Apprentice in Death (19 page)

When they reached the top, the mini motion detector aimed at the stairs set off a wild beep.

“He dropped! He's moving toward you.”

“Take cover!” Eve shouted to Roarke, and rolled. She saw the streak from the strike whiz by, laid down a stream of suppressing fire. “Stay clear, you stay clear! Punch those holes, get me some light.” She rolled again, sprang up. “Move in, move in.”

A high whine had her dropping, a series of tiny holes punched through the barricades on the window. She felt more than saw Mackie hit the stairs.

“He's going down to two. Roarke, are you clear?”

“Clear. You're not wearing any armor. Stay behind me.”

“His aim's crap,” she said, and bolted down. She heard Roarke cursing viciously behind her, heard the battering ram crashing, crashing against the door down below.

Felt her way along the wall until her hand came to a doorway.

“At your six!” Feeney shouted.

She dropped and rolled, heard the thud of something striking the wall, fired toward it.

“He's moving past you, made a left.”

“Roarke, move left—hit the wall, stay down.” She did the same. “Mackie! It's done, it's finished. Throw out your weapons and surrender.”

He answered with a volley of strikes that whined and speared through the opposing wall.

She put her lips to Roarke's ear. “Get the penlight. Stay out of range. Aim in at the doorway.”

“I can widen the beam.”

“Do that. Feeney, exact position?”

“Back wall, between the windows. Five feet east, ten feet north of your position. They don't have a shot.”

“Copy that.” She squeezed Roarke's hand. “In three, two.”

She moved on one, hurtling down the narrow hall, calculating distance as the light flashed.

She got a glimpse—hand lasers, full body armor, night-vision goggles.

With her stunner two clicks down from full power, she aimed for his eyes.

She felt the burn streak down her arm, heard him cry out, rolled clear. Laid down another stream as Roarke rushed to flank the doorway. His stream hit Mackie low, biting into his boots, hers went back for the goggles.

This time, he dropped.

“Suspect down, he's down.” She rushed in, kicked away the weapon that dropped out of his shaking hand. “Get me more light, get me some damn light.” But she yanked Mackie's arms back, snapped on restraints before she tested the pulse in his throat.

“He's alive.” She felt the wet on her fingers, smelled the blood. “He's bleeding. We need the MTs. We need a bus.”

She heard breaking glass, the booming crash of the door and barricade giving out, then the rush of boots.

“He's down,” she repeated. “Hold your fire. Get the damn lights on.”

“He cut the power.” Lowenbaum dropped down, pulled a flashlight
out of his belt. “They're working on it.” He trailed the light over Mackie. “Goggles shattered. Looks like he got shards in his eyes. Let's get a medic!” he shouted.

“He can wait. The lieutenant's hit.”

At Roarke's terse statement, Eve glanced at her arm, saw the blood seeping down her sleeve. “Grazed me is all.”

“Bollocks to that.” So saying, Roarke hauled her up, dragged the jacket off.

“Look, simmer. I know when I'm really hurt.”

“More bollocks. If you knew so bloody much, you'd be wearing your armor.”

“I had it—the coat.” She hissed when he ripped off her sleeve, used it to staunch the blood.

“You aren't wearing the shagging coat, are you?”

“I—”

“And I didn't think of it until it was too late.” He bound up the wound, then caught her face in his hands. When her eyes fired out a warning—Don't even
think
about kissing me—he nearly smiled. “You'll have that tended to properly.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nice field dressing, thanks for that. Now I'm going to make sure my suspect stays alive.”

She turned as Peabody hurried in. “Civilians?”

“Secure—still in their own residence. Magly cute dog. MTs on the way—ETA one minute. The house is being cleared, and Feeney's working with McNab and Callendar to get the power up again. You got hit!”

“Grazed.”

“But—but—you had my magic coat.”

“I took it off. Don't,” Eve said before Peabody could harass her as Roarke had. “When the power's up, get EDD to check out any and all electronics. Then—”

“Dallas, you want to take a look here.”

