"For the best, absolutely," she said, inadvertently offering Charles Overby's favorite adverbial crutch.
Edie Dance, working an unplanned late shift, now came down the hall, looking distraught but determined, a visage that her daughter recognized clearly. Sometimes feigned, sometimes genuine, the expression had served her well in the past. Today it would, of course, be a reflection of her true heart.
Edie moved straight to Millar's mother. She took the woman by the arm and, recognizing approaching hysteria, bestowed words on her--a few questions about her own state of mind, but mostly about her husband's and other children's, all aimed at diverting the woman's focus from this impossible tragedy. Edie Dance was a genius in the art of compassion. It was why she was such a popular nurse.
Rosa Millar began to calm and then cried, and Dance could see the staggering horror melting into manageable grief. Her husband joined them, and Edie handed his wife over to him like a trapeze artist transferring one acrobat to another in midair.
"Mrs. Millar," Dance said, "I'd just like to--"
Then found herself flying sideways, barking a scream, hands not dropping to her weapon but rising to keep her head fro
m slamming into one of the carts parked here. Her first thought: How had Daniel Pell gotten into the hospital?
"No!" O'Neil shouted. Or Kellogg. Probably both. Dance caught herself as she went down on one knee, knocking coils of yellow tubing and plastic cups to the floor.
The doctor too leapt forward, but it was Winston Kellogg who got the enraged Julio Millar in a restraint hold, arm bent backward, and held him down easily by a twisted wrist. The maneuver was fast and effortless.
"No, son!" the father shouted, and the mother cried harder.
O'Neil helped Dance up. No injuries other than what would be bruises come morning, she guessed.
Julio tried to break away but Kellogg, apparently much stronger than he appeared, tugged the arm up slightly. "Take it easy, don't hurt yourself. Just take it easy."
"Bitch, you fucking bitch! You killed him! You killed my brother!"
O'Neil said, "Julio, listen. Your parents are upset enough. Don't make it worse."
"Worse? How could it be worse?" He tried to kick out.
Kellogg simply sidestepped him and lifted the wrist higher. The young man grimaced and groaned. "Relax. It won't hurt if you relax." The FBI agent looked at the parents, their hopeless eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Julio," his father said, "you hurt her. She's a policewoman. They'll put you in jail."
"They should put her in jail! She's the killer."
Millar senior shouted, "No, stop it! Your mother, think about your mother. Stop it!"
Smoothly, O'Neil had his cuffs out. He was hesitating. He glanced at Kellogg. The men were debating. Julio seemed to be relaxing.
"Okay, okay, get off me."
O'Neil said, "We'll have to cuff you if you can't control yourself. Understand?"
"Yeah, yeah, I understand."
Kellogg let go and helped him up.
Everyone's eyes were on Dance. But she wasn't going to take the matter to the magistrate. "It's all right. There's no problem."
Julio stared into Dance's eyes. "Oh, there's a problem. There's a big problem."
He stormed off.
"I'm sorry," Rosa Millar said through her tears.
Dance reassured her. "Does he live at home?"
"No, an apartment nearby."