J. Robb - Chaos in Death

“For your protection, Ken. Just procedure. You know about procedure. Do you understand your rights, your obligations?”

“Yes, but I don’t understand why—”

“Four people are dead, Ken, and you knew all of them.”

“I’m not the only one who—”

“We’re talking to the others. So what did you think of Billingsly?” she continued, conversationally. “An asshole, right?”

“I don’t really have an opinion. I didn’t know him, really.”

“Take my word. Asshole. Anybody who tries to horn in on another man’s woman, especially when she’s not interested, is an asshole.”

She smiled when she said it, watched his eyes skitter away. “I nearly forgot.” She took out a swab. “I need some spit. DNA check.”

“I—I don’t have to do that.”

“Seriously? It’s just some spit, Ken.”

“I don’t have to do that unless you have a warrant. That’s my right.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “Now, about assholes.”

“Should I get a lawyer?”

“Do you want one? Fine with me. It’ll take more time. Probably a couple more hours.” She started to rise.

“It’s okay, for now. I just want to get out of here.”

“Can’t blame you. Like I said, you look wrung out. Up late?”

“I didn’t sleep well. It’s hard, with what happened.”

“I bet. You liked Jen.”

“Everybody liked Jen.”

“But you really liked her. You got her a job.”

“It was no big deal.”

“Come on, take some credit. An addict with barely a month’s recovery under her belt before you asked your uncle to give her a break. Then you do her another solid and help her addict friend get a job. She owed you.”

“I was just trying to help.”

“Did she pay you back?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think she did, not when she had her eye on Pachai—and he had his on her. That must’ve stung.”

He scratched at his arms as if something crawled along his skin. “She was just a friend.”

“Because that’s the way she wanted it. And Pachai, what did he do for her? He didn’t get her and her addict friend jobs. His uncle didn’t give her food to take home. He comes from money, though. Isn’t that always the way? Gets to be Rosenthall’s head guy—over you. You worked harder, I bet. Put in more hours. You’re smarter—I can tell. You’ve got ideas, don’t you, Ken? Ideas about the serum.”

She leaned forward. No visible scratches, she thought. But he’d left his hair down, over the back of his neck.

“I bet you put in lots of your own time on that project. Off the books, so to speak. Busting your ass. Rosenthall’s so conservative, such a stickler for protocol, procedure. But you’ve got balls. You’re willing to take some risks. Did Jen find out you were taking one?”

He kept scratching, swallowing, looking anywhere but at Eve. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She came in the lab a lot, didn’t she? Making excuses to drop in so she could see Pachai. Flirted with him right in front of you. Did she come by when you were working alone one night? Off the books. Did you let her in?”

“We’re not allowed to work in the lab off hours unless Dr. Rosenthall’s there.”

“Rules.” Eve waved them away. “Real innovation says screw the rules. Real progress is risky, takes gambles. And Rosenthall’s poking along with his yes-man Gupta getting all the attention—and the girl. It’s not right. But you can show them you’re better, smarter. Did she catch you at it, or did you tell her? Had to brag about it. But she still didn’t want you. In fact, she threatened to tell on you if you didn’t stop. To tell Rosenthall you were experimenting with his work, testing it, and not on rats.”

He began to shiver now, as if cold even while the sweat dribbled down his temples. “You’re making all this up.”

“Am I? Scientists keep records. We’re going to get a search warrant for your apartment, and we’re going to find yours. We’re going to find the pipe you used to beat Coby Vix to death with. Then—”

“You can’t find the pipe at my place because . . .”

“Why is that, Ken?”

“I’m not talking anymore.”

“Suit yourself.” Eve sat back, watched him sweat a few moments until Peabody came in with a tube of ginger ale.

“Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview. He could use that. Have a drink, Ken, take a little time to think. The way I look at it, things just got out of hand, out of your control. You had a really bad reaction to the serum.”

“I’m not saying anything else.” But he took the tube, cracked it, guzzled.

And when she came back in, Eve thought, she’d take the tube—and have his DNA.

“Think about it,” Eve suggested. “Interview pause. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, exiting the room.”

“He looks sweaty, shaky,” Peabody began outside the door. “He looks like—”

“An addict jonesing for a fix. He’s scared, too. He’s either going to crack or lawyer up—that could go either way. Let’s get a search warrant for his apartment. We’ve got enough for that. He’s got logs and records. That stupid cape, the gloves, the shoes, maybe the knife and scalpel.”

“Maybe we should have Rosenthall observe the next round. Like you said, if he gets into the science, Rosenthall could tell us what it means.”

“Good idea. Go get him, take him to an observation room. I’m going to give Dickerson another couple minutes.”

She could use a drink herself, Eve thought, and gave Vending a hard eye. The machines didn’t always cooperate with her.

“Let me do that.” Roarke plugged in credits, ordered her a tube of Pepsi.

“Thanks. Come to watch the show?”

“It’s usually worth the price of admission.”

“I’ve got Dickerson sweating in the box. Literally. I think he’s been taking the serum—or a version of it. And I think he dosed himself real good two nights in a row. It’s got him strung out. I’m about to go in for the second round. Peabody’s bringing Rosenthall into Observation, in case we need an interpreter for the science.”

“I’ll go find them.”

He gave her a tap on the chin, then strolled off—as at home in the cop shop as she was, she thought.

She cracked the tube, took a long drink, then walked back to the interview room. When she stepped in, Dickerson was standing in the far corner, facing the wall. His shoulders shook.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, reentering Interview. Jesus, Ken, man up.”

“That’s Dr. Chaos to you.”

She arched her eyebrows at the rough sound of his voice. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Have a seat, Doc, and we’ll—”

He turned. She’d thought little could genuinely surprise her at this stage of her life and career, but she froze in shock.

His face rippled in front of her eyes. Sickly green, it twisted itself until the jaw locked at a grotesque angle. His teeth sharpened; his eyes protruded and bulged in their sockets, and began to gleam red.

“And I’m not a man.”

She heard the snap and crack of migrating bones as his spine seemed to warp. “I’m a god.”

She pulled her weapon. “What you are is under arrest.”

He leaped at her. She got a stream off, was sure she struck midbody, but he was so fast . She had a fraction of a second to prepare, and used the force of his body ramming hers to go down, kick up, and send him flying over her and into the wall.

He careened off, bloodied, and nimble as a spider. This time when she fired, he jerked. Then he smiled.

“Oooh, it tickles! I’m so much stronger now.”

“So I see. But not pretty. You’re smart.” He would attack again, she thought. There was too much animal in him not to. “You’re in the middle of Cop Central. Even if you get through me, you won’t get out. You’ll die here.”