She looked back as Lowenbaum played his light around the room.

Or, more accurately, the armory. A battered worktable held more than two dozen weapons—long and short range, knives, boomers. More body armor hung on pegs, along with other goggles, field glasses.

“He must've been stockpiling for a while, maybe even before his wife died.”

“There's another knife stuck in the wall out there,” Peabody said.

“So that's what that was.” Eve looked down at Mackie. “You're going to find that funk, too. I could see the tremor in his hands.”

She stepped back as the MTs came in. “Patch him up, bring him around. I need him in Interview.”

To keep Roarke off her back, she let the MTs treat her arm while she, Lowenbaum, and Feeney had their roundup.

“He had a two-level barricade on the doors and windows,” Lowenbaum told her. “If we'd tried storming, he'd have picked some of us off.”

“Maybe—didn't want to risk it—but he's not the marksman he was. My team found two kegs of funk hidden in the closet of his room. Probably hiding it from the daughter, but she'd have been blind and deaf not to see the effects.”

“Prided himself on his exceptional vision and steady hands.” Lowenbaum shook his head. “But he goes on the funk, goes on what takes those away.”

“Ever known a funky-junkie who didn't think they'd beat the effects until they didn't? I'm going to the hospital—I've got four cops on him. Unless he's fricking dying, he'll be in a cage tonight.”

“Heard the MTs say he'd need surgery on his right eye—maybe the left, too.” Feeney shrugged. “Even then he ain't getting it all back—some of that's the funk. Got some burns on his lower calves where the boot leather seared into him. I'm not going to cry about it.”

“He was a good man once. I'm not going to cry about it, either,” Lowenbaum added. “But I'm goddamn sorry he lost the man he was.”

“The daughter's still out there.” Eve pushed to her feet, ignored the low-level burn down her arm. “And there's no evidence suggesting she has any trouble with steady hands or eyesight. We get him patched up, get him in a cage, break him.”

“It's his daughter, Dallas. I don't see how you can break him down enough to flip on her.”

“He's a junkie,” she said flatly. “I'll break him.”

—

B
ut not that night. Eve argued with nurses, with doctors, and ultimately with the surgeon. Reginald Mackie would not and could not be released from the hospital for at least twelve hours.

“We removed sixteen shards of infrared lens out of his right eye and seven out of his left.”

“He killed seven people in two days.”

The surgeon huffed out a breath. Maybe his own eyes looked exhausted, but Eve didn't give a shit.

“You do your job, Lieutenant, I do mine. I'm giving you the facts. His addiction has already compromised his vision, his retina, and his optic nerves. This trauma has left his corneas and his retinas damaged further. Once cured of his addiction, he would be a viable candidate for organ replacement, or at least additional surgery, but at this point we've done what can be done. He and his eyes need rest. We need to keep him under observation, as we're concerned about more deterioration or infection.”

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, he should be. And he's restrained and guarded. We have our own security backing up your officers. We're fully aware of who he is, and what he's done.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“I have no medical objection to that. His head is in a stabilizer. We don't want him to move his head, jar his eyes in any way, for the next
twelve hours. After that, I'll examine him, and hopefully clear him for release to your custody.”

Accepting it was the best she'd get, Eve made her way to Mackie's room. She moved through the two uniforms on the door, inside where she had two more keeping watch.

Mackie lay still, his head slightly inclined inside the cage-like stabilizer, his eyes covered with bandages. Tubes ran from him into machines, and the machines clicked and hummed busily.

God, she hated hospitals, had hated them since she woke up in one at the age of eight. Broken, battered, with no idea where she was, who she was.

But Mackie knew who and where.

She signaled to the uniforms to give her the room, then approached the bed.

“Record on,” she said clearly, and saw Mackie's fingers flex in reaction. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, questioning Mackie, Reginald. Mackie, in case you missed it, you've been placed under arrest for multiple counts of murder, conspiracy to murder, possession of illegal weapons, armed assault on police officers, and a whole bunch of lesser charges. It's what we could call a freaking cornucopia of charges. Also, in case you missed it, I'm going to reread you your rights.”

