“We’re going to teach him to live up to it.” Aaron bent down, kissed mother and child. “And how is Mavis?”
“Slow and steady, the midwife said. It’ll be awhile.”
“I’ll come over when they let me.”
“She’ll be around. You’d better get some rest.”
When she stepped out, Feeney was standing in the hall drinking bad coffee. “Midwife’s checking something on her. I’m not staying in there during that.”
“What sane person would?” Eve’s communicator signaled.
“Don’t think you’re going anywhere,” Roarke said darkly.
“Hey, I signed up, I’m seeing it through. Dallas.”
“Lieutenant.” Whitney’s face filled the screen. “You’re to report immediately to Riker’s, female facility.”
“Commander. I’m currently unable to comply. I’m at the birthing center. Mavis—”
“Now?”
“Yes, sir. Or shortly. Is this a problem with Madeline Bullock?”
“It is. She’s dead. Her son broke her neck.”
When she had the details, was assured Whitney would call in Baxter to handle the investigation, she sat in one of the pretty garden spots with her head in her hands.
“Why do you blame yourself?” There was impatience in Roarke’s voice. “Why must you take this on? She’s the one who convinced a guard to let her son have visitation.”
“Stupid. Stupid. They should never have been allowed to see or speak to each other. Not at this point. I’ll be damned if she convinced a guard. She bribed one, and asses will be thoroughly kicked.”
“Then why are you sitting here, taking on the responsibility?”
She sat back. “She riled him up, is what she did. Pushing him, pushing him to corroborate her story, to save her own skin at the expense of his. ‘I’m your mother. You owe me life.’ I can fucking hear her saying it, and him listening to her, understanding—finally—he’d be sacrificed. That he wasn’t important enough to her to save, to love.”
“And still, knowing that, here you sit.”
“I wanted her to go down, go down the hardest. That’s why I saved her for last in Interview. Let her sweat. That’s why I didn’t hammer at her any harder than I did—let her sweat some more, go back at her again tomorrow. I didn’t offer her a deal, and I was cleared to. I could have closed it up with a decent deal, and enough hammering. But I let her know I was going to see her fry. I let her see it. I wanted her to.”
“And why not? She was responsible for all of this, for murder, for misery. You wanted justice.”
“No, or not only. I wanted to give her pain and fear. He did the killings, and he enjoyed doing them. But she twisted him, right from the beginning. She made him what he was, and used him as her tool, she abused him like—”
Roarke lifted her hand, pressed it to his lips. “As you were.”
“I saw my father when I went at her in the box. I felt him, and I felt what he’d done, wanted to do, with me.”
“She was a monster, as he was. But regardless, Winfield Chase was a grown man. He could have escaped her. He could have gotten help.”
“You don’t believe in help, or escape, when they’re done with you.”
“He wasn’t you, Eve. And you could never, no matter what, have been like Chase. You could never have made his choices.”
“No. I know that. And yeah, he had choices, we all do, but she limited them. She skewed them.”
“And that’s what your father would have done, was trying to do, to you.”
“He comes back, in my head, in my dreams. So I saw him in her. I saw him when I looked in her eyes, and I wanted her to pay. I wanted her to suffer and to pay and to know why. Now she has paid. I don’t know if she understood why.”