“You think getting knocked around as a kid is an excuse?”
The snap in Eve’s voice had Peabody speaking carefully. “No, sir. I think it’s a reason, and it goes to motive.”
“There is no reason for killing innocent people, for bathing yourself in their blood because someone messed you up. No matter how, no matter when, no matter who. That’s a line for the lawyers and the shrinks, but it’s not truth. Truth is you stand up, and if you can’t, you’re no better than the one who beat and broke you. You’re no better than the worst. You can take your cycle of abuse and your victim as victimizer traumatized bullshit and—”
She stopped herself, tasted the acrid flavor of her own rage in the back of her throat. So she pressed her forehead to her updrawn knees. “Fuck it. That was over the top.”
“If you think I sympathize with him, or find any excuse for what he’s done, you’re wrong.”
“I don’t think that. That rant came to you courtesy of personal neuroses.” It was hard, it would be bitter. And it was time. Eve lifted her head.
“I expect you to go through the door with me, without hesitation. And I know you will, without hesitation. I expect you to stand with me, to walk through the blood, to handle the shit, and to put your personal safety and comfort second to the job. I know you will, not only because it’s who you are but because, by God, I trained you.”
Peabody said nothing.
“It was different when you were my aide. A little bit different. But a partner’s got a right to know things.”
“You were raped.”
Eve simply stared. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“Conclusion drawn from observations, association, logical speculation. I don’t think I’m wrong, but you don’t have to talk about it.”
“You’re not wrong. I don’t know when it started. I can’t remember everything.”
“You were abused habitually?”
“Abuse is a clean word, Peabody. Really, it’s a soft word, and you—people—tend to use it so easy, to cover a lot of territory. My father beat me, with his fists or whatever was handy. He raped me, countless times. Once is plenty, so why count?”
“Your mother?”
“Gone by then. Junkie whore. I don’t really remember her, and what I do remember isn’t any better than him.”
“I want . . . I want to say I’m sorry, but people say that easy, too, to cover a lot of territory. Dallas, I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not telling you for sympathy.”
“No. You wouldn’t.”
“One night, I was eight. They said I was eight. I was locked in this dump he’d brought us to. Alone for a while, and I was trying to squirrel some food. Some cheese. I was starving. So cold, so hungry, and I thought I could get away with it before he came back. But he came back, and he wasn’t drunk enough. Sometimes, if he was drunk enough he’d leave me alone. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t.”
She had to stop, gather herself for the rest. “He hit me, knocked me down. All I could do was pray that was going to be all. Just a beating. But I could see it wasn’t going to be all. Don’t cry. I can’t take it if you cry.”
“I can’t take it without crying.” But she used one of the stingy napkins to mop at her face.
“He got on top of me. Had to teach me a lesson. It hurt. You forget after each time how much it hurts. Until it’s happening again, and it’s more than you can imagine. More than you can stand. I tried to stop him. It was worse if I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stand it, and I fought. He broke my arm.”
“Oh, God; oh, Jesus.” Now it was Peabody who pressed her face to her knees. And wept, struggling to do so soundlessly.
“Snap!” She focused on the lake, on the calm water, and the pretty boats that glided over it. “It makes a snap, a thin, young bone. And I went crazy from the pain. And the knife was in my hand. The knife I’d been using on the cheese. Fallen on the floor, and my fingers closed over it.”
Slowly, face drenched, Peabody lifted her head. “You used it on him.” She swiped at her face with the backs of her hands. “I hope to holy God you ripped him to pieces.”
“I did. I pretty much did.” There were ripples on the surface of the lake, Eve saw. It wasn’t as calm as it looked with those little ripples spreading. Spreading.
“I just kept stabbing until . . . well, bathed in blood. There you go.” She drew a shaky breath. “I didn’t remember that part, or most of the rest until right before Roarke and I got married.”
“The cops—”