As she did, slowly, she watched him, watched his jaw tighten, his mouth firm, and those fingers tap, tap, tap on the sheets.

“Do you understand your rights and obligations in these matters? I know you're awake and aware, Mackie,” she said after a beat. “And you know that you'll be out of here and in a cage very soon. Stonewalling me gets you nowhere. We'll find her.”

This time his thinned lips curved, just a little.

“Don't think so? Think again. We'll find her, and when we do, she'll spend a lot more years in a cage than you have left. Fifteen years old?
She could spend a hard century in a cage, off-planet. Never see the sun again. If you think her age will play in her favor, think again there, too. I put away one younger than she is. If I have to hunt her, I'll make it my mission to see she spends every day of the rest of her life locked up like an animal.”

His hands shook, but he managed to lift the middle finger of his right hand.

“Gee, that stings. I guess you're feeling pretty smug, lying there getting pain meds and something to cut down on the funk withdrawal. But that won't last. I wonder if you're thinking Willow's on her way to Alaska. Yeah, that's right,” she added when his hands fisted. “We know all about Alaska. We'd bag her, bag, tag, and toss her in that cage. But she's not heading to Alaska, you idiot. She had a hit list of her own. Headed by her mother, her stepfather, her little brother.”

“Liar.” He croaked it out.

“She has blueprints of her school.”

“Get out.”

“The names of specific school employees and students she plans to take out.”

His breathing sped up, quick, short breaths. The trembling increased. He said, “Lawyer.”

Eve deliberately misunderstood him. “We know you had the lawyer on your list. I'm talking about hers.”

“Lawyer,” he repeated. “I want a lawyer.”

“So you understand your rights and obligations?”

“I understand, and I want a lawyer.”

“Your choice, a bad one, but that's not a surprise considering your track record. Give me a name, a contact, and we'll get your lawyer.”

“Provided. Appointed.”

“You want a court-appointed representative. Okay. Seriously bad
choice, but I'll start that ball rolling. The doc says you'll be ready to move in under twelve hours now. Enjoy your plush accommodations while you can. They're going to go seriously downhill. End of questioning.”

Eve stepped to the door, switched off her recorder. “A lot of blood on your hands, Mackie. Your daughter's may be on them before this is over. You think about that while you wait for your lawyer.”

She stepped out, jerked a thumb at the two uniforms to send them back into the room.

“He said lawyer,” she told the other uniforms on the door. “I'll be arranging that. No one but the lawyer, if and when he arrives here, and authorized medical personnel are to enter his room. Check every ID, and scan anyone going in for weapons.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Drag over a couple of chairs,” she advised. “It's going to be a long night.”

She walked away, hunted up the head nurse. Badged her. “I'm to be informed the minute Reginald Mackie is medically cleared for transport.”

“Of course.”

“He's requested a lawyer, and I'll arrange one. No one but the lawyer, when appointed, medicals required for his care, and authorized police officials are to be given access to him.”

“Understood.”

“If anyone attempts to gain information about his status, you are to log the contact, and tell them nothing.”

“Lieutenant, it's not my first roundup. I know the drill.”

“Good. Make sure everyone else does, too.”

Stepping away, she used her 'link to begin the process of granting Mackie his right to a court-appointed lawyer.

Roarke walked over, held out a tube of Pepsi. “The coffee here is marginally better than at Central, but it's close.”

“Thanks. I need another couple minutes. I want to update the commander, Peabody, make sure Mira's on tap, with all her hats, when I finally get Mackie into Interview tomorrow. And I want to talk to Nadine, have her blast the daughter's picture on screen. Other media will follow that lead.”

“Take your time.”

It took another thirty, but when she felt she'd done all she could do, she two-pointed the empty tube into a recycler.

“He may delude himself that she's off to Alaska, but she's still here. Still in New York, and prepping for the next strike.”