined, the work will be done. I’ll know all they knew. They’ll know me. Always.”
“Understood. Record off.”
“So I can go now?”
“No, I’m sorry. There are some other people you’ll need to talk to. Explain things to.”
“Oh, okay.” He glanced around, blankly. “But I really need to get back to work soon.”
Sanity, Eve thought, was a thin and slippery line. Gerry had tipped over it. If he could still function, still plan, still make images, he’d be doing it all in a secured room in a mental health facility for the rest of his life.
“I hope it won’t take very long,” he added as a uniform entered to take him back to a cage.