J. Robb - Vengeance in Death

Eve shuddered once, then fought for life.

On her third trip up, she thought the surface was closer, and swimming down, she turned her head and got a watery view of Roarke coming up the ladder.

He'd taken time to pull off his shoes and jacket. When he reached the floor of the tank, he yanked her arm, jerked a thumb for her to go up. So they worked in tandem, one drawing in air, the other giving it while the water swirled down.

When she could stand, her head above water, she coughed violently. "Summerset," she managed.

"He won't go anywhere. For God's sake, Eve."

"I haven't got time to argue about it. Can you pick the locks on the restraints?"

Dripping, still gasping for air, he stared at her. Then he dug in his pocket for his penknife. "Here come your men."

"I'll deal with them. See what you can do down there."

She flipped her wet hair out of her eyes as four uniforms charged inside the club. "Dallas," she shouted. "Lieutenant Eve. Get some med-techs here, fast. Resuscitation equipment. Drowning victim. I don't know how long he was under, but there's no pulse. And someone turn that goddamn music off. Glove up. I want this scene preserved as much as possible."

The water was down to her knees now, and the air was making her shiver in her wet clothes. Her muscles ached from supporting the dead weight of the victim. She saw Roarke finesse the lock on the first shackle and shifted to adjust.

The minute the second ankle was free, she laid the body down in the few remaining inches of water and, straddling it, began pumping his chest.

"I want a CPR kit in here, some blankets." The last word echoed as the music shut abruptly off. Now she could hear her ears ringing. "Come on, come on, come back," she panted, then leaned forward and forced air into his mouth.

"Let me do it." Roarke knelt beside her. "You've got a crime scene to secure."

"The MTs." She continued to count the chest pumps in her head. "They'll be here any minute. You can't stop until they get here."

"I won't stop."

At her nod, he placed his hands over hers, picked up her rhythm. "Who is he, Roarke?"

"I don't know." He glanced up briefly as Eve got to her feet. "I just don't know."

It was a great deal harder climbing out of the tank than it had been getting in, Eve realized. She was winded by the time she reached the lip. She took a moment to catch her breath, to draw it into lungs that felt seared and scraped. Then she swung her leg over and started down.

Peabody was waiting at the bottom. "The MTs were right behind me, Dallas."

"He's pretty far gone. Don't know if they can bring him back." She looked through the glass, watched Roarke working steadily. "Take the uniforms. Form two teams and do a search. You won't find him, but look anyway. Secure all doors. Engage recorders."

Peabody looked over Eve's shoulder to where Summerset stood, hands at his sides, watching Roarke from the far end of the tank. "What are you going to do?"

"My job. You do yours. I want this scene secured and a sweep team ordered. Do you have a field kit with you?''

"I don't have a detective kit, just my street and scene bag."

"I'll use that." She took the bag Peabody offered. "Get started," she ordered, then signaled the emergency medical team that rushed in. "Inside the tank. Drowning victim, no pulse. CPR in progress for approximately ten minutes."

She turned away, knowing there was nothing more she could do there. Water squelched in her boots, dripped from her hair and face as she walked over to Summerset. Because her leather jacket weighed on her like a stone, she stripped it off and slammed it on the table.

"Goddamn it, Summerset, you're under arrest. Suspicion of attempted murder. You have the right to – ''

"He was alive when I got here. I'm almost sure he was alive." His voice sounded thin and thoughtful. Eve recognized the symptoms of shock in it, and in his glassy eyes. "I thought I saw him move."

"You'd be smart to wait until I've told you your rights and obligations before you make any statement." She lowered her voice. "You'd be real smart to say nothing, not a fucking thing, until Roarke rounds you up his fancy lawyers. Now be smart and shut up."

But he refused the lawyers. When Eve walked into the interview room where he was being guarded by a uniform, Summerset sat stiffly and continued to stare straight ahead. "I won't need you," she told the guard. She came around the table and sat when the guard left the room. She'd taken time to change into dry clothes, warm up her system with coffee; and she had checked with the medical team that had brought the man identified as Patrick Murray back to life, and the doctors who were fighting to keep him that way.

"It's still attempted murder," she said conversationally. "They brought Murray back from the dead, but he's in a coma, and if he makes it he may be brain damaged."

"Murray?"

"Patrick Murray, another Dublin boy."

"I don't remember a Patrick Murray." His bony fingers moved through his disordered hair. His eyes looked blindly around the room. "I would – I would like some water."

"Sure, fine." She rose to fill a pitcher. "Why aren't you letting Roarke set up the lawyers?"

"This isn't his doing. And I have nothing to hide."

"You're an idiot." She slammed the pitcher in front of him. "You don't know how bad it can be once I turn the recorder on and start on you. You were at the scene of an attempted murder, caught by the primary investigator climbing out – "

"In," he snapped. Her tone had torn away the mists that kept closing in on his mind. "I was going into the tank."

"You're going to have to prove that. I'm the first one you're going to have to convince." She raked both hands through her hair in a gesture of fatigue and frustration that made Summerset frown. Her eyes, he noted, were reddened from the water, and deeply shadowed.

"I can't hold back with you this time," she warned him.

"I expect nothing from you."

"Good. Then we start even. Engage recorder. Interview with subject Summerset, Lawrence Charles, in the matter of the attempted murder of Patrick Murray on this date. Interview conducted by primary, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Commence oh eight fifteen. Subject has been Mirandized and has waived counsel and representation at this time. Is that correct?''

"That is correct."

"What were you doing in the Mermaid Club at six-thirty in the morning?"

"I received a transmission at about six-fifteen. The caller didn't identify himself. He told me to go there, immediately and alone."

"And you always go to sex clubs when some anonymous guy calls you up at dawn and tells you to?"

Summerset sent her a withering look, which cheered her a bit. He wasn't down yet, she decided.

"I was told that a friend of mine was being held there, and that she would be harmed if I didn't obey instructions."

"What friend?"

He poured the water now, drank one small sip. "Audrey Morrell."

"Yeah, she was your alibi for Brennen's killing. That didn't pan out too well for you. Sure you want to use her again?''

"There's no need for sarcasm, Lieutenant. The transmission came in. It will be on the log."

"And we'll check that. So this anonymous caller tells you to get over to the Mermaid Club – you knew where it was?"

"No, I didn't. I am not in the habit of patronizing such establishments," he said so primly she had to stifle a snort. "He provided the address."

"Damn considerate of him. He tells you to get there or your girlfriend'll be in dire straights."

"He said – he indicated that he would do to her what had been done to Marlena."

A jolt of pity, of understanding, of great regret thudded through her. But she couldn't offer it. "Okay, you've got a cop in the house, but you don't bother to tell this cop of a possible abduction and/or assault."